>CHAPTER 11An Embarrassing VisitorUp to the time of the unpleasantness with Laura, the girls had unlocked the cottage in the morning and had left it unlocked until they were ready to go home at night, for the girls spent all their waking hours at Dandelion Cottage. Bettie, indeed, had the care of the youngest two Tucker babies, but they were good little creatures and when the girls played with their dolls they were glad to include the two placid babies, just as if they too were dolls. The littlest baby, in particular,made a remarkably comfortable plaything, for it was all one to him whether he slept in Jean's biggest doll's cradle, or in the middle of the dining-room table, as long as he was permitted to sleep sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. When he wasn't asleep, he sucked his thumb contentedly, crowed happily on one of the cottage beds, or rolled cheerfully about on the cottage floor. The older baby, too, obligingly stayed wherever the girls happened to put him. After this experience with the Tucker infants, the Milligan baby had proved a great disappointment to the girls, for they had hoped to use him, too, as an animated doll; but he had refused steadfastly to make friends even with Bettie, whose way with babies was something beautiful to see.The girls were all required to do their own mending, but they found it no hardship to do their darning on their own doorstep on sunny days, or around the dining-room table if the north wind happened to be blowing, for they always had so many interesting things to talk about.During the daytime, the cottage was never left entirely alone. It was occupied even at mealtimes because the four families dined and supped at different hours; for instance, Marjory's Aunty Jane always liked her tea at half-past five, but Jean's people did not dine until seven. Owing to the impossibility of capturingall the boys at one time, supper at the Tucker house was a movable feast, so Bettie usually ate whenever she found it most convenient. As for Mabel, it is doubtful if she knew the exact hours for meals at the Bennett house because she was invariably late. After the handkerchief episode, the girls planned that one or another of them should always be in the cottage from the time that it was opened in the morning until it was again locked for the night. The morning after the later quarrel, however, the girls met by previous arrangement on Mabel's doorstep, went in a body to the cottage, and, after they were all inside, carefully locked the door."We'll be on the safe side, anyway," said Jean. "Though I shouldn't think that Laura would ever want to come near the place again.""Oh, she'll come fast enough," said Mabel. "She's cheeky enough for anything. Do you s'pose she told her mother about it? She said she was going to.""Pshaw!" said Marjory. "She was always threatening to tell her mother, but nothing ever came of it. If she'd told her mother half the things shesaidshe was going to, she wouldn't have had time to eat or sleep."It was hopeless, the girls had decided, to attempt to mend the ruined photograph, so, at Bettie's suggestion, they had sorrowfully cut it into four pieces of equal size, which they divided between them. Theyhad just laid the precious fragments tenderly away in their treasure boxes when the doorbell rang with such a loud, prolonged, jangling peal that everybody jumped."Laura!" exclaimed the four girls."No," said Jean, cautiously drawing back the curtain of the front window and peeping out. "It's Mrs. Milligan!""Goodness!" whispered Marjory, "there's no knowing what Laura told her—she neverdidtell anything straight.""Let's keep still," said Mabel. "Perhaps she'll think there's nobody home.""No hope of that," said Jean. "She saw us come in. But, pshaw! she can't hurt us anyway.""No," said Marjory. "What's the use of being afraid?Wedidn't do anything to be ashamed of. Aunty Jane says we should have turned Laura out the day she took the handkerchiefs.""I'm not exactly afraid," said Bettie, "but I don't like Mrs. Milligan. Still, we'll have to let her in, I suppose."A second vigorous peal at the bell warned them that their visitor was getting impatient."You're the biggest and the most dignified," said Marjory, giving Jean a shove. "Yougo.""Don't ask her in if you can help it," warned Bettie,in a pleading whisper. "The doorbell sounds as if she didn't like us very well."But the visitor did not wait to be asked to come in. The moment Jean turned the key the door was flung open and Mrs. Milligan brushed past the astonished quartet and sailed into the parlor, where she seated herself bolt upright on the cozy corner."I'd like to know," demanded Mrs. Milligan, in a hard, cold tone that fell unpleasantly on the cottagers' ears, "if you consider it ladylike for four great overgrown girls to pitch into one poor innocent little child and a helpless baby? Your conduct yesterday was simplyoutrageous. You might have injured those children for life, or even broken the baby's back.""Broken the baby's back!" gasped Bettie, in honest amazement. "Why, I simply lifted him with my two hands and set him just outside the door. I never was rough withanybaby in all my life!""I happen to know, on excellent authority," said Mrs. Milligan, "that you slapped both of those helpless children and threw them down the front steps. Laura was so excited about it that she couldn't sleep, and the poor baby cried half the night—we fear that he's injured internally.""Nobodyhereinjured him," said Mabel. "He always cries all the time, anyhow.""Wedidput them out and for a very good reason,"said Jean, speaking as respectfully as she could, "but we certainly didn't hurt either of them. I'm sorry if the baby isn't well, but I know it isn't our fault.""Laura walked down the steps," said Bettie, "and the baby turned over and slid down on his stomach the way he always does.""I should think that aminister'sdaughter," said Mrs. Milligan, with a withering glance at poor shrinking Bettie, "would scorn to tell such lies."Bettie, who had never before been accused of untruthfulness, looked the picture of conscious guilt; a tide of crimson flooded her cheeks and she fingered the buttons on her blouse nervously. She was too dumbfounded to speak a word in her own defense. Mabel, however, was only too ready."Bettie never told a lie in her life," cried the indignant little girl. "It was your own Laura that told stories if anybody did—and I guess somebody did, all right. Lauranevertells the truth; she doesn't know how to.""I have implicit confidence in Laura," returned Mrs. Milligan, frowning at Mabel. "I believe every word she says.""Well," retorted dauntless Mabel, "that's more than the rest of us do. We kept count one day and she told seventy-two fibs that weknowof.""Oh, Mabel, do hush," pleaded scandalized Bettie."Hush nothing," said Mabel, not to be deterred. "I'm only telling the truth. Laura took our handkerchiefs and then fibbed about it, and we've missed a dozen things since that she probably carried off and—""Mabel, Mabel!" warned Jean, pressing her hand over Mabel's too reckless lips. "Don't you know that we decided not to say a word about those other things? They didn't amount to anything, and we'd rather have peace than to make a fuss about them.""I can see very plainly," said Mrs. Milligan, with cold disapproval, "that you're not at all the proper sort of children for my little Laura to play with. I forbid you to speak to her again; I don't care to have her associate with you. I can believe all she says about you, for I've never been treated so rudely in my life.""Apologize, Mabel," whispered Jean, whose arm was still about the younger girl's neck."If I was rude," said candid Mabel, "I beg your pardon. I didn'tmeanto be impolite, but every word I said about Laura was true.""I shall not accept your apology," said Mrs. Milligan, rising to depart, "until you've sent a written apology to Laura and have retracted everything you've said about her, besides.""It'll never be accepted then," said quick-tempered Mabel, "for we haven't done anything to apologize for.""No, Mrs. Milligan," said Jean, in her even, pleasant voice. "No apology to Laura can ever come from us. We stood her just as long as we could, and then we turned her out just as kindly as anyone could have done it. I told Mother all about it last night and she agreed that there wasn't anything else wecouldhave done.""So did Mamma," said Bettie."So did Aunty Jane.""Well," said Mrs. Milligan, pausing on the porch, "I'd thank you young gossips to keep your tongues and your hands off my children in the future."Jean closed the door and the four girls looked at one another in silence. None of their own relatives were at all like Mrs. Milligan and they didn't know just what to make of their unpleasant experience. At last, Marjory gave a long sigh."Well," said she, "I came awfully near telling her when she forbade our playing with Laura that my Aunty Jane has forbiddenmeto even speak to her poor abused Laura.""As for me," said Mabel, with lofty scorn, "I don'tneedto be forbidden.""Come, girls," said Jean, "I'm sorry it had to happen, but I'm glad the matter's ended. Let's not talk about it any more. Let's have one of our owngood old happy days—the kind we had before Laura came.""I'll tell you what we'll do," said Bettie. "We'll each write out a bill of fare for Mr. Black's dinner party, and we'll see how many different things we can think of. In that way, we'll be sure not to forget anything.""But the Milligans," breathed Marjory, promptly seeing through Bettie's tactful scheme.The Milligan matter, however, was not by any means ended. It was true that the girls paid no further attention to Laura, but this did not deter that rather vindictive young person from annoying the little cottagers in every way that she possibly could, although she was afraid to work openly.As Laura knew, the girls took great pride in their little garden. Bettie's good-natured big brother Rob had offered to take care of their tiny lawn, and he kept it smooth and even. The round pansy bed daily yielded handfuls of great purple, white, or golden blossoms; the thrifty nasturtiums were beginning to bloom with creditable freedom; and many of the different, prettily foliaged little plants in the long bed near the Milligans' fence were opening their first curious, many-colored flowers.Some of the vegetables were positively getting radishes and carrots on their roots, as Bettie put it. Thepride of the vegetable garden, however, was a huge, rampant vine that threatened to take possession of the entire yard. There was just the one plant; no one knew where the seed came from or how it had managed to get itself planted, but there it was, close beside the back fence. For want of a better name, the girls called it "The Accident," and they expected wonderful things from it when the great yellow trumpet-shaped flowers should give place to fruit, although they didn't know in the least what kind of crop to look for. But this made it all the more delightful."Perhaps it'll be pumpkins," said Jean. "I guess I'd better hunt up a recipe for pumpkin pie, so's to be ready when the time comes.""Or those funny, pale green squashes that are scalloped all around the edge like a dish," said Marjory."Or cucumbers," said Bettie. "I took Mrs. Crane a leaf, one day, and she said itmightbe cucumbers.""Or watermelons," said Mabel. "Um-m! wouldn't it be grand if it should happen to be watermelons?""What I'm wondering is," said Jean, "whether there's any danger of the vine's going around the house and taking possession of the front yard, too. I could almost believe that this was a seedling of Jack's beanstalk except that it runs on the ground instead of up.""If it tries to go around the corner," laughed Bettie,"we'll train it up the back of the house. Wouldn't it be fun to have pumpkins, or squashes, or cucumbers, or melons, or maybe all of them at once, growing on our roof?"The day after Mrs. Milligan's visit, Laura, who was not invited to the party, and who found time heavy on her hands, watched the girls, after stopping for Marjory, set out in their pretty summer dresses to spend the afternoon at a young friend's house. Laura gazed after them enviously. There was no reason why she should have been invited, for she had never met the little girl who was giving the party, but she didn't think of that. Instead, she foolishly laid the unintentional slight at the little cottagers' door.Mrs. Milligan was sewing on the doorstep and had given Laura a dish-towel to hem. Saying something about hunting for a thimble, Laura went to the kitchen, took the bread-knife from the table drawer, stole quietly out of the back door, and slipped between the bars of the back fence. Reaching the splendid vine that the girls loved so dearly, she parted the huge, rough leaves until she found the spot where the vine started from the ground. First looking about cautiously to make certain that no one was in sight, spiteful Laura drew the knife back and forth across the thick stem until, with a sudden, sharp crack, the sturdy vine parted from its root.Two minutes later, Laura, looking the picture of propriety, sat on the Milligans' doorstep hemming her dish-towel.Of course, when the girls made their next daily excursion about their garden they were almost broken-hearted at finding their beloved vine flat on the ground, all withered and dead."Oh," mourned Marjory, "now we'll never knowwhat'The Accident' was going to bear, pumpkins or squashes or—""Yes," said Mabel, who was blinking hard to keep the tears back, "that's the hardest part of it, it was cut off in its p-prime—Oh, dear, I guess I'm g-going to cry.""Whatcouldhave done it?" asked Bettie, who was not far from following Mabel's example. "Has anyone stepped on it?""Perhaps a potato bug ate it off," suggested Jean."A two-legged potato bug, I guess," said Marjory, who had been examining the ground carefully. "See, here are small sharp heel prints close to the root.""Whose handkerchief is this?" asked Mabel, picking up a small tightly crumpled ball and unrolling it gingerly. "There's a name on it but my eyes are so teary I can't make it out.""It looks like Milligan," said Bettie, turning it over, "but we can't tell how long it's been here.""Horrid as she is," said charitable Jean, "it doesn't seem as if even Laura would do such a mean thing. I can't believe it of her.""Ican," said Mabel. "Ifshehad a squash vine, or a pumpkin vine, I'd go straight over and spoil it this minute.""No, no," said Jean, "we mustn't be horrid just because other folks are. We won't pay any attention to her—we'll just be patient."The girls found four small, green, egglike objects growing on the withered vine; they cut them off and these, too, were laid tenderly away in their treasure boxes."When we get old," said Mabel, tearfully, "we'll take 'em out and tell our grandchildren all about 'The Accident.'"But even this prospect did not quite console the girls for the loss of their treasure.For the next few days, Laura remained contented with doing on the sly whatever she could to annoy the girls. One evening, when the girls had gone home for the night and while her mother was away from home, Laura threw a brick at one of the cottage windows, breaking a pane of glass. Reaching in through the hole, she scattered handfuls of sand on the clean floor that the girls had scrubbed that morning.Another night she emptied a basketful of potato parings on their neat front porch and daubed molasses on their doorknob—mean little tricks prompted by a mean little nature.It wasn't much fun, however, to annoy persons who refused to show any sign of being annoyed, and Laura presently changed her tactics. Taking a large bone from the pantry one day, when the girls were sitting on their doorstep, she first showed it to Towser, the Milligan dog, and then threw it over the fence into the very middle of the pansy bed. Of course, the big clumsy dog bounded over the low fence after the bone, crushing many of the delicate pansy plants. After that at regular intervals, Laura threw sticks and other bones into the other beds with very much the same result.The next time Rob cut the grass he noticed the untidy appearance of the beds and asked the reason. The girls explained."I'll shoot that dog if you say so," offered Rob, with honest indignation."No, no," said Bettie, "it isn't thedog'sfault.""No," said Jean, "we're not sure that the dog isn't the least objectionable member of the Milligan family.""How would it do if I licked the boy?" asked Rob."It wouldn't do at all," replied Bettie. "He workssomewhere in the daytime and never even looks in this direction when he's home. He's afraid of girls.""Then I guess you'll have to grin and bear it," said Rob, moving off with the lawn-mower, "since neither of my remedies seems to fit the case.">CHAPTER 12A Lively AfternoonIt happened one day that Mrs. Milligan was obliged to spend a long afternoon at the dentist's, leaving Laura in charge of the house. Unfortunately it happened, too, that this was the day when the sewing society met, and Mrs. Tucker had asked Bettie to stay home for the afternoon because the next-to-the-youngest baby was ill with a croupy cold and could not go out of doors to the cottage. Devoted Jean offeredto stay with her beloved Bettie, who gladly accepted the offer. Before going to Bettie's, however, Jean ran over to Dandelion Cottage to tell the other girls about it."Mabel," asked Jean, a little doubtfully, "are you quite sure you'll be able to turn a deaf ear if Laura should happen to bother you? I'm half afraid to leave you two girls here alone.""You needn't be," said Mabel. "I wouldn't associate with Laura if I were paid for it. She isn't my kind.""No," said Marjory, "you needn't worry a mite. We're going to sit on the doorstep and read a perfectly lovely book that Aunty Jane found at the library—it's one that she liked whenshewas a little girl. We're going to take turns reading it aloud.""Well, that certainly ought to keep you out of mischief. You'll be safe enough if you stick to your book. If anythingshouldhappen, just remember that I'm at Bettie's.""Yes, Grandma," said Marjory, with a comical grimace.Jean laughed, ran around the house, and squeezed through the hole in the back fence.Half an hour later, lonely Laura, discovering the girls on their doorstep, amused herself by sicking the dog at them. Towser, however, merely growled lazily for a few moments and then went to sleep in the sunshine—he,at least, cherished no particular grudge against the girls and probably by that time he recognized them as neighbors.Then Laura perched herself on one of the square posts of the dividing fence and began to sing—in her high, rasping, exasperating voice—a song that was almost too personal to be pleasant. It had taken Laura almost two hours to compose it, some days before, and fully another hour to commit it to memory, but she sang it now in an offhand, haphazard way that led the girls to suppose that she was making it up as she went along. It ran thus:There's a lanky girl named Jean,Who's altogether too lean.Her mouth is too big,And she wears a wig,And her eyes are bright sea-green.Of course it was quite impossible to read even a thrillingly interesting book with rude Laura making such a disturbance. If the girls had been wise, they would have gone into the house and closed the door, leaving Laura without an audience; but they werenotwise and theywerecurious. They couldn't help waiting to hear what Laura was going to sing about the rest of them, and they did not need to wait long; Laura promptly obliged them with the second verse:There's another named Marjory Vale,Who's about the size of a snail.Her teeth are light blue—She hasn't but two—And her hair is much too pale.Laura had, in several instances, sacrificed truth for the sake of rhyme, but enough remained to injure the vanity of the subjects of her song very sharply. Marjory breathed quickly for a moment and flushed pink but gave no audible sign that she had heard. Laura, somewhat disappointed, proceeded:There's a silly young lass called Bet,Thinks she's ev'rybody's sweet pet.She slapped my brother,Fibbed to my mother—I know whatshe'sgoing to get.Mabel snorted indignantly over this injustice to her beloved Bettie and started to rise, but Marjory promptly seized her skirt and dragged her down. Laura, however, saw the movement and was correspondingly elated. It showed in her voice:But the worst of the lot is Mabel,She eats all the pie she's able.She's round as a ball,Has no waist at all,And her manners are bad at the table.Marjory giggled. She had no thought of being disloyal, but this verse was certainly a close fit."You just let me go," muttered Mabel, crimson with resentment and struggling to break away from Marjory's restraining hand. "I'll push her off that post.""Hush!" said diplomatic Marjory, "perhaps there's more to the song."But there wasn't. Laura began at the beginning and sang all the verses again, giving particular emphasis to the ones concerning Mabel and Marjory. This, of course, grew decidedly monotonous; the girls got tired of the constant repetition of the silly song long before Laura did. There was something about the song, too, that caught and held their attention. Irresistibly attracted, held by an exasperating fascination, neither girl could help waiting for her own special verse. But while this was going on, Mabel, with a finger in the ear nearest Laura, was industriously scribbling something on a scrap of paper.As everybody knows, the poetic muse doesn't always work when it is most needed, and Mabel was sadly handicapped at that moment. She was not satisfied with her hasty scrawl but, in the circumstances, it was the best she could do. Suddenly, before Marjory realized what was about to happen, Mabel was shoutingback, to an air quite as objectionable as the one Laura was singing:There's a very rude girl named Laura,Whose ways fill all with horror.She's all the things she saysweare;All know this to their sorrow."Yah! yah!" retorted quick-witted Laura. "There isn't a rhyme in your old song. If I couldn't rhyme better 'n that, I'd learn how. Come over and I'll teach you!"For an instant, Mabel looked decidedly crushed—nopoet likes his rhymes disparaged. Laura, noting Mabel's crestfallen attitude, went into gales of mocking laughter and when Mabel looked at Marjory for sympathy Marjory's face was wreathed in smiles. It was too much; Mabel hated to be laughed at."Icanrhyme," cried Mabel, springing to her feet and giving vent to all her grievances at once. "My table mannersaregood. I'mnotfat. I've got just as much waist asyouhave.""You've got more," shrieked delighted Laura.Faithless Marjory, struck by this indubitable truth, laughed outright."You—you can't make Indian-bead chains," sputtered Mabel, trying hard to find something crushing to say. "You can't make pancakes. You can't drive nails.""Yah," retorted Laura, who was right in her element, "you can't throw straight.""Neither can you.""I can! If I could find anything to throw I'd prove it."Just at this unfortunate moment, a grocery-man arrived at the Milligan house with a basketful of beautiful scarlet tomatoes. In another second, Laura, anxious to prove her ability, had jumped from the fence, seized the basket and, with unerring aim, was delightedly pelting her astonished enemy with the gorgeous fruit. Mabel caught one full in the chest, and as she turned to flee, another landed square in the middle of her light-blue gingham back; Marjory's shoulder stopped a third before the girls retreated to the house, leaving Laura, a picturesque figure on the high post, shouting derisively:"Proved it, didn't I? Ki! I proved it."Marjory, pleading that discretion was the better part of valor, begged Mabel to stay indoors; but Mabel, who had received, and undoubtedly deserved, the worst of the encounter, was for instant revenge. Rushing to the kitchen she seized the pan of hard little green apples that Grandma Pike had bequeathed the girls and flew with them to the porch.Mabel's first shot took Laura by surprise and landed squarely between her shoulders. Mabel was surprised,too, because throwing straight was not one of her accomplishments. She hadn't hoped to do more than frighten her exasperating little neighbor.Elated by this success, Mabel threw her second apple, which, alas, flew wide of its mark and caught poor unprepared Mr. Milligan, who was coming in at his own gate, just under the jaw, striking in such a fashion that it made the astonished man suddenly bite his tongue.Nobody likes to bite his tongue. Naturally Mr. Milligan was indignant; indeed, he had every reason to be, for Mabel's conduct was disgraceful and the little apple was very hard. Entirely overlooking the fact that Laura, who had failed to notice her father's untimely arrival, was still vigorously pelting Mabel, who stood as if petrified on the cottage steps and was making no effort to dodge the flying scarlet fruit, Mr. Milligan shouted:"Look here, you young imps, I'll see that you're turned out of that cottage for this outrage. We've stood just about enough abuse from you. I don't intend to put up with any more of it."Then, suddenly discovering what Laura, who had turned around in dismay at the sound of her father's voice, was doing, angry Mr. Milligan dragged his suddenly crestfallen daughter from the fence, boxed her ears soundly, and carried what was left of the tomatoesinto the house; for that particular basket of fruit had been sent from very far south and express charges had swelled the price of the unseasonable dainty to a very considerable sum.Marjory, in the cottage kitchen, was alternately scolding and laughing at woebegone Mabel when Jean and Bettie, released from their charge, ran back to Dandelion Cottage. Mabel, crying with indignation, sat on the kitchen stove rubbing her eyes with a pair of grimy fists—Mabel's hands always gathered dust."Oh, Mabel! howcouldyou!" groaned Jean, when Marjory had told the afternoon's story. "I'll never dare to leave you here again without some sensible person to look after you. Don't youseeyou've been almost—yes, quite—as bad as Laura?""I don't care," sobbed unrepentant Mabel. "If you'd heard those verses—and—and Marjorylaughedat me.""Couldn't help it," giggled Marjory, who was perched on the corner of the kitchen table."But surely," reproached gentle-mannered Jean, "it wasn't necessary to throw things.""I guess," said Mabel, suddenly sitting up very straight and disclosing a puffy, tear-stained countenance that moved Marjory to fresh giggles, "if you'd felt those icy cold tomatoes go plump in your eye and every place on your very newest dress,you'dhavebeen pretty mad, too. Look at me! I was too surprised to move after I'd hit Mr. Milligan—I never saw him coming at all—and I guess every tomato Laura threw hit me some place.""Yes," confirmed Marjory, "I'll say that much for Laura. She can certainly throw straighter than any girl I ever knew—she throws just like a boy."Jean, still worried and disapproving, could not help laughing, for Laura's plump target showed only too good evidence of Laura's skill. Mabel's new light-blue gingham showed a round scarlet spot where each juicy missile had landed; and besides this, there were wide muddy circles where her tears had left highwater marks about each eye."But, dear me," said Jean, growing sober again, "think how low-down and horrid it will sound when we tell about it at home. Suppose it should get into the papers! Apples and tomatoes! If boys had done it it would have sounded bad enough, but forgirlsto do such a thing! Oh, dear, Idowish I'd been here to stop it!""To stop the tomatoes, you mean," said Mabel. "You couldn't have stopped anything else, for I justhadto do something or burst. I've felt all the week just like something sizzling in a bottle and waiting to have the cork pulled! I'llneverbe able to do mysuffering in silence the way you and Bettie do. Oh, girls, I feel just loads better.""Well, you mayfeelbetter," said irrepressible Marjory, "but you certainly look a lot worse. With those muddy rings on your face you look just like a little owl that isn't very wise.""Oh, dear," mourned Bettie, "if Miss Blossom had only stayed we wouldn't have had all this trouble with those people.""No," said Marjory, shrewdly, "Miss Blossom would probably have made Laura over into a very good imitation of an honest citizen. I don't think, though, that even Miss Blossom could make Laura anything more than an imitation, because—well, because she's Laura. It's different with Mabel—"Mabel looked up expectantly, and Marjory, who was in a teasing mood, continued."Yes," said she, encouragingly, "Miss Blossommighthave succeeded in making a nice, polite girl out of Mabel if she'd only had time—""How much time?" demanded Mabel, with sudden suspicion."Oh, about a thousand years," replied Marjory, skipping prudently behind tall Jean."Never mind, Mabel," said Bettie, who always sided with the oppressed, slipping a thin arm about Mabel'splump shoulders. "We like you pretty well, anyway, and you've certainly had an awful time.""Do you think," asked Mabel, with sudden concern, "that Mr. Milligancouldget us turned out of the cottage? You know he threatened to.""No," said Bettie. "The cottage is church property and no one could do anything about it with Mr. Black away because he's the senior warden. Father said only this morning that there was all sorts of church business waiting for him.""Well," said Mabel, with a sigh of relief, "Mr. Black wouldn't turn us out, so we're perfectly safe. Guess I'll go out on the porch and sing my Milligan song again.""I guess you won't," said Jean. "There's a very good tub in the Bennett house and I'd advise you to go home and take a bath in it—you look as if you neededtwobaths and a shampoo. Besides, it's almost supper time."Laura's version of the story, unfortunately, differed materially from the truth. There was no gainsaying the tomatoes—Mr. Milligan had seen those with his own eyes; but Laura claimed that she had been compelled to use those expensive vegetables as a means of self-defense. According to Laura, whose imagination was as well trained as her arm, she had been the innocent victim of all sorts of persecution at the hands ofthe four girls. They had called her a thief and had insulted not only her but all the other Milligans. Mabel, she declared, had opened hostilities that afternoon by throwing stones, and poor, abused Laura had only used the tomatoes as a last resort. The apple that struck Mr. Milligan was, she maintained, the very last of about four dozen.Had the Milligans not been prejudiced, they might easily have learned how far from the truth this assertion was, for the porch of Dandelion Cottage was still bespattered with tomatoes, whereas in the Milligan yard there were no traces of the recent encounter. This, to be sure, was no particular credit to Mabel for theremighthave been had Mr. Milligan delayed his coming by a very few minutes, since Mabel's pan still contained seven hard little apples and Mabel still longed to use them.The Milligans, however,wereprejudiced. Although Laura was often rude and disagreeable at home, she was the only little girl the Milligans had; in any quarrel with outsiders they naturally sided with their own flesh and blood, and, in spite of the tomatoes, they did so now. In her mother Laura found a staunch champion."I won't have those stuck-up little imps there another week," said Mrs. Milligan. "If you don't see that they're turned out, James, I will.""They stick out their tongues at me every time they see me," fibbed Laura, whose own tongue was the only one that had been used for sticking-out purposes. "They said Ma was no lady, and—""I'm going to complain of them this very night," said Mrs. Milligan, with quick resentment. "I'll show 'em whether I'm a lady or not.""Who'll you complain to?" asked Laura, hopefully."The church warden, of course. These cottages both belong to the church.""Mr. Black is the girls' best friend," said Laura. "He wouldn't believe anything against them—besides, he's away.""Mr. Downing isn't," said Mr. Milligan. "I paid him the rent last week. We'll threaten to leave if he doesn't turn them out. He's a sharp businessman and he wouldn't lose the rent of this house for the sake of letting a lot of children use that cottage. I'll see him tomorrow.""No," said Mrs. Milligan, "just leave the matter to me.I'lltalk to Mr. Downing.""Suit yourself," said Mr. Milligan, glad perhaps to shirk a disagreeable task.After supper that evening, Mrs. Milligan put on her best hat and went to Mr. Downing's house, which was only about three blocks from her own. The evening was warm and she found Mr. and Mrs. Downingseated on their front porch. Mrs. Milligan accepted their invitation to take a chair and began at once to explain the reason for her visit.The angry woman's tale lost nothing in the telling; indeed, it was not hard to discover how Laura came by her habit of exaggerating. When Mrs. Milligan went home half an hour later, Mr. Downing was convinced that the church property was in dangerous hands. He couldn't see what Mr. Black had been thinking of to allow careless, impudent children who played with matches, drove nails in the cottage plaster, and insulted innocent neighbors, to occupy Dandelion Cottage."Somehow," said Mrs. Downing, when the visitor had departed, "I don't like that woman. She isn't quite a lady.""Nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Downing. "If onlyhalfthe things she hints at are true, there would be reason enough for closing the cottage. The place itself doesn't amount to much, I've been told, but a fire started there would damage thousands of dollars' worth of property. Besides, there's the rent from the house those people are in—we don't want to lose that, you know.""Still, there are always tenants—""Not at this time of the year. I'll look into the matter as soon as I can find time.""Remember," said Mrs. Downing, thinking of Mrs. Milligan's rasping tones, "that there are two sides to every story.""My dear," said Mr. Downing, complacently, "I shall listen with the strictest impartiality to both sides.">CHAPTER 13The Junior WardenBy nine o'clock the next morning, the girls were all at the cottage as usual. Mrs. Mapes had given them materials for a simple cake and Jean and Bettie were in the kitchen making it. Marjory, singing as she worked, was running her Aunty Jane's carpet-sweeper noisily over the parlor rug, while Mabel, whistling an accompaniment to Marjory's song, was dusting thesideboard; at all times the cottage furniture received so much unnecessary dusting that it would not have been at all surprising if it had worn thin in spots.When the doorbell rang suddenly and sharply, Marjory's tune stopped short, high in air, and Mabel ran to the window."It's a man," announced Mabel."Mr. Milligan?" asked Marjory, anxiously."He's moved so I can't tell.""Try the other window," urged Marjory, impatiently."It doesn't look like Mr. Milligan's legs—I can't see the rest of him. They look neat and—and expensive.""Probably it's just an agent; they're kind of thick lately. You go to the door and tell him we're just pretend people, while I'm putting the sweeper out of sight.""Good morning," said Mr. Downing. "Are you—Why! this is a very cozy little place. I had no idea that it was so comfortable. May I come in?""Ye-es," returned Mabel, eyeing him doubtfully, "but I think you're probably making a mistake. You see, we're not really-truly people.""Indeed!" said Mr. Downing, with an amused glance at plump Mabel. "Is it possible you're a ghost?""I mean," explained Mabel, "we're just children and this is only a playhouse, not a real one. If you haveanything to sell, or are looking for a boarding place, or want to take our census—""No," said Mr. Downing, "I don't want either your dollars or your senses. My name is Downing and I'm not selling anything. I called on business. Who is the head of this—this ghostly corporation?""It has four," said Mabel. "I'll get the rest."Bettie and Jean, with grown-up gingham aprons tied about their necks, followed Mabel to the parlor. Mr. Downing had seated himself in one of the chairs and the girls sat facing him in a bright-eyed row on the couch. Their countenances were so eager and expectant that Mr. Downing found it hard to begin."I've come in," he said, "to talk over a little matter of business with you. I understand that you've been having trouble with your neighbors—exchanging compliments—""No," said honest Mabel, turning crimson, "it was apples and tomatoes. The Milligans are the most troublesome neighbors we've ever had.""So-o?" said the visitor, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "Why, I understood that it was quite the other way round. I'd like to hear your version of the difficulty."Jean and Bettie, with occasional assistance from Marjory and much prompting from Mabel, told him all about it. During the recital Mr. Downing's attentionseemed to wander, for his eyes took in every detail of the neat sitting-room, strayed to the prettily papered dining-room, and even rested lingeringly upon the one visible corner of the dainty blue bedroom. Bettie had neglected to close the door between the kitchen and the dining-room, which proved unfortunate, because the tiny scrap of butter that Jean had left melting in a very small pan on the kitchen stove, got too hot and with threatening, hissing noises began to give forth clouds of thick, disagreeable smoke. Jean, the first of the girls to notice it, flew to the kitchen, snatched a lid from the stove, and, with a newspaper for a holder, swept the burning butter, pan and all, into the fire. Then the paper in Jean's hand caught fire, and for the instant before she stuffed it into the stove and clapped the lid into place, fierce red flames leaped high.To the visitor, prepared by Mrs. Milligan for just such doings, it looked for a moment as if all the rear end of the cottage were in flames; but Jean returned to her place on the couch with an air of what looked to Mr. Downing very much like almost criminal unconcern. How was Mr. Downing, who did no cooking, to know that paper placed on a cake-baking firealwaysflares up in an alarming fashion without doing any real harm? He didn't know, and the incident decided the matter he was turning over in his mind.The girls had found it a little hard to tell their story, for it was plain that their visitor was using his eyes rather than his ears; moreover, they were not at all certain that he had any right to demand the facts in the case. When the story was finished, Mr. Downing looked at the row of interested faces and cleared his throat; but, for some reason, the words he had meant to speak refused to come. He hadn't supposed that the evicting of unsatisfactory tenants would prove such an unpleasant task. The tenants, all at once, seemed part of the house, and the man realized suddenly that the losing of the cottage was likely to prove a severe blow to the four little housekeepers. Perhaps it was disconcerting to see the expression of puzzled anxiety that had crept into Bettie's great brown eyes, into Jean's hazel ones, into Marjory's gray and Mabel's blue ones. At any rate, Mr. Downing decided to be well out of the way when the blow should fall; he realized that it would prove a trying ordeal to face all those young eyes filled with indignation and probably with tears."Ah-hum," said Mr. Downing, rising to take his leave. "I'm much obliged to you young ladies. Hum—the number of this house is what, if you please?""Number 224," said Bettie, whose mind worked quickly."Hum," said Mr. Downing, writing it on the envelopehe had taken from his pocket, and moving rather abruptly toward the door, as if desirous to escape as speedily as possible with the knowledge he had gleaned. "Thank you very much. I bid you all good morning.""Now what in the world did that man want?" demanded Mabel, before the front door had fairly closed. "Do you s'pose he's some kind of a lawyer, or—" and Mabel turned pale at the thought—"a policeman disguised as a—a human being? Do you suppose the Milligans are going to get us arrested for just two apples—and—and a little poetry?""More probably," suggested Jean, "he's a burglar. Didn't you notice the way he looked around at everything? I could see that he sort of lost interest after while—as if he had concluded that we hadn't anything worth stealing.""Nonsense!" said Bettie. "I don't know what he does for a living, but he can't be a burglar. He hasn't lived here very long, but he goes to our church and comes to our house to vestry meetings. Sometimes on warm Sundays when there's nobody else to do it, he passes the plate.""Well," said Mabel, "I hope he isn't a policeman weekdays.""It's more likely," said Marjory, "that he does reporting for the papers. The time Aunty Jane was inthat railroad accident, a reporter came to our house to interview her, and he asked questions just as that Mr. Downing—was that his name?—did. He took the number of the house, too.""Oh, mercy!" gasped Mabel, turning suddenly from white to a deep crimson. "If those green apples get into the paper, I'll be too ashamed to live! Oh,girls! Couldn't we stop him—couldn't we—couldn't we pay him somethingnotto?""It's probably in by now," said Marjory, teasingly. "They do it by telegraph, you know.""Hecouldn'thave been a reporter," protested Mabel. "Reporters are always young and very active so they can catch lots of scoons—no, scoots.""Scoops," corrected Jean."Well, scoops. He was kind of slow and a little bit bald-headed on top—I noticed it when he stooped for his hat.""Well, anyway," comforted Jean, "let's not worry about it. Let's rebuild our fire—of course it's out by now—and finish our cake."In spite of the cake's turning out much better than anyone could have expected, with so many agitated cooks taking turns stirring it, there was something wrong with the day. The girls were filled with uneasy forebodings and could settle down to nothing. Marjory felt no desire to sing, and even the cake seemedto have lost something of its flavor. Moreover, when they had stood for a moment on their doorstep to see the new steam road-roller go puffing by, Laura had tossed her head triumphantly and shouted tauntingly: "Iknow somethingIshan't tell!" After that, the girls could not help wondering if Laura really did know something—some dreadful thing that concerned them vitally and was likely to burst upon them at any moment.For the first time in the history of their housekeeping, they could find nothing that they really wanted to do. During the afternoon they had several little disagreements with each other. Mild Jean spoke sharply to Marjory, and even sweet-tempered Bettie was drawn into a lively dispute with Mabel. Moreover, all three of the older girls were inclined to blame Mabel for her fracas with the Milligans; and the culprit, ashamed one moment and defiant the next, was in a most unhappy frame of mind. Altogether, the day was a failure and the four friends parted coldly at least an hour before the usual time.
>
An Embarrassing Visitor
Up to the time of the unpleasantness with Laura, the girls had unlocked the cottage in the morning and had left it unlocked until they were ready to go home at night, for the girls spent all their waking hours at Dandelion Cottage. Bettie, indeed, had the care of the youngest two Tucker babies, but they were good little creatures and when the girls played with their dolls they were glad to include the two placid babies, just as if they too were dolls. The littlest baby, in particular,made a remarkably comfortable plaything, for it was all one to him whether he slept in Jean's biggest doll's cradle, or in the middle of the dining-room table, as long as he was permitted to sleep sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. When he wasn't asleep, he sucked his thumb contentedly, crowed happily on one of the cottage beds, or rolled cheerfully about on the cottage floor. The older baby, too, obligingly stayed wherever the girls happened to put him. After this experience with the Tucker infants, the Milligan baby had proved a great disappointment to the girls, for they had hoped to use him, too, as an animated doll; but he had refused steadfastly to make friends even with Bettie, whose way with babies was something beautiful to see.
The girls were all required to do their own mending, but they found it no hardship to do their darning on their own doorstep on sunny days, or around the dining-room table if the north wind happened to be blowing, for they always had so many interesting things to talk about.
During the daytime, the cottage was never left entirely alone. It was occupied even at mealtimes because the four families dined and supped at different hours; for instance, Marjory's Aunty Jane always liked her tea at half-past five, but Jean's people did not dine until seven. Owing to the impossibility of capturingall the boys at one time, supper at the Tucker house was a movable feast, so Bettie usually ate whenever she found it most convenient. As for Mabel, it is doubtful if she knew the exact hours for meals at the Bennett house because she was invariably late. After the handkerchief episode, the girls planned that one or another of them should always be in the cottage from the time that it was opened in the morning until it was again locked for the night. The morning after the later quarrel, however, the girls met by previous arrangement on Mabel's doorstep, went in a body to the cottage, and, after they were all inside, carefully locked the door.
"We'll be on the safe side, anyway," said Jean. "Though I shouldn't think that Laura would ever want to come near the place again."
"Oh, she'll come fast enough," said Mabel. "She's cheeky enough for anything. Do you s'pose she told her mother about it? She said she was going to."
"Pshaw!" said Marjory. "She was always threatening to tell her mother, but nothing ever came of it. If she'd told her mother half the things shesaidshe was going to, she wouldn't have had time to eat or sleep."
It was hopeless, the girls had decided, to attempt to mend the ruined photograph, so, at Bettie's suggestion, they had sorrowfully cut it into four pieces of equal size, which they divided between them. Theyhad just laid the precious fragments tenderly away in their treasure boxes when the doorbell rang with such a loud, prolonged, jangling peal that everybody jumped.
"Laura!" exclaimed the four girls.
"No," said Jean, cautiously drawing back the curtain of the front window and peeping out. "It's Mrs. Milligan!"
"Goodness!" whispered Marjory, "there's no knowing what Laura told her—she neverdidtell anything straight."
"Let's keep still," said Mabel. "Perhaps she'll think there's nobody home."
"No hope of that," said Jean. "She saw us come in. But, pshaw! she can't hurt us anyway."
"No," said Marjory. "What's the use of being afraid?Wedidn't do anything to be ashamed of. Aunty Jane says we should have turned Laura out the day she took the handkerchiefs."
"I'm not exactly afraid," said Bettie, "but I don't like Mrs. Milligan. Still, we'll have to let her in, I suppose."
A second vigorous peal at the bell warned them that their visitor was getting impatient.
"You're the biggest and the most dignified," said Marjory, giving Jean a shove. "Yougo."
"Don't ask her in if you can help it," warned Bettie,in a pleading whisper. "The doorbell sounds as if she didn't like us very well."
But the visitor did not wait to be asked to come in. The moment Jean turned the key the door was flung open and Mrs. Milligan brushed past the astonished quartet and sailed into the parlor, where she seated herself bolt upright on the cozy corner.
"I'd like to know," demanded Mrs. Milligan, in a hard, cold tone that fell unpleasantly on the cottagers' ears, "if you consider it ladylike for four great overgrown girls to pitch into one poor innocent little child and a helpless baby? Your conduct yesterday was simplyoutrageous. You might have injured those children for life, or even broken the baby's back."
"Broken the baby's back!" gasped Bettie, in honest amazement. "Why, I simply lifted him with my two hands and set him just outside the door. I never was rough withanybaby in all my life!"
"I happen to know, on excellent authority," said Mrs. Milligan, "that you slapped both of those helpless children and threw them down the front steps. Laura was so excited about it that she couldn't sleep, and the poor baby cried half the night—we fear that he's injured internally."
"Nobodyhereinjured him," said Mabel. "He always cries all the time, anyhow."
"Wedidput them out and for a very good reason,"said Jean, speaking as respectfully as she could, "but we certainly didn't hurt either of them. I'm sorry if the baby isn't well, but I know it isn't our fault."
"Laura walked down the steps," said Bettie, "and the baby turned over and slid down on his stomach the way he always does."
"I should think that aminister'sdaughter," said Mrs. Milligan, with a withering glance at poor shrinking Bettie, "would scorn to tell such lies."
Bettie, who had never before been accused of untruthfulness, looked the picture of conscious guilt; a tide of crimson flooded her cheeks and she fingered the buttons on her blouse nervously. She was too dumbfounded to speak a word in her own defense. Mabel, however, was only too ready.
"Bettie never told a lie in her life," cried the indignant little girl. "It was your own Laura that told stories if anybody did—and I guess somebody did, all right. Lauranevertells the truth; she doesn't know how to."
"I have implicit confidence in Laura," returned Mrs. Milligan, frowning at Mabel. "I believe every word she says."
"Well," retorted dauntless Mabel, "that's more than the rest of us do. We kept count one day and she told seventy-two fibs that weknowof."
"Oh, Mabel, do hush," pleaded scandalized Bettie.
"Hush nothing," said Mabel, not to be deterred. "I'm only telling the truth. Laura took our handkerchiefs and then fibbed about it, and we've missed a dozen things since that she probably carried off and—"
"Mabel, Mabel!" warned Jean, pressing her hand over Mabel's too reckless lips. "Don't you know that we decided not to say a word about those other things? They didn't amount to anything, and we'd rather have peace than to make a fuss about them."
"I can see very plainly," said Mrs. Milligan, with cold disapproval, "that you're not at all the proper sort of children for my little Laura to play with. I forbid you to speak to her again; I don't care to have her associate with you. I can believe all she says about you, for I've never been treated so rudely in my life."
"Apologize, Mabel," whispered Jean, whose arm was still about the younger girl's neck.
"If I was rude," said candid Mabel, "I beg your pardon. I didn'tmeanto be impolite, but every word I said about Laura was true."
"I shall not accept your apology," said Mrs. Milligan, rising to depart, "until you've sent a written apology to Laura and have retracted everything you've said about her, besides."
"It'll never be accepted then," said quick-tempered Mabel, "for we haven't done anything to apologize for."
"No, Mrs. Milligan," said Jean, in her even, pleasant voice. "No apology to Laura can ever come from us. We stood her just as long as we could, and then we turned her out just as kindly as anyone could have done it. I told Mother all about it last night and she agreed that there wasn't anything else wecouldhave done."
"So did Mamma," said Bettie.
"So did Aunty Jane."
"Well," said Mrs. Milligan, pausing on the porch, "I'd thank you young gossips to keep your tongues and your hands off my children in the future."
Jean closed the door and the four girls looked at one another in silence. None of their own relatives were at all like Mrs. Milligan and they didn't know just what to make of their unpleasant experience. At last, Marjory gave a long sigh.
"Well," said she, "I came awfully near telling her when she forbade our playing with Laura that my Aunty Jane has forbiddenmeto even speak to her poor abused Laura."
"As for me," said Mabel, with lofty scorn, "I don'tneedto be forbidden."
"Come, girls," said Jean, "I'm sorry it had to happen, but I'm glad the matter's ended. Let's not talk about it any more. Let's have one of our owngood old happy days—the kind we had before Laura came."
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Bettie. "We'll each write out a bill of fare for Mr. Black's dinner party, and we'll see how many different things we can think of. In that way, we'll be sure not to forget anything."
"But the Milligans," breathed Marjory, promptly seeing through Bettie's tactful scheme.
The Milligan matter, however, was not by any means ended. It was true that the girls paid no further attention to Laura, but this did not deter that rather vindictive young person from annoying the little cottagers in every way that she possibly could, although she was afraid to work openly.
As Laura knew, the girls took great pride in their little garden. Bettie's good-natured big brother Rob had offered to take care of their tiny lawn, and he kept it smooth and even. The round pansy bed daily yielded handfuls of great purple, white, or golden blossoms; the thrifty nasturtiums were beginning to bloom with creditable freedom; and many of the different, prettily foliaged little plants in the long bed near the Milligans' fence were opening their first curious, many-colored flowers.
Some of the vegetables were positively getting radishes and carrots on their roots, as Bettie put it. Thepride of the vegetable garden, however, was a huge, rampant vine that threatened to take possession of the entire yard. There was just the one plant; no one knew where the seed came from or how it had managed to get itself planted, but there it was, close beside the back fence. For want of a better name, the girls called it "The Accident," and they expected wonderful things from it when the great yellow trumpet-shaped flowers should give place to fruit, although they didn't know in the least what kind of crop to look for. But this made it all the more delightful.
"Perhaps it'll be pumpkins," said Jean. "I guess I'd better hunt up a recipe for pumpkin pie, so's to be ready when the time comes."
"Or those funny, pale green squashes that are scalloped all around the edge like a dish," said Marjory.
"Or cucumbers," said Bettie. "I took Mrs. Crane a leaf, one day, and she said itmightbe cucumbers."
"Or watermelons," said Mabel. "Um-m! wouldn't it be grand if it should happen to be watermelons?"
"What I'm wondering is," said Jean, "whether there's any danger of the vine's going around the house and taking possession of the front yard, too. I could almost believe that this was a seedling of Jack's beanstalk except that it runs on the ground instead of up."
"If it tries to go around the corner," laughed Bettie,"we'll train it up the back of the house. Wouldn't it be fun to have pumpkins, or squashes, or cucumbers, or melons, or maybe all of them at once, growing on our roof?"
The day after Mrs. Milligan's visit, Laura, who was not invited to the party, and who found time heavy on her hands, watched the girls, after stopping for Marjory, set out in their pretty summer dresses to spend the afternoon at a young friend's house. Laura gazed after them enviously. There was no reason why she should have been invited, for she had never met the little girl who was giving the party, but she didn't think of that. Instead, she foolishly laid the unintentional slight at the little cottagers' door.
Mrs. Milligan was sewing on the doorstep and had given Laura a dish-towel to hem. Saying something about hunting for a thimble, Laura went to the kitchen, took the bread-knife from the table drawer, stole quietly out of the back door, and slipped between the bars of the back fence. Reaching the splendid vine that the girls loved so dearly, she parted the huge, rough leaves until she found the spot where the vine started from the ground. First looking about cautiously to make certain that no one was in sight, spiteful Laura drew the knife back and forth across the thick stem until, with a sudden, sharp crack, the sturdy vine parted from its root.
Two minutes later, Laura, looking the picture of propriety, sat on the Milligans' doorstep hemming her dish-towel.
Of course, when the girls made their next daily excursion about their garden they were almost broken-hearted at finding their beloved vine flat on the ground, all withered and dead.
"Oh," mourned Marjory, "now we'll never knowwhat'The Accident' was going to bear, pumpkins or squashes or—"
"Yes," said Mabel, who was blinking hard to keep the tears back, "that's the hardest part of it, it was cut off in its p-prime—Oh, dear, I guess I'm g-going to cry."
"Whatcouldhave done it?" asked Bettie, who was not far from following Mabel's example. "Has anyone stepped on it?"
"Perhaps a potato bug ate it off," suggested Jean.
"A two-legged potato bug, I guess," said Marjory, who had been examining the ground carefully. "See, here are small sharp heel prints close to the root."
"Whose handkerchief is this?" asked Mabel, picking up a small tightly crumpled ball and unrolling it gingerly. "There's a name on it but my eyes are so teary I can't make it out."
"It looks like Milligan," said Bettie, turning it over, "but we can't tell how long it's been here."
"Horrid as she is," said charitable Jean, "it doesn't seem as if even Laura would do such a mean thing. I can't believe it of her."
"Ican," said Mabel. "Ifshehad a squash vine, or a pumpkin vine, I'd go straight over and spoil it this minute."
"No, no," said Jean, "we mustn't be horrid just because other folks are. We won't pay any attention to her—we'll just be patient."
The girls found four small, green, egglike objects growing on the withered vine; they cut them off and these, too, were laid tenderly away in their treasure boxes.
"When we get old," said Mabel, tearfully, "we'll take 'em out and tell our grandchildren all about 'The Accident.'"
But even this prospect did not quite console the girls for the loss of their treasure.
For the next few days, Laura remained contented with doing on the sly whatever she could to annoy the girls. One evening, when the girls had gone home for the night and while her mother was away from home, Laura threw a brick at one of the cottage windows, breaking a pane of glass. Reaching in through the hole, she scattered handfuls of sand on the clean floor that the girls had scrubbed that morning.Another night she emptied a basketful of potato parings on their neat front porch and daubed molasses on their doorknob—mean little tricks prompted by a mean little nature.
It wasn't much fun, however, to annoy persons who refused to show any sign of being annoyed, and Laura presently changed her tactics. Taking a large bone from the pantry one day, when the girls were sitting on their doorstep, she first showed it to Towser, the Milligan dog, and then threw it over the fence into the very middle of the pansy bed. Of course, the big clumsy dog bounded over the low fence after the bone, crushing many of the delicate pansy plants. After that at regular intervals, Laura threw sticks and other bones into the other beds with very much the same result.
The next time Rob cut the grass he noticed the untidy appearance of the beds and asked the reason. The girls explained.
"I'll shoot that dog if you say so," offered Rob, with honest indignation.
"No, no," said Bettie, "it isn't thedog'sfault."
"No," said Jean, "we're not sure that the dog isn't the least objectionable member of the Milligan family."
"How would it do if I licked the boy?" asked Rob.
"It wouldn't do at all," replied Bettie. "He workssomewhere in the daytime and never even looks in this direction when he's home. He's afraid of girls."
"Then I guess you'll have to grin and bear it," said Rob, moving off with the lawn-mower, "since neither of my remedies seems to fit the case."
>
A Lively Afternoon
It happened one day that Mrs. Milligan was obliged to spend a long afternoon at the dentist's, leaving Laura in charge of the house. Unfortunately it happened, too, that this was the day when the sewing society met, and Mrs. Tucker had asked Bettie to stay home for the afternoon because the next-to-the-youngest baby was ill with a croupy cold and could not go out of doors to the cottage. Devoted Jean offeredto stay with her beloved Bettie, who gladly accepted the offer. Before going to Bettie's, however, Jean ran over to Dandelion Cottage to tell the other girls about it.
"Mabel," asked Jean, a little doubtfully, "are you quite sure you'll be able to turn a deaf ear if Laura should happen to bother you? I'm half afraid to leave you two girls here alone."
"You needn't be," said Mabel. "I wouldn't associate with Laura if I were paid for it. She isn't my kind."
"No," said Marjory, "you needn't worry a mite. We're going to sit on the doorstep and read a perfectly lovely book that Aunty Jane found at the library—it's one that she liked whenshewas a little girl. We're going to take turns reading it aloud."
"Well, that certainly ought to keep you out of mischief. You'll be safe enough if you stick to your book. If anythingshouldhappen, just remember that I'm at Bettie's."
"Yes, Grandma," said Marjory, with a comical grimace.
Jean laughed, ran around the house, and squeezed through the hole in the back fence.
Half an hour later, lonely Laura, discovering the girls on their doorstep, amused herself by sicking the dog at them. Towser, however, merely growled lazily for a few moments and then went to sleep in the sunshine—he,at least, cherished no particular grudge against the girls and probably by that time he recognized them as neighbors.
Then Laura perched herself on one of the square posts of the dividing fence and began to sing—in her high, rasping, exasperating voice—a song that was almost too personal to be pleasant. It had taken Laura almost two hours to compose it, some days before, and fully another hour to commit it to memory, but she sang it now in an offhand, haphazard way that led the girls to suppose that she was making it up as she went along. It ran thus:
There's a lanky girl named Jean,Who's altogether too lean.Her mouth is too big,And she wears a wig,And her eyes are bright sea-green.
There's a lanky girl named Jean,Who's altogether too lean.Her mouth is too big,And she wears a wig,And her eyes are bright sea-green.
Of course it was quite impossible to read even a thrillingly interesting book with rude Laura making such a disturbance. If the girls had been wise, they would have gone into the house and closed the door, leaving Laura without an audience; but they werenotwise and theywerecurious. They couldn't help waiting to hear what Laura was going to sing about the rest of them, and they did not need to wait long; Laura promptly obliged them with the second verse:
There's another named Marjory Vale,Who's about the size of a snail.Her teeth are light blue—She hasn't but two—And her hair is much too pale.
There's another named Marjory Vale,Who's about the size of a snail.Her teeth are light blue—She hasn't but two—And her hair is much too pale.
Laura had, in several instances, sacrificed truth for the sake of rhyme, but enough remained to injure the vanity of the subjects of her song very sharply. Marjory breathed quickly for a moment and flushed pink but gave no audible sign that she had heard. Laura, somewhat disappointed, proceeded:
There's a silly young lass called Bet,Thinks she's ev'rybody's sweet pet.She slapped my brother,Fibbed to my mother—I know whatshe'sgoing to get.
There's a silly young lass called Bet,Thinks she's ev'rybody's sweet pet.She slapped my brother,Fibbed to my mother—I know whatshe'sgoing to get.
Mabel snorted indignantly over this injustice to her beloved Bettie and started to rise, but Marjory promptly seized her skirt and dragged her down. Laura, however, saw the movement and was correspondingly elated. It showed in her voice:
But the worst of the lot is Mabel,She eats all the pie she's able.She's round as a ball,Has no waist at all,And her manners are bad at the table.
But the worst of the lot is Mabel,She eats all the pie she's able.She's round as a ball,Has no waist at all,And her manners are bad at the table.
Marjory giggled. She had no thought of being disloyal, but this verse was certainly a close fit.
"You just let me go," muttered Mabel, crimson with resentment and struggling to break away from Marjory's restraining hand. "I'll push her off that post."
"Hush!" said diplomatic Marjory, "perhaps there's more to the song."
But there wasn't. Laura began at the beginning and sang all the verses again, giving particular emphasis to the ones concerning Mabel and Marjory. This, of course, grew decidedly monotonous; the girls got tired of the constant repetition of the silly song long before Laura did. There was something about the song, too, that caught and held their attention. Irresistibly attracted, held by an exasperating fascination, neither girl could help waiting for her own special verse. But while this was going on, Mabel, with a finger in the ear nearest Laura, was industriously scribbling something on a scrap of paper.
As everybody knows, the poetic muse doesn't always work when it is most needed, and Mabel was sadly handicapped at that moment. She was not satisfied with her hasty scrawl but, in the circumstances, it was the best she could do. Suddenly, before Marjory realized what was about to happen, Mabel was shoutingback, to an air quite as objectionable as the one Laura was singing:
There's a very rude girl named Laura,Whose ways fill all with horror.She's all the things she saysweare;All know this to their sorrow.
There's a very rude girl named Laura,Whose ways fill all with horror.She's all the things she saysweare;All know this to their sorrow.
"Yah! yah!" retorted quick-witted Laura. "There isn't a rhyme in your old song. If I couldn't rhyme better 'n that, I'd learn how. Come over and I'll teach you!"
For an instant, Mabel looked decidedly crushed—nopoet likes his rhymes disparaged. Laura, noting Mabel's crestfallen attitude, went into gales of mocking laughter and when Mabel looked at Marjory for sympathy Marjory's face was wreathed in smiles. It was too much; Mabel hated to be laughed at.
"Icanrhyme," cried Mabel, springing to her feet and giving vent to all her grievances at once. "My table mannersaregood. I'mnotfat. I've got just as much waist asyouhave."
"You've got more," shrieked delighted Laura.
Faithless Marjory, struck by this indubitable truth, laughed outright.
"You—you can't make Indian-bead chains," sputtered Mabel, trying hard to find something crushing to say. "You can't make pancakes. You can't drive nails."
"Yah," retorted Laura, who was right in her element, "you can't throw straight."
"Neither can you."
"I can! If I could find anything to throw I'd prove it."
Just at this unfortunate moment, a grocery-man arrived at the Milligan house with a basketful of beautiful scarlet tomatoes. In another second, Laura, anxious to prove her ability, had jumped from the fence, seized the basket and, with unerring aim, was delightedly pelting her astonished enemy with the gorgeous fruit. Mabel caught one full in the chest, and as she turned to flee, another landed square in the middle of her light-blue gingham back; Marjory's shoulder stopped a third before the girls retreated to the house, leaving Laura, a picturesque figure on the high post, shouting derisively:
"Proved it, didn't I? Ki! I proved it."
Marjory, pleading that discretion was the better part of valor, begged Mabel to stay indoors; but Mabel, who had received, and undoubtedly deserved, the worst of the encounter, was for instant revenge. Rushing to the kitchen she seized the pan of hard little green apples that Grandma Pike had bequeathed the girls and flew with them to the porch.
Mabel's first shot took Laura by surprise and landed squarely between her shoulders. Mabel was surprised,too, because throwing straight was not one of her accomplishments. She hadn't hoped to do more than frighten her exasperating little neighbor.
Elated by this success, Mabel threw her second apple, which, alas, flew wide of its mark and caught poor unprepared Mr. Milligan, who was coming in at his own gate, just under the jaw, striking in such a fashion that it made the astonished man suddenly bite his tongue.
Nobody likes to bite his tongue. Naturally Mr. Milligan was indignant; indeed, he had every reason to be, for Mabel's conduct was disgraceful and the little apple was very hard. Entirely overlooking the fact that Laura, who had failed to notice her father's untimely arrival, was still vigorously pelting Mabel, who stood as if petrified on the cottage steps and was making no effort to dodge the flying scarlet fruit, Mr. Milligan shouted:
"Look here, you young imps, I'll see that you're turned out of that cottage for this outrage. We've stood just about enough abuse from you. I don't intend to put up with any more of it."
Then, suddenly discovering what Laura, who had turned around in dismay at the sound of her father's voice, was doing, angry Mr. Milligan dragged his suddenly crestfallen daughter from the fence, boxed her ears soundly, and carried what was left of the tomatoesinto the house; for that particular basket of fruit had been sent from very far south and express charges had swelled the price of the unseasonable dainty to a very considerable sum.
Marjory, in the cottage kitchen, was alternately scolding and laughing at woebegone Mabel when Jean and Bettie, released from their charge, ran back to Dandelion Cottage. Mabel, crying with indignation, sat on the kitchen stove rubbing her eyes with a pair of grimy fists—Mabel's hands always gathered dust.
"Oh, Mabel! howcouldyou!" groaned Jean, when Marjory had told the afternoon's story. "I'll never dare to leave you here again without some sensible person to look after you. Don't youseeyou've been almost—yes, quite—as bad as Laura?"
"I don't care," sobbed unrepentant Mabel. "If you'd heard those verses—and—and Marjorylaughedat me."
"Couldn't help it," giggled Marjory, who was perched on the corner of the kitchen table.
"But surely," reproached gentle-mannered Jean, "it wasn't necessary to throw things."
"I guess," said Mabel, suddenly sitting up very straight and disclosing a puffy, tear-stained countenance that moved Marjory to fresh giggles, "if you'd felt those icy cold tomatoes go plump in your eye and every place on your very newest dress,you'dhavebeen pretty mad, too. Look at me! I was too surprised to move after I'd hit Mr. Milligan—I never saw him coming at all—and I guess every tomato Laura threw hit me some place."
"Yes," confirmed Marjory, "I'll say that much for Laura. She can certainly throw straighter than any girl I ever knew—she throws just like a boy."
Jean, still worried and disapproving, could not help laughing, for Laura's plump target showed only too good evidence of Laura's skill. Mabel's new light-blue gingham showed a round scarlet spot where each juicy missile had landed; and besides this, there were wide muddy circles where her tears had left highwater marks about each eye.
"But, dear me," said Jean, growing sober again, "think how low-down and horrid it will sound when we tell about it at home. Suppose it should get into the papers! Apples and tomatoes! If boys had done it it would have sounded bad enough, but forgirlsto do such a thing! Oh, dear, Idowish I'd been here to stop it!"
"To stop the tomatoes, you mean," said Mabel. "You couldn't have stopped anything else, for I justhadto do something or burst. I've felt all the week just like something sizzling in a bottle and waiting to have the cork pulled! I'llneverbe able to do mysuffering in silence the way you and Bettie do. Oh, girls, I feel just loads better."
"Well, you mayfeelbetter," said irrepressible Marjory, "but you certainly look a lot worse. With those muddy rings on your face you look just like a little owl that isn't very wise."
"Oh, dear," mourned Bettie, "if Miss Blossom had only stayed we wouldn't have had all this trouble with those people."
"No," said Marjory, shrewdly, "Miss Blossom would probably have made Laura over into a very good imitation of an honest citizen. I don't think, though, that even Miss Blossom could make Laura anything more than an imitation, because—well, because she's Laura. It's different with Mabel—"
Mabel looked up expectantly, and Marjory, who was in a teasing mood, continued.
"Yes," said she, encouragingly, "Miss Blossommighthave succeeded in making a nice, polite girl out of Mabel if she'd only had time—"
"How much time?" demanded Mabel, with sudden suspicion.
"Oh, about a thousand years," replied Marjory, skipping prudently behind tall Jean.
"Never mind, Mabel," said Bettie, who always sided with the oppressed, slipping a thin arm about Mabel'splump shoulders. "We like you pretty well, anyway, and you've certainly had an awful time."
"Do you think," asked Mabel, with sudden concern, "that Mr. Milligancouldget us turned out of the cottage? You know he threatened to."
"No," said Bettie. "The cottage is church property and no one could do anything about it with Mr. Black away because he's the senior warden. Father said only this morning that there was all sorts of church business waiting for him."
"Well," said Mabel, with a sigh of relief, "Mr. Black wouldn't turn us out, so we're perfectly safe. Guess I'll go out on the porch and sing my Milligan song again."
"I guess you won't," said Jean. "There's a very good tub in the Bennett house and I'd advise you to go home and take a bath in it—you look as if you neededtwobaths and a shampoo. Besides, it's almost supper time."
Laura's version of the story, unfortunately, differed materially from the truth. There was no gainsaying the tomatoes—Mr. Milligan had seen those with his own eyes; but Laura claimed that she had been compelled to use those expensive vegetables as a means of self-defense. According to Laura, whose imagination was as well trained as her arm, she had been the innocent victim of all sorts of persecution at the hands ofthe four girls. They had called her a thief and had insulted not only her but all the other Milligans. Mabel, she declared, had opened hostilities that afternoon by throwing stones, and poor, abused Laura had only used the tomatoes as a last resort. The apple that struck Mr. Milligan was, she maintained, the very last of about four dozen.
Had the Milligans not been prejudiced, they might easily have learned how far from the truth this assertion was, for the porch of Dandelion Cottage was still bespattered with tomatoes, whereas in the Milligan yard there were no traces of the recent encounter. This, to be sure, was no particular credit to Mabel for theremighthave been had Mr. Milligan delayed his coming by a very few minutes, since Mabel's pan still contained seven hard little apples and Mabel still longed to use them.
The Milligans, however,wereprejudiced. Although Laura was often rude and disagreeable at home, she was the only little girl the Milligans had; in any quarrel with outsiders they naturally sided with their own flesh and blood, and, in spite of the tomatoes, they did so now. In her mother Laura found a staunch champion.
"I won't have those stuck-up little imps there another week," said Mrs. Milligan. "If you don't see that they're turned out, James, I will."
"They stick out their tongues at me every time they see me," fibbed Laura, whose own tongue was the only one that had been used for sticking-out purposes. "They said Ma was no lady, and—"
"I'm going to complain of them this very night," said Mrs. Milligan, with quick resentment. "I'll show 'em whether I'm a lady or not."
"Who'll you complain to?" asked Laura, hopefully.
"The church warden, of course. These cottages both belong to the church."
"Mr. Black is the girls' best friend," said Laura. "He wouldn't believe anything against them—besides, he's away."
"Mr. Downing isn't," said Mr. Milligan. "I paid him the rent last week. We'll threaten to leave if he doesn't turn them out. He's a sharp businessman and he wouldn't lose the rent of this house for the sake of letting a lot of children use that cottage. I'll see him tomorrow."
"No," said Mrs. Milligan, "just leave the matter to me.I'lltalk to Mr. Downing."
"Suit yourself," said Mr. Milligan, glad perhaps to shirk a disagreeable task.
After supper that evening, Mrs. Milligan put on her best hat and went to Mr. Downing's house, which was only about three blocks from her own. The evening was warm and she found Mr. and Mrs. Downingseated on their front porch. Mrs. Milligan accepted their invitation to take a chair and began at once to explain the reason for her visit.
The angry woman's tale lost nothing in the telling; indeed, it was not hard to discover how Laura came by her habit of exaggerating. When Mrs. Milligan went home half an hour later, Mr. Downing was convinced that the church property was in dangerous hands. He couldn't see what Mr. Black had been thinking of to allow careless, impudent children who played with matches, drove nails in the cottage plaster, and insulted innocent neighbors, to occupy Dandelion Cottage.
"Somehow," said Mrs. Downing, when the visitor had departed, "I don't like that woman. She isn't quite a lady."
"Nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Downing. "If onlyhalfthe things she hints at are true, there would be reason enough for closing the cottage. The place itself doesn't amount to much, I've been told, but a fire started there would damage thousands of dollars' worth of property. Besides, there's the rent from the house those people are in—we don't want to lose that, you know."
"Still, there are always tenants—"
"Not at this time of the year. I'll look into the matter as soon as I can find time."
"Remember," said Mrs. Downing, thinking of Mrs. Milligan's rasping tones, "that there are two sides to every story."
"My dear," said Mr. Downing, complacently, "I shall listen with the strictest impartiality to both sides."
>
The Junior Warden
By nine o'clock the next morning, the girls were all at the cottage as usual. Mrs. Mapes had given them materials for a simple cake and Jean and Bettie were in the kitchen making it. Marjory, singing as she worked, was running her Aunty Jane's carpet-sweeper noisily over the parlor rug, while Mabel, whistling an accompaniment to Marjory's song, was dusting thesideboard; at all times the cottage furniture received so much unnecessary dusting that it would not have been at all surprising if it had worn thin in spots.
When the doorbell rang suddenly and sharply, Marjory's tune stopped short, high in air, and Mabel ran to the window.
"It's a man," announced Mabel.
"Mr. Milligan?" asked Marjory, anxiously.
"He's moved so I can't tell."
"Try the other window," urged Marjory, impatiently.
"It doesn't look like Mr. Milligan's legs—I can't see the rest of him. They look neat and—and expensive."
"Probably it's just an agent; they're kind of thick lately. You go to the door and tell him we're just pretend people, while I'm putting the sweeper out of sight."
"Good morning," said Mr. Downing. "Are you—Why! this is a very cozy little place. I had no idea that it was so comfortable. May I come in?"
"Ye-es," returned Mabel, eyeing him doubtfully, "but I think you're probably making a mistake. You see, we're not really-truly people."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Downing, with an amused glance at plump Mabel. "Is it possible you're a ghost?"
"I mean," explained Mabel, "we're just children and this is only a playhouse, not a real one. If you haveanything to sell, or are looking for a boarding place, or want to take our census—"
"No," said Mr. Downing, "I don't want either your dollars or your senses. My name is Downing and I'm not selling anything. I called on business. Who is the head of this—this ghostly corporation?"
"It has four," said Mabel. "I'll get the rest."
Bettie and Jean, with grown-up gingham aprons tied about their necks, followed Mabel to the parlor. Mr. Downing had seated himself in one of the chairs and the girls sat facing him in a bright-eyed row on the couch. Their countenances were so eager and expectant that Mr. Downing found it hard to begin.
"I've come in," he said, "to talk over a little matter of business with you. I understand that you've been having trouble with your neighbors—exchanging compliments—"
"No," said honest Mabel, turning crimson, "it was apples and tomatoes. The Milligans are the most troublesome neighbors we've ever had."
"So-o?" said the visitor, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise. "Why, I understood that it was quite the other way round. I'd like to hear your version of the difficulty."
Jean and Bettie, with occasional assistance from Marjory and much prompting from Mabel, told him all about it. During the recital Mr. Downing's attentionseemed to wander, for his eyes took in every detail of the neat sitting-room, strayed to the prettily papered dining-room, and even rested lingeringly upon the one visible corner of the dainty blue bedroom. Bettie had neglected to close the door between the kitchen and the dining-room, which proved unfortunate, because the tiny scrap of butter that Jean had left melting in a very small pan on the kitchen stove, got too hot and with threatening, hissing noises began to give forth clouds of thick, disagreeable smoke. Jean, the first of the girls to notice it, flew to the kitchen, snatched a lid from the stove, and, with a newspaper for a holder, swept the burning butter, pan and all, into the fire. Then the paper in Jean's hand caught fire, and for the instant before she stuffed it into the stove and clapped the lid into place, fierce red flames leaped high.
To the visitor, prepared by Mrs. Milligan for just such doings, it looked for a moment as if all the rear end of the cottage were in flames; but Jean returned to her place on the couch with an air of what looked to Mr. Downing very much like almost criminal unconcern. How was Mr. Downing, who did no cooking, to know that paper placed on a cake-baking firealwaysflares up in an alarming fashion without doing any real harm? He didn't know, and the incident decided the matter he was turning over in his mind.The girls had found it a little hard to tell their story, for it was plain that their visitor was using his eyes rather than his ears; moreover, they were not at all certain that he had any right to demand the facts in the case. When the story was finished, Mr. Downing looked at the row of interested faces and cleared his throat; but, for some reason, the words he had meant to speak refused to come. He hadn't supposed that the evicting of unsatisfactory tenants would prove such an unpleasant task. The tenants, all at once, seemed part of the house, and the man realized suddenly that the losing of the cottage was likely to prove a severe blow to the four little housekeepers. Perhaps it was disconcerting to see the expression of puzzled anxiety that had crept into Bettie's great brown eyes, into Jean's hazel ones, into Marjory's gray and Mabel's blue ones. At any rate, Mr. Downing decided to be well out of the way when the blow should fall; he realized that it would prove a trying ordeal to face all those young eyes filled with indignation and probably with tears.
"Ah-hum," said Mr. Downing, rising to take his leave. "I'm much obliged to you young ladies. Hum—the number of this house is what, if you please?"
"Number 224," said Bettie, whose mind worked quickly.
"Hum," said Mr. Downing, writing it on the envelopehe had taken from his pocket, and moving rather abruptly toward the door, as if desirous to escape as speedily as possible with the knowledge he had gleaned. "Thank you very much. I bid you all good morning."
"Now what in the world did that man want?" demanded Mabel, before the front door had fairly closed. "Do you s'pose he's some kind of a lawyer, or—" and Mabel turned pale at the thought—"a policeman disguised as a—a human being? Do you suppose the Milligans are going to get us arrested for just two apples—and—and a little poetry?"
"More probably," suggested Jean, "he's a burglar. Didn't you notice the way he looked around at everything? I could see that he sort of lost interest after while—as if he had concluded that we hadn't anything worth stealing."
"Nonsense!" said Bettie. "I don't know what he does for a living, but he can't be a burglar. He hasn't lived here very long, but he goes to our church and comes to our house to vestry meetings. Sometimes on warm Sundays when there's nobody else to do it, he passes the plate."
"Well," said Mabel, "I hope he isn't a policeman weekdays."
"It's more likely," said Marjory, "that he does reporting for the papers. The time Aunty Jane was inthat railroad accident, a reporter came to our house to interview her, and he asked questions just as that Mr. Downing—was that his name?—did. He took the number of the house, too."
"Oh, mercy!" gasped Mabel, turning suddenly from white to a deep crimson. "If those green apples get into the paper, I'll be too ashamed to live! Oh,girls! Couldn't we stop him—couldn't we—couldn't we pay him somethingnotto?"
"It's probably in by now," said Marjory, teasingly. "They do it by telegraph, you know."
"Hecouldn'thave been a reporter," protested Mabel. "Reporters are always young and very active so they can catch lots of scoons—no, scoots."
"Scoops," corrected Jean.
"Well, scoops. He was kind of slow and a little bit bald-headed on top—I noticed it when he stooped for his hat."
"Well, anyway," comforted Jean, "let's not worry about it. Let's rebuild our fire—of course it's out by now—and finish our cake."
In spite of the cake's turning out much better than anyone could have expected, with so many agitated cooks taking turns stirring it, there was something wrong with the day. The girls were filled with uneasy forebodings and could settle down to nothing. Marjory felt no desire to sing, and even the cake seemedto have lost something of its flavor. Moreover, when they had stood for a moment on their doorstep to see the new steam road-roller go puffing by, Laura had tossed her head triumphantly and shouted tauntingly: "Iknow somethingIshan't tell!" After that, the girls could not help wondering if Laura really did know something—some dreadful thing that concerned them vitally and was likely to burst upon them at any moment.
For the first time in the history of their housekeeping, they could find nothing that they really wanted to do. During the afternoon they had several little disagreements with each other. Mild Jean spoke sharply to Marjory, and even sweet-tempered Bettie was drawn into a lively dispute with Mabel. Moreover, all three of the older girls were inclined to blame Mabel for her fracas with the Milligans; and the culprit, ashamed one moment and defiant the next, was in a most unhappy frame of mind. Altogether, the day was a failure and the four friends parted coldly at least an hour before the usual time.