CHAPTER IIMUSIC AND CREAM-PUFFS
GRETEL’S first sensation on waking the next morning was that something pleasant was going to happen. She could not remember for the first few moments just what it was to be, but then it all came back to her; her conversation with Dora; her crying fit over the piano, and Dora’s promise to bring her sister and brother to play and sing for her. She was conscious of a little thrill of anticipation as she sprang out of bed and began putting on her stockings. She had lived with Mrs. Marsh for more than a year, but this was the first time there had ever been a question of her having visitors of her very own. Mrs. Marsh and her daughter had plenty of visitors, of course, and some of them had been kind to the little girl, but that was quite a different thing from having people coming expressly to see her. In the old days at the studio they were always having visitors, and she had had almost more friends than she could count, but since herfather’s death all the old friends had seemed to fade away too. They never came to Mrs. Marsh’s, not even kind Fritz Lipheim or his mother, with whom she had often stayed for weeks at a time while Hermann Schiller was away on a concert tour. Old Mrs. Lipheim had been very good to the child, and had taught her how to sew on her father’s buttons and mend his socks. She was sure the Lipheims would have liked to come to see her if they had not feared Mrs. Marsh would object, but Mrs. Marsh had been so very stiff and unsociable on the day when she had come to take her away from the studio, and had not even suggested that Gretel should see Mrs. Lipheim again, although the little girl had clung to her old friend, crying as if her heart would break. Gretel was very grateful to Mrs. Marsh, but there were times when she could not help thinking how much pleasanter it would have been if her brother had arranged to have her live with the Lipheims instead of with his cousins.
It was nearly eight o’clock, but Gretel’s room was still very dark. Indeed, it was never very light at any hour of the day, for its only window opened on an air-shaft. It was a very small room, and before Gretel came had always beenoccupied by the maid-of-all-work, but the apartment was not large, and Mrs. Marsh had declared it to be the only room she could possibly spare, so the servant had been relegated to the maid’s quarters at the top of the house. But small and dark as it was, Gretel loved her room. To begin with, it was the only place in the world that was all her own, and then it contained all her treasures. There was her father’s photograph in a gilt frame, that Fritz Lipheim had given her as a parting gift; and his old German Bible, out of which he used to read to her and show her pictures on Sunday afternoons. There was also her old rag doll, Jemima. She was too old to play with dolls, now, but it was still very comforting to cuddle Jemima in her arms at night, when she happened to be feeling particularly lonely, or when Mrs. Marsh or Ada had been unusually cross. Then there were her father’s letters tied together with a red ribbon. There were a good many of them, as there was one for every day that her father had ever been away from her. Some of the later ones were in German, for Hermann Schiller had taught his little daughter to read and write in his own language, and as he and his friends usually spokein German when they were together, it was almost as familiar to Gretel as English. But nobody ever spoke in German at the Marsh’s, and she sometimes feared she might grow to forget her father’s language, as she was forgetting the music he had taught her so carefully. Lastly, there were her books, not many, and all decidedly the worse for wear, but dearly loved, notwithstanding. There were “Poems Every Child Should Know”—Dickens, “Child’s History of England”—a few old story-books, and—most cherished of all—Grimm’s and Andersen’s “Fairy Tales,” which she had read over and over so many times that she almost knew them by heart. There was not much space for books in the little room, so they lived on the floor under the bed, and Jemima slept in the bottom bureau drawer with Gretel’s night-gowns and petticoats. But notwithstanding its many drawbacks, that little room was the pleasantest place Gretel knew in those days, and it was there that all her happiest hours were passed.
Mrs. Marsh was alone at the breakfast table when Gretel entered the dining-room. She was reading the morning’s mail, and merely glanced up from a letter long enough to give the child anindifferent nod. But Gretel had been taught by her father that one should always wish people a good morning, so before taking her seat at the table, she remarked politely:
“Good morning, Mrs. Marsh; I hope you had a good night.”
Mrs. Marsh did not take the trouble to answer, but Gretel never omitted the little formula, “because,” as she told herself, “Father told me always to say it, so it must be right.” She slipped quietly into her place, and began on the plate of oatmeal and glass of milk, which always formed her morning meal.
She had not taken many spoonfuls, however, when Mrs. Marsh finished her letter, and began to pour her coffee. Dora, having placed the breakfast on the table, had gone away to attend to other household duties. Then Gretel, who was fond of talking, felt emboldened to make another attempt at conversation, unpromising as such an attempt might seem.
“It looks a little like rain, doesn’t it? Do you think it will rain, Mrs. Marsh?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Marsh absently. “I wonder what is keeping Ada? Just run and ask her how soon she will be ready, Gretel, before I pour her coffee.”
Gretel promptly departed, returning in a few moments with the announcement that Ada was only just awake, and would like her breakfast in bed.
“Then you had better take it right in to her before it gets cold,” Ada’s mother advised, and leaving her own breakfast to cool, Gretel proceeded to prepare a tempting little tray to be carried to Miss Marsh’s bedside.
But tempting as the meal looked, it did not satisfy the fastidious Ada. The toast was too hard, and the coffee had to be sent back for more cream. Couldn’t Gretel make her a few hot slices of toast, and boil a fresh egg, “not more than three minutes?” Of course Gretel could and did, and by the time Ada was comfortably settled with her tray, Mrs. Marsh had finished her breakfast, and Gretel’s oatmeal was quite cold. She was taking the plate to the kitchen, to warm it, when Mrs. Marsh encountered her, and asked rather sharply: “Where are you going now?”
“I’m going to warm my porridge,” Gretel explained.
Mrs. Marsh frowned.
“Nonsense,” she said sharply; “little girls shouldn’t be so fussy about their food. Sit downand eat your breakfast at once; you’ve dawdled over it quite long enough already.”
“I wasn’t dawdling,” began Gretel; “I was boiling an egg for Ada.” But Mrs. Marsh was already half out of the room, and did not hear, so, with a sigh of resignation, Gretel sat down to her cold breakfast.
Mrs. Marsh went out to a meeting that morning, but Ada said she had taken cold the night before, and declared her intention of staying in bed till luncheon time.
“If I got up I know I should be worse,” she told Gretel, “and then I might have to stay at home this evening.”
“You’d better be very careful,” said Gretel in a tone of sudden apprehension. “You wouldn’t like to have to stay at home this evening, would you?”
“I should hate it,” Ada declared emphatically. “The Scotts always give such delicious dinners, and Ethel Scott has promised to put me next a most delightful man.”
Gretel was conscious of a sensation of relief.
“Would you like some hot lemonade?” she inquired eagerly. “Mrs. Lipheim once gave me some hot lemonade when I had a cold, and it was very nice.”
Ada said she did not care for lemonade, but added that if Gretel really wanted to make herself useful, she might sew some buttons on her boots.
So, in spite of the fact that there were no lessons to prepare, Gretel spent a busy morning, for after the buttons were sewed on, Ada suggested that the child might arrange her bureau drawers, which were “in an awful jumble,” and that task took so long, that by the time it was finished Mrs. Marsh had returned from her meeting and it was nearly one o’clock.
It had begun to rain soon after breakfast, and by noon had settled into a steady downpour. Mrs. Marsh came in wet and cross, and bewailing the fact that she would be obliged to go out again in the afternoon.
“I shouldn’t think of going under ordinary circumstances,” she declared, “but I really feel it is my duty to go to Mrs. Williams’ tea. I dare say ever so many people will stay away in this storm, but that isn’t my way of doing things. People always appreciate the friends who take the trouble to come to their teas in bad weather.”
Gretel was a little afraid lest the storm should prevent Lillie and Peter from coming that evening, but Dora reassured her on that subject.
“They’ll come if it rains cats and dogs,” she maintained. “They wouldn’t miss the chance of playing and singing for the world. And you won’t wonder when you hear Lillie,” she added, with sisterly pride. “I declare, when she sings ‘Break the News to Mother,’ or ‘Just Before the Battle,’ it just brings the tears into my eyes.”
“I don’t think I ever heard either of those songs,” said Gretel. “Are they very beautiful?” To which Dora’s only reply was a confident, “Just wait till you hear them.”
Gretel was in her room reading “Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs” for about the fiftieth time, when Ada’s voice once more summoned her hand-maiden to her side. She had risen in time for luncheon, and was now lying on the parlor sofa reading a novel, and she greeted Gretel with the smile that always meant she intended asking a particular favor.
“Gretel dear,” she began sweetly, “would you like to do something just awfully nice for me?”
Gretel looked pleased. When Ada spoke in that tone she almost loved her.
“I’ll do anything you want me to,” she said, promptly.
Ada glanced rather uneasily out of the window, at the fast falling rain.
“Well,” she said, “you see, I’ve finished my book, and I haven’t an earthly thing to do this whole afternoon. If it were not for my cold I would just run round to the library for another book, but with this sore throat I really don’t quite dare. So I was wondering if you would mind going for me. It’s only four blocks, you know, and it wouldn’t take you any time.”
“I haven’t any waterproof, but I don’t believe the rain will hurt my dress,” said Gretel, with a dubious glance at the old black skirt, which certainly did not look as though rain or anything else could do it much injury.
Ada smiled sweetly.
“You are a dear obliging little girl,” she said. “You can wear my waterproof, and if you bring me back a nice interesting book I’ll—I’ll give you a present.”
“How perfectly lovely!” cried Gretel, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be right back.” And she darted away to look for her rubbers and umbrella.
When she returned some three minutes later, she found Ada hastily scribbling the titles of some books on a piece of paper.
“Just ask for one of these,” she directed, handing the paper to Gretel. “Any one they happento have in will do. Now run along like a good child, and hurry back as fast as you can.”
Gretel gave a cheerful nod, slipped the paper in her pocket, and departed, quite forgetting the fact that Miss Marsh had not repeated her offer of lending her a raincoat. In less than twenty minutes she was back again, dripping but triumphant.
“The very first book I asked for was in,” she announced. “Wasn’t it lucky? I’m afraid the cover is rather wet, it’s raining so very hard, but I kept it as dry as I could.”
Ada looked very much pleased.
“You really ought to have taken my raincoat,” she remarked, regretfully; “you look like a drowned rat. Go and dry yourself by the kitchen fire, and you needn’t mention to Mamma that you have been out.”
Ada had already opened her novel, but Gretel still lingered.
“Is it a nice interesting book?” she inquired rather timidly.
Ada laughed good-naturedly.
“You sharp little thing,” she said; “you are not going to let me out of my bargain, are you? I’ve got your present right here; guess what it is?”
“I can’t guess,” said Gretel, her eyes beginning to sparkle once more. “I haven’t had a present since Father died, except the dress you and Mrs. Marsh gave me for Christmas. Is it something to wear?”
“No, it isn’t,” laughed Ada; “it’s something to spend.” And she held out to the astonished Gretel a bright ten-cent piece.
If Gretel was disappointed she managed to conceal the fact quite satisfactorily, and having thanked Miss Marsh for her unusual generosity, she sped away to the kitchen, where she burst in upon Dora, who was peeling potatoes for dinner.
“Dora,” began the little girl eagerly, “I’ve got something very important to consult you about.”
“Well, you’d better get that wet skirt off before you do anything else,” objected Dora. “How that fat, lazy thing could send you out in this storm without a waterproof beats me.”
“Oh, she was very kind,” protested Gretel. “She thanked me so nicely, and she gave me ten cents for a present. That’s what I want to consult you about. You see whenever Father had company he always gave them something to eat. Sometimes he couldn’t afford to have much, buthe said if it was only a cup of coffee it was better than nothing, for it showed you wanted to be hospitable. I can’t buy much with only ten cents, but I should like to have some little thing to offer Lillie and Peter this evening, and I thought perhaps you could tell me something they would like that wouldn’t cost more than that.”
“Well, now, that’s real kind of you, I’m sure,” declared Dora. “Not that the kids would expect anything. They’re both crazy for ice-cream, but you couldn’t get enough for two for ten cents. I’ll tell you what you might get, though. Lillie just adores cream-puffs and she doesn’t get them often, they’re so expensive; five cents apiece. You could just get one for each of them for ten cents.”
Gretel looked much relieved.
“That will be just the thing,” she said; “I hope Peter likes cream-puffs too.”
Dora said she was sure he did, and with a promise to “hurry right back,” Gretel once more fared forth into the storm; this time to call at the baker’s shop on the next corner.
Gretel’s heart was beating high with anticipation as she assisted Ada with her toilet that evening. Her only cause for anxiety had been removednow that two fat cream-puffs had been deposited in Dora’s charge, and she was all eagerness to welcome the expected guests. Mrs. Marsh and her daughter did not leave for their dinner party until nearly eight, but Gretel had had an early tea in the kitchen.
“I hope you got thoroughly dry after your wetting this afternoon,” Ada remarked, with belated anxiety, as she drew on her gloves.
“Oh, yes,” said Gretel, cheerfully; “Dora made me sit by the kitchen fire till my skirt was quite dry. There was a hole in one of my rubbers, and a good deal of water got inside, but it didn’t do me any harm.”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Ada, absently. “I think I have an extra pair I can lend you the next time you go out in the rain. I suppose you will amuse yourself drumming on the piano this evening as usual.”
Gretel smiled, but did not answer, and just then Dora announced that the cab Mrs. Marsh had ordered was at the door, and the two ladies hurried away to their dinner party.
“Remember, Gretel, you are not to sit up late again to-night,” were Mrs. Marsh’s parting words. “Little girls must go early to bed if they want to grow up well and strong.” Sheglanced rather anxiously at Gretel’s pale thin little face as she spoke. It had begun to dawn upon her of late that the child was not looking particularly strong.
Gretel promised that she would not sit up late, adding innocently that she did not suppose Ada would need any chocolate, as she was going to a dinner party, at which remark Mrs. Marsh frowned and looked annoyed.
As soon as the closing of the elevator door assured Gretel that Mrs. Marsh and her daughter were really gone, she flew off to the kitchen.
“Have they come?” she demanded breathlessly. “Ada took so long dressing I was dreadfully afraid they might get here before she was ready.”
“No, they haven’t come yet,” said Dora, glancing up from theEvening Worldwhich she had borrowed from the elevator-boy, “but they’ll be here soon now. I told them not to come before eight.”
“You are sure they got your postal, aren’t you?” inquired Gretel, anxiously.
“Oh, they got that all right,” responded Dora, with so much conviction that Gretel felt very much relieved.
“I think,” she said, gravely, “that the bestway will be to have the music first and the refreshments afterwards. That’s the way Father always did. He said people never liked to play or sing right after eating.”
“Oh, you needn’t bother about that,” said Dora. “Lillie’d sing just as good on a full stomach as on an empty one. She’s an awful eater, anyway, and so’s Peter. I never saw two kids that can stuff the way those two can. But, look here, hadn’t you better keep one of those cream-puffs for yourself? You didn’t have very much in the way of supper.”
Gretel shook her head resolutely.
“I wouldn’t eat one for the world,” she protested. “Mrs. Marsh says it isn’t good for people to eat too much, and Father and I were often rather hungry the day after he had had company to supper. We never minded, though, and Father said he would so much rather be hungry than not be hospitable. Oh, there’s the bell! It must be Lillie and Peter.”
It was Lillie and Peter. Dora went to open the door, and when she returned she was accompanied by two guests; a girl of thirteen, in a green plaid dress, and wearing two long pigtails hanging down her back, and a boy of eleven, with very red hair, and so many freckles, thatGretel regarded him with a kind of fascinated horror. She was sure he was the very plainest boy she had ever seen in her life.
“Here they are,” announced Dora, proudly, as she ushered in the visitors; “this is my sister Miss Lillie Grubb, and this is my brother Peter Grubb. Miss Gretel Schiller.”
Both the visitors looked rather embarrassed, and Peter’s freckled face grew very red indeed, but Gretel, with native politeness, came forward and held out her hand.
“I’m so glad you could both come,” she said in her sweet, cordial little voice; “it was very good of you. You can’t think how anxious I am to hear you play and sing. I haven’t heard any music in such a long time.”
“I’m sure we were very pleased to accept your invitation,” returned Lillie, in her most grown-up manner, and she shook Gretel’s hand very much as though it had been a pump-handle. Peter said nothing, but stuck both hands into his pockets, and grew redder than ever.
“Dora says you sing beautifully,” Gretel went on, “and your brother plays. My father was a great pianist; perhaps you have heard of him; his name was Hermann Schiller.”
“N—no, I don’t think so,” Lillie admitted,reluctantly. “I’ve heard of Dan W. Quinn and George J. Gaskin, but they were both singers. Did your father play for the phonograph company?”
“Oh, no, Father didn’t care much for phonographs; he played in concerts and wrote beautiful music. Perhaps your brother plays some of his things.”
Lillie looked very much surprised.
“I thought everybody loved phonographs,” she said; “we have one that Father bought second-hand, and we keep it going all the time we’re in the house. We’ve got some dandy records. Peter makes up most of his own pieces; you see, he’s never had a lesson in his life. Where’s your piano?”
“In the parlor,” said Gretel. “Take off your things, and we’ll go right in. I’m so anxious to have the music begin.”
She turned to Peter with a friendly smile, but that young man was absorbed in removing his rubbers, and did not respond. Lillie, however, appeared to be quite equal to the occasion, for she remarked politely:
“You must play for us, too; Dora says you play the piano something grand.”
“Oh, no, I don’t,” protested Gretel, blushing.“I used to play much better than I do now; I’m afraid I’ve forgotten a great deal. I shall be glad to play for you, though, if you would really like to have me.” And then, as the visitors had finished removing their out-door garments, she led the way to the parlor.
The first object to attract Peter’s attention was the candy box on the parlor table, and he opened his lips for the first time, and remarked in a rather high-pitched voice:
“Gee! you’ve got something good in that box, I bet.”
Gretel was very much embarrassed.
“I’m afraid we can’t have any of it,” she explained. “I’m very sorry, but you see, it doesn’t belong to me. A gentleman sent it to Miss Marsh, and I don’t believe she would like to have us touch it. We’re going to have some—some refreshments by and by.”
Peter—who had already lifted the lid from the candy box—looked rather crestfallen, but Lillie again came to the front.
“Never mind him,” she remarked, airily; “Peter’s an awful greedy boy.”
“Shut up,” retorted her brother. “I ain’t one bit greedier than you are.”
Lillie flushed indignantly, but before she couldreply, Dora—who had lingered behind to hang the children’s wet raincoats up to dry—appeared upon the scene, and hastened to interpose.
“Now stop fighting this minute, the two of you,” she commanded. “You didn’t come here to fight. Sit right down at that piano, Lillie, and show Miss Gretel how you can sing.”
Thus admonished, Lillie took her place on the piano stool, and the other three seated themselves in a solemn row on the sofa.
“What shall I begin with?” inquired Lillie. “I know such a lot of songs; I never have any idea what to sing first.”
“Sing ‘Poppa, Tell Me Where is Momma,’” suggested Dora. “That’s a beautiful song, and so touching; I know Miss Gretel will love it.”
Peter muttered something about “that stuff being no good,” but nobody paid any attention to him, and after striking a few preliminary chords Lillie began to sing:
“‘Poppa, tell me where is Momma?’Said a little child one day;‘Tell me why I cannot see her—Tell me why she went away.’”
“‘Poppa, tell me where is Momma?’Said a little child one day;‘Tell me why I cannot see her—Tell me why she went away.’”
“‘Poppa, tell me where is Momma?’
Said a little child one day;
‘Tell me why I cannot see her—
Tell me why she went away.’”
Gretel gave one little horrified gasp, and clasped her hands tightly. For the first moment she was so disappointed that she could scarcelykeep back her rising tears. Was this the music to which she had been looking forward so eagerly all day? By a great effort she controlled the sudden desire to put her fingers in her ears, to shut out those dreadful, unharmonious sounds, but politeness soon overcame other feelings, and by the time Lillie had finished her song and turned from the piano for the expected applause, she was able to give a faint smile, and murmur something about “it’s being very pretty.”
“Now sing ‘Hello, Central. Give Me Heaven!’” commanded Dora, who was looking both proud and triumphant, and without a second’s hesitation, Lillie plunged into another sentimental ballad, if possible even more mournful than “Poppa, Tell Me Where is Momma!”
The hour that followed was one of the most uncomfortable Gretel had ever spent. It seemed as if Lillie’s stock of songs was endless. The moment one came to an end her proud sister requested another, and the more she sang the more she appeared to be enjoying herself. Peter looked very much bored, but dared not express his feelings in Dora’s presence, and was forced to content himself with chewing a large piece of gum, which he had produced from his pocketand occasionally giving vent to his emotions by kicking the legs of the sofa viciously. Gretel was just beginning to wonder whether Lillie intended to go on for the rest of the evening, when a diversion was caused by a ring at the door-bell, which caused a momentary excitement.
“I’ll go and see who it is,” said Dora. “Just keep still till I come back, Lillie. If it’s callers they mustn’t hear anything. They might tell Mrs. Marsh.”
Dora hurried away, and profound silence reigned in the parlor during her absence. Peter stuck his tongue out at Lillie, by way of giving vent to his long pent-up rage, but she was so much absorbed in trying to recall the third verse of “Just as the Sun Went Down,” to notice him. In a few moments Dora returned.
“It’s all right,” she announced cheerfully; “it was only a girl I know, who lives down on the second floor. She wants me to go to her room for a minute to fit a waist on her. I won’t be long, and mind you behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
“Of course we’ll behave,” protested Lillie, indignantly; “what do you think we are, anyway?”
“Oh, you’re all right, I guess, but I’m not so sure about Peter. You’ll be a good boy, won’t you, Peter?”
“Yep,” promised Peter, and Dora departed, after repeating the assurance that she would not be long.
No sooner had the outer door of the apartment closed behind Dora than her younger brother was on his feet. A look of daring and defiance had suddenly replaced the rather vacant expression of his countenance. In two rapid strides he reached the piano, and seized his sister firmly, but not gently, by one of her long braids.
“Come off of there,” he commanded in a tone of authority. “Quit your squalling, and give somebody else a chance to show off.”
“Leave me alone, Peter,” urged Lillie, coaxingly; “I haven’t finished yet. I’ve just remembered the third verse.”
“No, you don’t,” returned Peter, with decision. “You’ve sung seventeen songs already; now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, do let Peter play for us,” put in Gretel, eagerly. “Dora says he plays so well, and I do love the piano so much.”
Lillie looked as if she would have liked to refuse, but she had been warned by her mother to“remember her manners,” and, moreover the grip on her braid assured her that Peter meant business, so, with a sigh of resignation, she vacated her seat on the piano stool, remarking as she did so:
“Oh, all right, of course, if you want to hear him, but he really can’t play worth a cent.”
“Can’t I, though?” shouted Peter defiantly. “Who says I can’t? Ain’t Father trying to get me into vaudeville to do my stunts? Just listen, and I’ll show you the noise it makes when a drunken man falls down-stairs.”
Gretel’s eyes were round with astonishment, but Lillie only shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and walking over to the other side of the room, proceeded to make herself acquainted with the contents of Mrs. Marsh’s workbasket. Peter seated himself on the piano stool, struck a few thundering chords and began what was considered by his family and friends his “very best stunt.”
What followed was so awful that Gretel could never think of it afterwards without a shudder. She bore it in silence for fully five minutes, while Peter endeavored to represent the different sounds supposed to be made by the unfortunate drunken man in his efforts to escape from a saloon, untilthe final catastrophe, when, having reached the top of a flight of stairs, he, in Peter’s own words, “took a header,” and plunged headlong from top to bottom. This Peter represented by a rapidly running scale from one end of the piano to the other, ending with a terrific crash, which brought Gretel to her feet with a cry of horror.
“Stop, oh, please, please stop,” she implored, seizing Peter’s uplifted arm just as it was about to descend upon the keys with another deafening crash; “it’s—it’s so dreadful!”
Peter’s arm dropped to his side, and he regarded his little hostess in amazement.
“You—you don’t like it?” he stammered incredulously.
“No, oh, no,” gasped Gretel. “Please don’t do it again; I’m afraid you’ll break the piano.”
Peter was offended. Never before had his “very best stunt” been received in such a manner.
“I won’t play any more,” he said, sulkily. “I don’t know what you want, anyway.”
“I told her she wouldn’t like it,” scoffed Lillie. “She likes real music, the same as I do. You’d better let me finish ‘Just as the Sun Went Down.’”
But Peter had no intention of yielding the point so easily.
“You’ve sung enough,” he maintained doggedly. “It’s her turn to play now; let’s see what she can do.”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t care about my music,” said Gretel, blushing. “Don’t you think perhaps it would be a good idea to have the refreshments now?”
“All right,” said Peter, his face brightening.
Lillie said nothing, but cast more than one regretful glance in the direction of the piano as Gretel led the way to the dining-room.
“Now, will you please sit here while I get things ready?” said Gretel, drawing up two chairs to the dining table. She was feeling decidedly relieved at having gotten her visitors safely away from the piano.
“What have you got?” demanded Peter, the last vestige of whose shyness had melted away the moment his sister Dora left the room.
“Something very nice,” said Gretel, smiling; “at least I hope you’ll think them nice. Dora said Lillie was very fond of them.”
Both visitors looked interested. Lillie seated herself at the table, and folded her hands primly in her lap. But Peter was not so easily satisfied.
“Let’s go and see what it is,” he proposed to his sister, as Gretel left the room.
“Of course not,” said Lillie, indignantly. “Ain’t we company? Company never goes into the kitchen in places like this.”
“Bosh!” retorted Peter. “She ain’t nothing but a kid, like us. I’m going, anyway.”
And, deaf to his sister’s expostulations, he followed Gretel into the kitchen.
Having secured the precious cream-puffs from the ice chest, and placed them on a plate covered with a napkin, Gretel was in the act of procuring another plate and a couple of forks, when, startled by a slight sound behind her, she turned to find Peter once more at her elbow.
“I say!” exclaimed that youth in a tone of rapture, “it’s cream-puffs, the best ever; but ain’t there more than two?”
“No,” said Gretel, regretfully, “I—I couldn’t manage to get but two, but I thought it would be all right. They’re quite large, and you can each have one. I don’t care about any myself.”
Peter regarded the two fat cream-puffs with longing eyes.
“That pig, Lill, would grab ’em both if she got her hands on ’em,” he remarked reflectively. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do; we’ll eat ’em up here, and she won’t know. She’s got such grand manners she won’t come into the kitchen.”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be at all nice,” protested Gretel, half laughing in spite of her horror at Peter’s suggestion. “You can each have one; I truly don’t want any myself.”
But the demon of mischief had entered into Peter Grubb. Before Gretel had the least idea of his intention, he had sprung forward, snatched both cream-puffs from the plate, and was brandishing one in each hand.
“Catch me if you can,” he shouted, and the next moment he had darted out of the kitchen, and was running at full speed down the long entry.
Attracted by the sound of triumph in her brother’s voice, Lillie forgot manners and everything else, sprang from her seat, and rushed out into the hall.
“What’s he up to?” she demanded breathlessly.
“He’s taken the cream-puffs and run off with them,” explained Gretel, almost in tears at such an exhibition of rudeness as she had never before known. She was still carrying the empty plate, in the vain hope of reclaiming “the refreshments.”
“Cream-puffs!” shrieked Lillie; “my fa-vo-rites!” And she rushed off in pursuit of Peter, who had taken refuge in Mrs. Marsh’s bedroom,and was already cramming a cream-puff into his mouth, with lightning speed.
Then followed a scene the like of which had never before taken place in Mrs. Marsh’s well-ordered apartment. In the scrimmage rugs were rolled up, chairs overturned, and portières and curtains roughly torn aside. Lillie’s temper was up, and she fought for her rights like a true little street Arab she was. She was two years older than her brother, and considerably stronger, but Peter was as agile as a monkey, and moreover, he had the advantage of having been the first to secure the prey. In the first moment of the fight Gretel had made a futile effort to separate the combatants, but it was quite useless and she could do nothing but stand idly by, wringing her hands in helpless despair.
“You’ll hurt each other; oh, you will, I’m sure!” she wailed, as Lillie, having at last captured her brother, fell upon him, and began pommeling him furiously, while children and cream-puffs rolled over and over on the floor in a confused heap.
“Catch me if you can!”—Page59.
“Catch me if you can!”—Page59.
“Catch me if you can!”—Page59.
There was so much noise that nobody heard the opening of the outer door, and it was only when Dora, with a howl of rage, swept downupon the combatants, that her younger sister and brother were even aware of her presence.
“You two little limbs of Satan!” cried the irate elder sister; “is this the way you behave when I leave you alone for ten minutes? Get up off that floor this instant. Mercy sakes alive, what a mess! How in the world am I ever to get it cleaned up before Mrs. Marsh comes home?”
How indeed? For even as Dora spoke a key was being turned in the front door, and in another moment it had opened and closed again. Gretel, being nearest the door, was the first to note the danger, and with a desperate effort to save the situation, she sprang forward to meet Mrs. Marsh and her daughter.
“We—we didn’t expect you home so early,” she faltered. “I hope you won’t mind very much, but—”
“I had a bad headache and excused myself as soon as we left the dinner-table,” interrupted Mrs. Marsh. “How is it that you are not in bed? I thought I told you to go to bed early.”
“I’m very sorry,” began Gretel, but got no further, for at that moment Mrs. Marsh caught sight of something else—something so astoundingas to drive every other thought from her mind.
“What does this mean? Who are these people?” she demanded in a voice of such awful sternness that even Peter quailed. He and Lillie had scrambled to their feet, their faces and garments thickly plastered with the contents of the luckless cream-puffs.
“Oh, Mrs. Marsh, please don’t be angry,” pleaded the trembling Gretel. “They’re only Lillie and Peter, Dora’s sister and brother, and they came to play and sing for me. I bought some cream-puffs for refreshments, and—”
“That’s enough. I have heard all that is necessary. Dora, send those children home at once, and then come back here and clear up this disgusting mess. You know my rules about visitors, but I will say no more to you until the morning. Go to your room at once, Gretel, and don’t let me hear another word from you to-night.”
“But, Mrs. Marsh, please don’t blame Dora; it was all my fault. She only asked them to come for my sake, because I said I was so fond of music.” Gretel clasped her hands imploringly, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks, but Mrs. Marsh was obdurate.
“Not another word,” she commanded, waving her hand majestically in the direction of Gretel’s room. “My head is aching frightfully, and I must go to bed at once, but in the morning I shall have more to say on this subject. As for Dora, she knows my rules, and what she has to expect. I believe her month will be up the end of this week.”