>CHAPTER 4Furnishing the CottageAfter tea that Saturday night four tired but spotlessly clean little girls sat on Jean's doorstep, making plans for the coming week."What are you going to do for a stove?" asked Mrs. Mapes."I have a toy one," replied Mabel, "but it has only one leg and it always smokes. Besides, I can't find it.""I have a little box stove that the boys used to havein their camp," said Mrs. Mapes. "It has three good legs and it doesn't smoke at all. If you want it, and if you'll promise to be very careful about your fire, I'll have one of the boys set it up for you.""That would be lovely," said Bettie, gratefully. "Mamma has given me four saucers and a syrup jug, and I have a few pieces left of quite a large-sized doll's tea set.""We have an old rug," said Marjory, "that I'm almost sure I can have for the parlor floor, and I have two small rocking chairs of my own.""There's a lot of old things in our garret," said Mabel; "three-legged tables, and chairs with the seats worn out. I know Mother'll let us take them.""Well," said Bettie, "take everything you have to the cottage Monday afternoon after school. Bring all the pictures you can to cover the walls, and—""Hark!" said Mrs. Mapes. "I think somebody is calling Bettie.""Oh, my!" said Bettie, springing to her feet. "This is bath night and I promised to bathe the twins. I must go this minute.""I think Bettie is sweet," said Jean. "Mr. Black would never have given us the cottage if he hadn't been so fond of Bettie; but she doesn't put on any airs at all. She makes us feel as if it belonged to all of us.""Bettieisa sweet little girl," said Mrs. Mapes, "butshe's far too energetic for such a little body. You mustn't let her doallthe work.""Oh, we don't!" exclaimed Mabel, grandly. "Why, what are you laughing at, Marjory?""Oh, nothing," said Marjory. "I just happened to remember how you scrubbed that bedroom floor."From four to six on Monday afternoon, the little housekeepers, heavily burdened each time with their goods and chattels, made many small journeys between their homes and Dandelion Cottage. The parlor was soon piled high with furniture that was all more or less battered."Dear me," said Jean, pausing at the door with an armful of carpet. "How am I ever to get in? Hadn't we better straighten out what we have before we bring anything more?""Yes," said Bettie. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had almost enough for two houses. I'm sure I've seen six clocks.""That's only one for each room," said Mabel. "Besides, none of the four thatIbrought will go.""Neither will my two," said Marjory, giggling."We might call this 'The House of the Tickless Clocks,'" suggested Jean."Or of the grindless coffee-mill," giggled Marjory."Or of the talkless telephone," added Mabel. "Ibrought over an old telephone box so we could pretend we had a telephone."There were still several things lacking when the children had found places for all their crippled belongings. They had no couch for the sofa pillows Mabel had brought, but Bettie converted two wooden boxes and a long board into an admirable cozy corner. She even upholstered this sadly misnamed piece of furniture with the burlaps and excelsior that had been packed about her father's new desk, but it still needed a cover. The windows lacked curtains, the girls had only one fork, and their cupboard was so distressingly empty that it rivaled Mother Hubbard's.They had planned to eat and even sleep at the cottage during vacation, which was still some weeks distant; but, as they had no beds and no provisions, and as their parents said quite emphatically that they couldnotstay away from home at night, part of this plan had to be given up.Most of the grown-ups, however, were greatly pleased with the cottage plan. Marjory's Aunty Jane, who was nervous and disliked having children running in and out of her spotlessly neat house, was glad to have Marjory happy with her little friends, provided they were all perfectly safe—and out of earshot. Overworked Mrs. Tucker found it a great relief to have careful Bettie take two or three of the smallestchildren entirely off her hands for several hours each day. When these infants, divided as equally as possible among the four girls, were not needed indoors to serve as playthings, they rolled about contentedly inside the cottage fence. Mabel's mother did not hesitate to say that she, for one, was thankful enough that Mr. Black had given the girls a place to play in. With Mabel engaged elsewhere, it was possible, Mrs. Bennett said, to keep her own house quite respectably neat. Mrs. Mapes, indeed, missed quiet, orderly Jean; but she would not mention it for fear of spoiling her tender-hearted little daughter's pleasure, and it did not occur to modest Jean that she was of sufficient consequence to be missed by her mother or anyone else.The neighbors, finding that the long-deserted cottage was again occupied, began to be curious about the occupants. One day Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who lived almost directly opposite the cottage, found herself so devoured by kindly curiosity that she could stand it no longer. Intending to be neighborly, for Mrs. Crane was always neighborly in the best sense of the word, she put on her one good dress and started across the street to call on the newcomers.It was really a great undertaking for Mrs. Crane to pay visits, for she was a stout, slow-moving person, and, owing to the antiquity and consequent tendernessof her best garments, it was an even greater undertaking for the good woman to make a visiting costume. Her best black silk, for instance, had to be neatly mended with court-plaster when all other remedies had failed, and her old, thread-lace collars had been darned until their original floral patterns had given place to a mosaic of spider webs. Mrs. Crane's motives, however, were far better than her clothes. Years before, when she was newly married, she had lived for months a stranger in a strange town, where it was no unusual occurrence to live for years in ignorance of one's next-door neighbor's very name. During those unhappy months poor Mrs. Crane, sociable by nature yet sadly afflicted with shyness, had suffered keenly from loneliness and homesickness. She had vowed then that no other stranger should suffer as she had suffered, if it were in her power to prevent it; so, in spite of increasing difficulties, kind Mrs. Crane conscientiously called on each newcomer. In many cases, hers was the first welcome to be extended to persons settling in Lakeville, and although these visits were prompted by single-minded generosity, it was natural that she should, at the same time, make many friends. These, however, were seldom lasting ones, for many persons, whose business kept them in Lakeville for perhaps only a few months, afterwardsmoved away and drifted quietly out of Mrs. Crane's life.That afternoon the four girls realized for the first time that Dandelion Cottage was provided with a doorbell. In response to its lively jingling, Mabel dropped the potato she was peeling with neatness but hardly with dispatch, and hurried to the door."Is your moth—Is the lady of the house at home?" asked Mrs. Crane."Yes'm, all of us are—there's four," stammered Mabel, who wasn't quite sure of her ability to entertain a grown-up caller. "Please walk in. Oh! don't sit down in that one, please! There's only two legs on that chair, and it always goes down flat.""Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, moving toward the cozy corner, "I shouldn't have suspected it.""Oh, you can't sitthere, either," exclaimed Mabel. "You see, that's the Tucker baby taking his nap.""My land!" said stout Mrs. Crane. "I thought it was one of those new-fashioned roll pillows.""Thischair," said Mabel, dragging one in from the dining room, "is the safest one we have in the house, but you must be careful to sit right down square in the middle of it because it slides out from under you if you sit too hard on the front edge. If you'll excuse me just a minute I'll go call the others—they're making a vegetable garden in the back yard.""Well, I declare!" said Mrs. Crane, when she had recognized the four young housekeepers and had heard all about the housekeeping. "It seems as if I ought to be able to find something in the way of furniture for you. I have a single iron bedstead I'm willing to lend you, and maybe I can find you some other things.""Thank you very much," said Bettie, politely."I hope," said Mrs. Crane, pleasantly, "that you'll be very neighborly and come over to see me whenever you feel like it, for I'm always alone.""Thank you," said Jean, speaking for the household. "We'd just love to.""Haven't youanychildren?" asked Bettie, sympathetically."Not one," replied Mrs. Crane. "I've never had any but I've always loved children.""But I'msureyou have a lot of grandchildren," said Mabel, consolingly. "You look so nice and grandmothery.""No," said Mrs. Crane, not appearing so sorrowful as Mabel had supposed an utterly grandchildless personwouldlook, "I've never possessed any grandchildren either.""But," queried Mabel, who was sometimes almost too inquisitive, "haven't you any relatives, husbands, oranybody, in all the world?"Many months afterward the girls were suddenly reminded of Mrs. Crane's odd, contradictory reply:"No—Yes—that is, no. None to speak of, I mean. Do you girls sleep here, too?""No" said Jean. "We want to, awfully, but our mothers won't let us. You see, we sleep so soundly that they're all afraid we might get the house afire, burn up, and never know a thing about it.""They're quite right," said Mrs. Crane. "I suppose they like to have you at home once in a while.""Oh, they do have us," replied Bettie. "We eat and sleep at home and they have us all day Sundays. When they want any of us other times, all they have to do is to open a back window and call—Dear me, Mrs. Crane, I'll have to ask you to excuse me this very minute—There's somebody calling me now."Other visitors, including the girls' parents, called at the cottage and seemed to enjoy it very much indeed. The visitors were always greatly interested and everybody wanted to help. One brought a little table that really stood up very well if kept against the wall, another found curtains for all the windows—a little ragged, to be sure, but still curtains. Grandma Pike, who had a wonderful garden, was so delighted with everything that she gave the girls a crimson petunia growing in a red tomato can, and a great many neat little homemade packets of flower seeds. Rob said theymight have even his porcupine if they could get it out from under the rectory porch.By the end of the week the cottage presented quite a lived-in appearance. Bright pictures covered the dingy paper, and, thanks to numerous donations, the rooms looked very well furnished. No one would have suspected that the chairs were untrustworthy, the tables crippled, and the clocks devoid of works. The cottage seemed cozy and pleasant, and the girls kept it in apple-pie order.Out of doors, the grass was beginning to show and little green specks dotted the flower beds. Other green specks in crooked rows staggered across the vegetable garden.The four mothers, satisfied that their little daughters were safe in Dandelion Cottage, left them in undisturbed possession."I declare," said Mrs. Mapes one day, "the only time I see Jean, nowadays, is when she's asleep. All the rest of the time she's in school or at the cottage.""Yes," said Mrs. Bennett, "when I miss my scissors or any of my dishes or anything else, I always have to go to the cottage and get out a search warrant. Mabel has carried off a wagonload of things, but I don't knowwhenour own house has been so peaceful.">CHAPTER 5Poverty in the Cottage"There's no use talking," said Jean, one day, as the girls sat at their dining-room table eating very smoky toast and drinking the weakest of cocoa, "we'll have to get some provisions of our own before long if we're going to invite Mr. Black to dinner as we promised. The cupboard's perfectly empty and Bridget says I can't take another scrap of bread or one more potato out of the house this week.""Aunty Jane says there'll be trouble," said Marjory, "if I don't keep out of her ice box, so I guess I can't bring any more milk. When she says there'll be trouble, there usually is, if I'm not pretty careful. But dear me, itissuch fun to cook our own meals on that dear little box-stove, even if most of the things do taste pretty awful.""I wish," said Mabel, mournfully, "that somebody would give us a hen, so we could make omelets.""Who ever made omelets out of a hen?" asked Jean, laughing."I meant out of the eggs, of course," said Mabel, with dignity. "Hens lay eggs, don't they? If we count on five or six eggs a day—""The goose that laid the golden egg laid only one a day," said Marjory. "It seems to me that six is a good many.""I wasn't talking about geese," said Mabel, "but about just plain everyday hens.""Six-every-day hens, you mean, don't you?" asked Marjory, teasingly. "You'd better wish for a cow, too, while you're about it.""Yes," said Bettie, "we certainly need one, for I'm not to ask for butter more than twice a week. Mother says she'll be in the poorhouse before summer's over if she has to provide butter fortwofamilies.""I just tell you what it is, girls," said Jean, nibblingher cindery crust, "we'll just have to earn some money if we're to give Mr. Black any kind of a dinner."Mabel, who always accepted new ideas with enthusiasm, slipped quietly into the kitchen, took a solitary lemon from the cupboard, cut it in half, and squeezed the juice into a broken-nosed pitcher. This done, she added a little sugar and a great deal of water to the lemon juice, slipped quietly out of the back door, ran around the house and in at the front door, taking a small table from the front room. This she carried out of doors to the corner of the lot facing the street, where she established her lemonade stand.She was almost immediately successful, for the day was warm, and Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who was entertaining two visitors on her front porch, was glad of an opportunity to offer her guests something in the way of refreshment. The cottage boasted only one glass that did not leak, but Mabel cheerfully made three trips across the street with it—it did not occur to any of them until too late it would have been easier to carry the pitcher across in the first place. The lemonade was decidedly weak, but the visitors were too polite to say so. On her return, a thirsty small boy offered Mabel a nickel for all that was left in the pitcher, and Mabel, after a moment's hesitation, accepted the offer."You're getting a bargain," said Mabel. "There's asmuch as a glass and three quarters there, besides all the lemon.""Did you get a whole pitcherful out of one lemon?" asked the boy. "You'd be able to make circus lemonade all right."Before the other girls had had time to discover what had become of her, the proprietor of the lemonade stand marched into the cottage and proudly displayed four shining nickels and the empty pitcher."Why, where in the world did you get all that?" cried Marjory. "Surely you never earned it by being on time for meals—you've been late three times a day ever since we got the cottage.""Sold lemonade," said Mabel. "Our troubles are over, girls. I'm going to buytwolemons tomorrow and sell twice as much.""Good!" cried Bettie, "I'll help. The boys have promised to bring me a lot of arbutus tonight—they went to the woods this morning. I'll tie it in bunches and perhaps we can sell that, too.""Wouldn't it be splendid if we could have Mr. Black here to dinner next Saturday?" said Jean. "I'll never be satisfied until we've kept that promise, but I don't suppose we could possibly get enough things together by that time.""I have a sample can of baking powder," offeredMarjory, hopefully. "I'll bring it over next time I come.""What's the good?" asked matter-of-fact Mabel. "We can't feed Mr. Black on just plain baking powder, and we haven't any biscuits to raise with it.""Dear me," said Jean, "I wish we hadn't been so extravagant at first. If we hadn't had so many tea parties last week, we might get enough flour and things at home. Mother says it's too expensive having all her groceries carried off.""Never mind," consoled Mabel, confidently. "We'll be buying our own groceries by this time tomorrow with the money we make selling lemonade. A boy said my lemonade was quite as good as you can buy at the circus."Unfortunately, however, it rained the next day and the next, so lemonade was out of the question. By the time it cleared, Bettie's neat little bunches of arbutus were no longer fresh, and careless Mabel had forgotten where she had put the money. She mentioned no fewer than twenty-two places where the four precious nickels might be, but none of them happened to be the right one."Mercy me," said Bettie, "it's dreadful to be so poor! I'm afraid we'll have to invite Mr. Black to one of our bread-and-sugar tea-parties, after all.""No," said Jean, firmly. "We've just got to give hima regular seven-course dinner—he has 'em every day at home. We'll have to put it off until we can do it in style.""By and by," said Mabel, "we'll have beans and radishes and things in our own garden, and we can go to the woods for berries.""Perhaps," said Bettie, hopefully, "one of the boys might catch a fish—Robalmostdid, once.""I suppose I could ask Aunty Jane for a potato once in a while," said Marjory, "but I'll have to give her time to forget about last month's grocery bill—she says we never before used so many eggs in one month and I guess Maggiedidgive me a good many. Potatoes will keep, you know. We can save 'em until we have enough for a meal.""While we're about it," said Bettie, "I think we'd better have Mrs. Crane to dinner, too. She's such a nice old lady and she's been awfully good to us.""She's not very well off," agreed Mabel, "and probably a real, first-class dinner would taste good to her.""But," pleaded Bettie, "don't let's ask her until we're sure of the date. As it is, I can't sleep nights for thinking of how Mr. Black must feel. He'll think we don't want him.""You'd better explain to him," suggested Jean, "that it isn't convenient to have him just yet, but that we're going to just as soon as ever we can. Wemustn't tell him why, because it would be just like him to send the provisions here himself, and then it wouldn't really beourparty."In spite of all the girls' plans, however, by the end of the week the cottage larder was still distressingly empty. Marjory had, indeed, industriously collected potatoes, only to have them carried off by an equally industrious rat; and Mabel's four nickels still remained missing. Things in the vegetable garden seemed singularly backward, possibly because the four eager gardeners kept digging them up to see if they were growing. Their parents and Marjory's Aunty Jane were firmer than ever in their refusal to part with any more staple groceries.Perhaps if the girls had explained why they wanted the things, their relatives would have been more generous; but girllike, the four poverty-stricken young housekeepers made a deep mystery of their dinner plan. It was their most cherished secret, and when they met each morning they always said, mysteriously, "Good morning—remember M. B. D.," which meant, of course, "Mr. Black's Dinner."Mr. Black, indeed, never went by without referring to the girls' promise."When," he would ask, "is that dinner party coming off? It's a long time since I've been invited to a first-class dinner, cooked by four accomplished youngladies, and I'm getting hungrier every minute. When I get up in the morning I always say: 'Now I won't eat much breakfast because I've got to save room for that dinner'—and then, after all, I don't get invited."The situation was growing really embarrassing. The girls began to feel that keeping house, not to mention giving dinner parties, with no income whatever, was anything but a joke.>CHAPTER 6A Lodger to the RescueGrass was beginning to grow on the tiny lawn, all sorts of thrifty young seedlings were popping up in the flower beds, and Jean's pansies were actually beginning to blossom. The girls had trained the rampant Virginia creeper away from the windows and had coaxed it to climb the porch pillars. From the outside, no one would have suspected that DandelionCottage was not occupied by a regular grown-up family. Book agents and peddlers offered their wares at the front door, and appeared very much crestfallen when Bettie, or one of the others, explained that the neatly kept little cottage was just a playhouse. Handbills and sample packages of yeast cakes were left on the doorstep, and once a brand-new postman actually dropped a letter into the letter-box; Mabel carried it afterward to Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, to whom it rightfully belonged.One afternoon, when Jean was rearranging the dining-room pictures—they had to be rearranged very frequently—and when Mabel and Marjory were busy putting fresh papers on the pantry shelves, there was a ring at the doorbell.Bettie, who had been dusting the parlor, pushed the chairs into place, threw her duster into the dining-room and ran to the door. A lady—Bettie described her afterwards as a "middle-aged young lady with the sweetest dimple"—stood on the doorstep."Is your mother at home?" asked the lady, smiling pleasantly at Bettie, who liked the stranger at once."She—she doesn't live here," said Bettie, taken by surprise."Perhaps you can tell me what I want to know. I'm a stranger in town and I want to rent a room in this neighborhood. I am to have my meals at Mrs. Baker's,but she hasn't any place for me to sleep. I don't want anything very expensive, but of course I'd be willing to pay a fair price. Do you know of anybody with rooms to rent? I'm to be in town for three weeks."Bettie shook her head, reflectively. "No, I don't believe I do, unless—"Bettie paused to look inquiringly at Jean, who, framed by the dining-room doorway, was nodding her head vigorously."Perhaps Jean does," finished Bettie."Are youveryparticular," asked Jean, coming forward, "about what kind of room it is?""Why, not so very," returned the guest. "I'm afraid I couldn't afford a very grand one.""Are you very timid?" asked Bettie, who had suddenly guessed what Jean had in mind. "I mean are you afraid of burglars and mice and things like that?""Why, most persons are, I imagine," said the young woman, whose eyes were twinkling pleasantly. "Are there a great many mice and burglars in this neighborhood?""Mice," said Jean, "but not burglars. It's averyhonest neighborhood. I think I have an idea, but you see there are four of us and I'll have to consult the others about it, too. Sit here, please, in the cozy corner—it's the safest piece of furniture we have. Now ifyou'll excuse us just a minute we'll go to the kitchen and talk it over.""Certainly," murmured the lady, who looked a trifle embarrassed at encountering the gaze of the forty-two staring dolls that sat all around the parlor with their backs against the baseboard. "I hope I haven't interrupted a party.""Not at all," assured Bettie, with her best company manner."Girls," said Jean, when she and Bettie were in the kitchen with the door carefully closed behind them, "would you be willing to rent the front bedroom to a clean, nice-looking lady if she'd be willing to take it? She wants to pay for a room, she says, and shelooksvery polite and pleasant, doesn't she, Bettie?""Yes," corroborated Bettie, "I like her. She has kind of twinkling brown eyes and such nice dimples.""You see," explained Jean, "the money would pay for Mr. Black's dinner.""Why, so it would," cried Marjory. "Let's do it.""Yes," echoed Mabel, "for goodness' sake, let's do it. It's only three weeks, anyway, and what's three weeks!""How would it be," asked Marjory, cautiously, "to take her on approval? Aunty Jane always has hats and things sent on approval, so she can send them back if they don't fit.""Splendid!" cried Mabel. "If she doesn't fit Dandelion Cottage, she can't stay.""Oh," gurgled Marjory, "whata dinner we'll give Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane! We'll have ice cream and—""Huh!" said Mabel, "most likely she won't take the room at all. Anyhow, probably she's got tired of waiting and has gone.""We'll go and see," said Jean. "Come on, everybody."The lady, however, still sat on the hard, lumpy cozy corner, with her toes just touching the ground."Well," said she, smiling at the flock of girls, "how about the idea?"The other three looked expectantly at Jean; Mabel nudged her elbow and Bettie nodded at her."Youtalk," said Marjory; "you're the oldest.""It's like this," explained Jean. "This house isn't good enough to rent to grown-ups because it's all out of repair, so they've lent it to us for the summer for a playhouse. The back of it leaks dreadfully when it rains, and the plaster is all down in the kitchen, but the front bedroom is really very nice—if you don't mind having four kinds of carpet on the floor. This is a very safe neighborhood, no tramps or anything like that, and if you're not an awfully timid person, perhaps you wouldn't mind staying alone at night.""If you did," added Bettie, "probably one of us could sleep in the other room unless it happened to rain—it rains right down on the bed.""Could I go upstairs to look at the room?" asked the young woman."There isn't any upstairs," said Bettie, pulling back a curtain; "the room's right here.""Why! What a dear little room—all white and blue!""I hope you don't mind having children around," said Marjory, somewhat anxiously. "You see, we'd have to play in the rest of the house.""Of course," added Jean, hastily, "if you had company you could use the parlor—""And the front steps," said Bettie."I'm very fond of children," said the young lady, "and I don't expect to have any company but you because I don't know anybody here. I shall be away every day until about five o'clock because I am here with my father who is tuning church organs, and I have to help him. I strike the notes while he works behind the organ. He has a room at Mrs. Baker's, but she didn't have any place to put me. I think I should like this little room very much indeed. Now, how much are you going to charge me for it?"Jean looked at Bettie, and Bettie looked at the other two."I don't know," said Jean, at last."Neither do I," said Bettie."Would—would a dollar a week be too much?" asked Marjory."It wouldn't be enough," said the young woman, promptly. "My father pays five for the roomhehas, but it's really a larger room than he wanted. I should be very glad to give you two dollars and a half a week—I'm sure I couldn't find a furnished room anywhere for less than that. Can I move in tonight? I've nothing but a small trunk.""Ye-es," said Bettie, looking inquiringly at Jean. "Ithinkwe could get it ready by seven o'clock. It's all perfectly clean, but you see we'll have to change things around a little and fix up the washstand.""I'm sure," said the visitor, turning to depart, "that it all looks quite lovely just as it is. You may expect me at seven.""Well," exclaimed Marjory, when the door had closed behind their pleasant visitor, "isn't this too grand for words! It's just like finding a bush with pennies growing on it, or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Two and a half a week! That's—let me see. Why! that's seven dollars and a half! We can buy Mr. Black's dinner and have enough money left to live on for a long time afterwards.""Mercy!" cried Mabel. "We never said a word toher about taking her on approval. We didn't even ask her name.""Pshaw!" said Jean. "She's all right. She couldn't be disagreeable if she wanted to with that dimple and those sparkles in her eyes; but, girls, we've a tremendous lot to do.""Yes," said Mabel. "If she'd known that the pillows under those ruffled shams were just flour sacks stuffed with excelsior, she wouldn't have thought everything so lovely. Girls, what in the world are we to do for sheets? We haven't even one.""And blankets?" said Marjory."And quilts?" said Bettie. "That old white spread is every bit of bedclothes we own. I wassoafraid she'd turn the cover down and see that everything else was just pieces of burlap.""It's a good thing the mattress is all right," said Marjory. "But there isn't any bottom to the water pitcher, and the basin leaks like anything.""We'll just have to go home," said Jean, "and tell our mothers all about it. We'll have to borrow what we need. We must get a lamp too, and some oil, because there isn't any other way of lighting the house."The four girls ran first of all to Bettie's house with their surprising news."But, Bettie," said Mrs. Tucker, when her littledaughter, helped by the other three, had explained the situation, "are yousureshe's nice? I'm afraid you've been a little rash.""Just as nice as can be," assured Bettie."Yes," said Dr. Tucker, "I guess it's all right. I know the organ tuner—I used to see him twice a year when we lived in Ohio. His name is Blossom and he's a very fine old fellow. I met his daughter this afternoon when they were examining the church organ, and she seemed a pleasant, well-educated young woman—I believe he said she teaches a kindergarten during the winter. The girls haven't made any mistake this time.""Then we must make her comfortable," said Mrs. Tucker. "You may take sheets and pillow-cases from the linen closet, Bettie, and you must see that she has everything she needs."Excited Bettie danced off to the linen closet and the others ran home to tell the good news."I've filled a lamp for you, Bettie," said Mrs. Tucker, meeting Bettie, with her arms full of sheets at the bottom of the stairs. "Here's a box of matches, too."When Bettie was returning with her spoils to Dandelion Cottage she almost bumped into Mabel, whom she met at the gate with a pillow under each arm, a folded patchwork quilt balanced unsteadily on herhead, and her chubby hands clasped about a big brass lamp."The pillows are off my own bed," said Mabel. "Mother wasn't home, but she wouldn't care, anyway.""But can you sleep without them?""Oh, I'll take home one of the excelsior ones," said Mabel. "I can sleep on anything."Jean came in a moment later with a pile of blankets and quilts. She, too, had a lamp, packed carefully in a big basket that hung from her arm. Marjory followed almost at her heels with more bedding, towels, a fourth lamp, and two candlesticks."Well," laughed Bettie, when all the lamps and candles were placed in a row on the dining-room table, "I guess Miss Blossom will have almost light enough. Here are four big lamps and two candles—""I've six more candles in my blouse," said Mabel, laughing and fishing them out one at a time. "I thought they'd do for the blue candlesticks Mrs. Crane gave us for the bedroom.""Isn't it fortunate," said Jean, who was thumping the mattress vigorously, "that we put the best bed in this room? Beds are such hard things to move.""Ye-es," said Bettie, rather doubtfully, "but I think we'd better tell Miss Blossom not to be surprised if the slats fall out once in a while during the night. Youknow they always do if you happen to turn over too suddenly.""We must warn her about the chairs, too," said Marjory. "They're none of them really very safe.""I guess," said Jean, "I'd better bring over the rocking chair from my own room, but I'm afraid she'll just have to grin and bear the slats, because theywillfall out in spite of anything I can do."By seven o'clock the room was invitingly comfortable. The washstand, which was really only a wooden box thinly disguised by a muslin curtain gathered across the front and sides, was supplied with a sound basin, a whole pitcher, numerous towels, and four kinds of soap—the girls had all thought of soap. They were unable to decide which kind the lodger would like best, so they laid Bettie's clear amber cake of glycerine soap, Jean's scentless white castile, Marjory's square of green cucumber soap, and Mabel's highly perfumed oval pink cake, in a rainbow row on the washstand.The bed, bountifully supplied with coverings—had Dandelion Cottage been suddenly transported to Alaska the lodger would still have had blankets to spare, so generously had her enthusiastic landladies provided—looked very comfortable indeed. At half-past seven when the lodger arrived with apologies forbeing late because the drayman who was to move her trunk had been slow, the cottage, for the first time since the girls had occupied it, was brilliantly lighted."We thought," explained Bettie, "that you might feel less frightened in a strange place if you had plenty of light, though we didn't really mean to have so many lamps—we each supposed we were bringing the only one. Anyway, we don't know which one burns best.""If they shouldallgo out," said Mabel, earnestly, "there are candles and matches on the little shelf above the bed."When the lodger had been warned about the loose slats and the untrustworthiness of the chairs, the girls said good-night."You needn't go onmyaccount," said Miss Blossom. "It's pleasant to have you here—still, I'm not afraid to stay alone. You must always do just as you like about staying, you know; I shouldn't like to think that I was driving you out of this dear little house, for it was nice of you to let me come. I think I was very fortunate in finding a room so near Mrs. Baker's.""Thank you," said Jean, "but we always have to be home before dark unless we have permission to stay any place.""Ihaveto go," confided Mabel, "because I was so excited that I forgot to eat my supper.""So did I," said Marjory, frankly, "and I'm just as hungry as a bear.""Everybody come home with me," said Jean. "We always have dinner later than you do and the things can't beverycold.">CHAPTER 7The Girls Disclose a Plan"Did you sleep well, Miss Blossom?" asked Bettie, shyly waylaying the lodger who was on her way to breakfast."Ye-es," said Miss Blossom, smiling brightly, "though in spite of your warning and all my care, the bottom dropped out of my bed and landed the mattress on the floor. But no harm was done. As soonas I discovered that I was not falling down an elevator shaft, I went to sleep again. I think if I had a few nails and some little blocks of wood I could fix those slats so they'd stay in better; you see they're not quite long enough for the bed.""I'll find some for you," said Bettie. "You'll find them on the parlor table when you get back."Before the week was over, the girls had discovered that their new friend was in every way a most delightful person. She proved surprisingly skillful with hammer and nails, and besides mending the bed she soon had several of the chairs quite firm on their legs."Why," cried Bettie one day as she delightedly inspected an old black walnut rocker that had always collapsed at the slightest touch, "this old chair is almost strong enough towalk! I'm so glad you've made so many of them safe, because, when Mrs. Bartholomew Crane comes to see us, she's always afraid to sit down. She's such a nice neighbor that we'd like to make her comfortable.""We do have the loveliest friends," said Jean, with a contented sigh. "It's hard to tell which is the nicest one.""But the dearesttwo," exclaimed Marjory, discriminating nicely, "are Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane—except you, of course, Miss Blossom.""Somehow," added Bettie, "we always think ofthose two in one breath, like Dombey and Son, or Jack and Jill.""But they couldn't be farther apartreally," declared Jean. "They're both nice, both are kind of old, both are dark and rather stout, but except for that they're altogether different. Mr. Black has everything in the world that anybody could want, and Mrs. Crane hasn't much of anything. Mr. Black is invited to banquets and things and rides in carriages and—""Has a silk hat," Mabel broke in."And Mrs. Crane," continued Jean, paying no attention to the interruption, "can't even afford to ride in the street car—I've heard her say so.""I wish," groaned generous Mabel, with deep contrition, "that I'd never taken a cent for that lemonade I sold her last spring. If I'd dreamed how good and how poor she was, I wouldn't have. She might have hadfourrides with that money.""Iwish," said Jean, "we could do something perfectly grand and beautiful for Mrs. Crane. She's always doing the kindest little things for other people.""Well," demanded Marjory, "aren't we going to have her here to dinner, too, when we have Mr. Black? Please don't tell anybody, Miss Blossom—it's to be a surprise.""Still, just a dinner doesn't seem to be enough," said Jean, who, with her chin in her hand, seemed to bethinking deeply. "Of course it helps, but I'd rather save her life or do something like that.""Little things count for a great deal in this world, sometimes," said Miss Blossom, leaning down to brush her cheek softly against Jean's. "It's generally wiser to leave the big things until one is big enough to handle them.""Mrs. Craneispretty big," offered matter-of-fact Mabel."Oh, dear," laughed Miss Blossom, "that wasn't at all what I meant.""Mr. Black," said Bettie, dreamily, "has enoughthings, but I don't believe he really cares about anything in the world but his roses. His face is different when he talks about them, kind of soft all about the corners and not so—not so—""Daniel Webstery," supplied Jean, understandingly."It must be pretty lonely for him without any family," agreed Miss Blossom. "I don't know what would become of Father if he didn't have me to keep him cheered up—we're wonderful chums, Father and I.""Oh", mourned tender-hearted Bettie, "IwishI could make Mrs. Crane rich enough so she wouldn't need to mend all the time, and that I could provide Mr. Black with some really truly relatives to love him the way you love your father.""Oh, Bettie! Bettie!" cried Mabel, suddenly beginning, in her excitement, to bounce up and down on the one chair that possessed springs. "I know exactly how we could help them both. We could beg seven or eight children from the orphan asylum—they'regladto give 'em away—and let Mrs. Crane sell 'em to Mr. Black for—for ten dollars apiece."Such a storm of merriment followed this simple solution of the problem that Mabel for the moment looked quite crushed. Her chair, incidentally, was crushed too, for Mabel's final bounce proved too much for its frail constitution; its four legs spread suddenly and lowered the surprised Mabel gently to the floor. Everybody laughed again, Mabel as heartily as anyone, and, for a time, the sorrows of Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black were forgotten.The dinner party, however, still remained uppermost in all their plans. Mabel was in favor of giving it at once, but the other girls were more cautious, so the little mistresses of Dandelion Cottage finally decided to postpone the party until after Miss Blossom had paid her rent in full."You see," explained cautious Marjory, one day when the girls were alone, "she might get called away suddenly before the three weeks are up, and if we spent more money than wehaveit wouldn't be verycomfortable. Besides, I've never seen seven dollars and a half all at once, and I'd like to."But the dinner plan was no longer the profound secret that it had been at first, for when the young housekeepers had told their mothers about their lodger, they had been obliged to tell them also what they intended to do with the money. In the excitement of the moment, they had all neglected to mention Mrs. Crane, but later, when they made good this omission, their news was received in a most perplexing fashion. The girls were greatly puzzled, but they did not happen to compare notes until after something that happened at the dinner party had reminded them of their parents' incomprehensible behavior."Mamma," said Bettie, one evening at supper time, soon after Miss Blossom's arrival, "I forgot to tell you that we're going to ask Mrs. Crane, too, when we have Mr. Black to dinner. It's to be a surprise for both of them.""What!" gasped Mrs. Tucker, dropping her muffin, and looking not at Bettie, but at Dr. Tucker. "Surely not Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black, too! You don't mean both at the same time!""Why, yes, Mamma," said Bettie. "It wouldn't cost any more."Then the little girl looked with astonishment first at her father and then at her mother, for Dr. Tucker,with a warning finger against his lips, was shaking his head just as hard as he could at Mrs. Tucker, who looked the very picture of amazement."Why," asked Bettie, "what's the matter? Don't you think it's a good plan? Isn't it the right thing to do?""Yes," said Dr. Tucker, still looking at Bettie's mother, who was nodding her approval, "I shouldn't be surprised if it might prove averygood thing to do. Your idea of making it a surprise to both of them is a good one, too. I should keep it the darkest kind of secret until the very last moment, if I were you.""Yes," agreed Mrs. Tucker, "I should certainly keep it a secret."Jean, too, happened to mention the matter at home and with very much the same result. Mr. Mapes looked at Mrs. Mapes with something in his eye that very closely resembled an amused twinkle, and Jean was almost certain that there was an answering twinkle in her mother's eye."What's the joke?" asked Jean."I couldn't think of spoiling it by telling," said Mrs. Mapes. "If there's anything I can do to help you with your dinner party I shall be delighted to do it.""Oh, will you?" cried Jean. "When I told you about it last week I thought, somehow, that you weren't very much interested.""I'm very much interested indeed," returned Mrs. Mapes. "I hope you'll be able to keep the surprise part of it a secret to the very last moment. That's always the best part of a dinner party, you know.""Yes," said Mr. Mapes, "if you know who the other guests are to be, it always takes away part of the pleasure."When Marjory told the news, her Aunty Jane, who seldom smiled and who usually appeared to care very little about the doings in Dandelion Cottage, greatly surprised her niece by suddenly displaying as many as seven upper teeth; she showed, too, such flattering interest in the coming event that Marjory plucked up courage to ask for potatoes and other provisions that might prove useful."When you've decided what day you're going to have your party," said Aunty Jane, with astonishing good nature, "I'll give or lend you anything you want, provided you don't tell either of your guests who the other one is to be."When Mabel told about the plan, she too was very much perplexed at the way her news was received. Her parents, after one speaking glance at each other, leaned back in their chairs and laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. But they, too, heartily approved of the dinner party and advised strict secrecy regarding the guests.School was out, and, as Bettie said, every day was Saturday, but the days were slipping away altogether too rapidly. The lawn, by this time, was covered with what Mabel called "real grass," great bunches of Jean's sweetest purple pansies had to be picked every morning so they wouldn't go to seed, and the long bed by the fence threatened to burst at any moment into blossom. Even the much-disturbed vegetable garden was doing so nicely that it was possible to tell the lettuce from the radish plants.Two of Miss Blossom's three weeks had gone. She herself was to leave town the following Thursday, and the dinner party was to take place the day after; but even the thought of the great event failed to keep the little cottagers quite cheerful, for they hated to think of losing their lovely lodger. Whenever this charming young person was not busy at one or another of the various churches with her father, she was playing with the children. "Just exactly," said Bettie, "as if she were just twelve years old, too." Her clever fingers made dresses for each of the four biggest dolls, and such cunning baby bonnets for each of the four littlest ones.Best of all, she taught the girls how to do a great many things. She showed them how to turn the narrowest of hems, how to gather a ruffle neatly, and how to take the tiniest of stitches. Bettie, who hadto help with the weekly darning, and Marjory, who had to mend her own stockings, actually found it pleasant work after Miss Blossom had shown them several different ways of weaving the threads."I just wish," cried Mabel, one day, in a burst of gratitude, "that you'd fall ill, or something so we could do something foryou. You're just lovely tous.""Thank you, Mabel," said Miss Blossom, with eyes that twinkled delightedly, "I'm sure you'd take beautiful care of me—I'm almost tempted to try it. Shall I have measles, or just plain smallpox?"
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Furnishing the Cottage
After tea that Saturday night four tired but spotlessly clean little girls sat on Jean's doorstep, making plans for the coming week.
"What are you going to do for a stove?" asked Mrs. Mapes.
"I have a toy one," replied Mabel, "but it has only one leg and it always smokes. Besides, I can't find it."
"I have a little box stove that the boys used to havein their camp," said Mrs. Mapes. "It has three good legs and it doesn't smoke at all. If you want it, and if you'll promise to be very careful about your fire, I'll have one of the boys set it up for you."
"That would be lovely," said Bettie, gratefully. "Mamma has given me four saucers and a syrup jug, and I have a few pieces left of quite a large-sized doll's tea set."
"We have an old rug," said Marjory, "that I'm almost sure I can have for the parlor floor, and I have two small rocking chairs of my own."
"There's a lot of old things in our garret," said Mabel; "three-legged tables, and chairs with the seats worn out. I know Mother'll let us take them."
"Well," said Bettie, "take everything you have to the cottage Monday afternoon after school. Bring all the pictures you can to cover the walls, and—"
"Hark!" said Mrs. Mapes. "I think somebody is calling Bettie."
"Oh, my!" said Bettie, springing to her feet. "This is bath night and I promised to bathe the twins. I must go this minute."
"I think Bettie is sweet," said Jean. "Mr. Black would never have given us the cottage if he hadn't been so fond of Bettie; but she doesn't put on any airs at all. She makes us feel as if it belonged to all of us."
"Bettieisa sweet little girl," said Mrs. Mapes, "butshe's far too energetic for such a little body. You mustn't let her doallthe work."
"Oh, we don't!" exclaimed Mabel, grandly. "Why, what are you laughing at, Marjory?"
"Oh, nothing," said Marjory. "I just happened to remember how you scrubbed that bedroom floor."
From four to six on Monday afternoon, the little housekeepers, heavily burdened each time with their goods and chattels, made many small journeys between their homes and Dandelion Cottage. The parlor was soon piled high with furniture that was all more or less battered.
"Dear me," said Jean, pausing at the door with an armful of carpet. "How am I ever to get in? Hadn't we better straighten out what we have before we bring anything more?"
"Yes," said Bettie. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had almost enough for two houses. I'm sure I've seen six clocks."
"That's only one for each room," said Mabel. "Besides, none of the four thatIbrought will go."
"Neither will my two," said Marjory, giggling.
"We might call this 'The House of the Tickless Clocks,'" suggested Jean.
"Or of the grindless coffee-mill," giggled Marjory.
"Or of the talkless telephone," added Mabel. "Ibrought over an old telephone box so we could pretend we had a telephone."
There were still several things lacking when the children had found places for all their crippled belongings. They had no couch for the sofa pillows Mabel had brought, but Bettie converted two wooden boxes and a long board into an admirable cozy corner. She even upholstered this sadly misnamed piece of furniture with the burlaps and excelsior that had been packed about her father's new desk, but it still needed a cover. The windows lacked curtains, the girls had only one fork, and their cupboard was so distressingly empty that it rivaled Mother Hubbard's.
They had planned to eat and even sleep at the cottage during vacation, which was still some weeks distant; but, as they had no beds and no provisions, and as their parents said quite emphatically that they couldnotstay away from home at night, part of this plan had to be given up.
Most of the grown-ups, however, were greatly pleased with the cottage plan. Marjory's Aunty Jane, who was nervous and disliked having children running in and out of her spotlessly neat house, was glad to have Marjory happy with her little friends, provided they were all perfectly safe—and out of earshot. Overworked Mrs. Tucker found it a great relief to have careful Bettie take two or three of the smallestchildren entirely off her hands for several hours each day. When these infants, divided as equally as possible among the four girls, were not needed indoors to serve as playthings, they rolled about contentedly inside the cottage fence. Mabel's mother did not hesitate to say that she, for one, was thankful enough that Mr. Black had given the girls a place to play in. With Mabel engaged elsewhere, it was possible, Mrs. Bennett said, to keep her own house quite respectably neat. Mrs. Mapes, indeed, missed quiet, orderly Jean; but she would not mention it for fear of spoiling her tender-hearted little daughter's pleasure, and it did not occur to modest Jean that she was of sufficient consequence to be missed by her mother or anyone else.
The neighbors, finding that the long-deserted cottage was again occupied, began to be curious about the occupants. One day Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who lived almost directly opposite the cottage, found herself so devoured by kindly curiosity that she could stand it no longer. Intending to be neighborly, for Mrs. Crane was always neighborly in the best sense of the word, she put on her one good dress and started across the street to call on the newcomers.
It was really a great undertaking for Mrs. Crane to pay visits, for she was a stout, slow-moving person, and, owing to the antiquity and consequent tendernessof her best garments, it was an even greater undertaking for the good woman to make a visiting costume. Her best black silk, for instance, had to be neatly mended with court-plaster when all other remedies had failed, and her old, thread-lace collars had been darned until their original floral patterns had given place to a mosaic of spider webs. Mrs. Crane's motives, however, were far better than her clothes. Years before, when she was newly married, she had lived for months a stranger in a strange town, where it was no unusual occurrence to live for years in ignorance of one's next-door neighbor's very name. During those unhappy months poor Mrs. Crane, sociable by nature yet sadly afflicted with shyness, had suffered keenly from loneliness and homesickness. She had vowed then that no other stranger should suffer as she had suffered, if it were in her power to prevent it; so, in spite of increasing difficulties, kind Mrs. Crane conscientiously called on each newcomer. In many cases, hers was the first welcome to be extended to persons settling in Lakeville, and although these visits were prompted by single-minded generosity, it was natural that she should, at the same time, make many friends. These, however, were seldom lasting ones, for many persons, whose business kept them in Lakeville for perhaps only a few months, afterwardsmoved away and drifted quietly out of Mrs. Crane's life.
That afternoon the four girls realized for the first time that Dandelion Cottage was provided with a doorbell. In response to its lively jingling, Mabel dropped the potato she was peeling with neatness but hardly with dispatch, and hurried to the door.
"Is your moth—Is the lady of the house at home?" asked Mrs. Crane.
"Yes'm, all of us are—there's four," stammered Mabel, who wasn't quite sure of her ability to entertain a grown-up caller. "Please walk in. Oh! don't sit down in that one, please! There's only two legs on that chair, and it always goes down flat."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crane, moving toward the cozy corner, "I shouldn't have suspected it."
"Oh, you can't sitthere, either," exclaimed Mabel. "You see, that's the Tucker baby taking his nap."
"My land!" said stout Mrs. Crane. "I thought it was one of those new-fashioned roll pillows."
"Thischair," said Mabel, dragging one in from the dining room, "is the safest one we have in the house, but you must be careful to sit right down square in the middle of it because it slides out from under you if you sit too hard on the front edge. If you'll excuse me just a minute I'll go call the others—they're making a vegetable garden in the back yard."
"Well, I declare!" said Mrs. Crane, when she had recognized the four young housekeepers and had heard all about the housekeeping. "It seems as if I ought to be able to find something in the way of furniture for you. I have a single iron bedstead I'm willing to lend you, and maybe I can find you some other things."
"Thank you very much," said Bettie, politely.
"I hope," said Mrs. Crane, pleasantly, "that you'll be very neighborly and come over to see me whenever you feel like it, for I'm always alone."
"Thank you," said Jean, speaking for the household. "We'd just love to."
"Haven't youanychildren?" asked Bettie, sympathetically.
"Not one," replied Mrs. Crane. "I've never had any but I've always loved children."
"But I'msureyou have a lot of grandchildren," said Mabel, consolingly. "You look so nice and grandmothery."
"No," said Mrs. Crane, not appearing so sorrowful as Mabel had supposed an utterly grandchildless personwouldlook, "I've never possessed any grandchildren either."
"But," queried Mabel, who was sometimes almost too inquisitive, "haven't you any relatives, husbands, oranybody, in all the world?"
Many months afterward the girls were suddenly reminded of Mrs. Crane's odd, contradictory reply:
"No—Yes—that is, no. None to speak of, I mean. Do you girls sleep here, too?"
"No" said Jean. "We want to, awfully, but our mothers won't let us. You see, we sleep so soundly that they're all afraid we might get the house afire, burn up, and never know a thing about it."
"They're quite right," said Mrs. Crane. "I suppose they like to have you at home once in a while."
"Oh, they do have us," replied Bettie. "We eat and sleep at home and they have us all day Sundays. When they want any of us other times, all they have to do is to open a back window and call—Dear me, Mrs. Crane, I'll have to ask you to excuse me this very minute—There's somebody calling me now."
Other visitors, including the girls' parents, called at the cottage and seemed to enjoy it very much indeed. The visitors were always greatly interested and everybody wanted to help. One brought a little table that really stood up very well if kept against the wall, another found curtains for all the windows—a little ragged, to be sure, but still curtains. Grandma Pike, who had a wonderful garden, was so delighted with everything that she gave the girls a crimson petunia growing in a red tomato can, and a great many neat little homemade packets of flower seeds. Rob said theymight have even his porcupine if they could get it out from under the rectory porch.
By the end of the week the cottage presented quite a lived-in appearance. Bright pictures covered the dingy paper, and, thanks to numerous donations, the rooms looked very well furnished. No one would have suspected that the chairs were untrustworthy, the tables crippled, and the clocks devoid of works. The cottage seemed cozy and pleasant, and the girls kept it in apple-pie order.
Out of doors, the grass was beginning to show and little green specks dotted the flower beds. Other green specks in crooked rows staggered across the vegetable garden.
The four mothers, satisfied that their little daughters were safe in Dandelion Cottage, left them in undisturbed possession.
"I declare," said Mrs. Mapes one day, "the only time I see Jean, nowadays, is when she's asleep. All the rest of the time she's in school or at the cottage."
"Yes," said Mrs. Bennett, "when I miss my scissors or any of my dishes or anything else, I always have to go to the cottage and get out a search warrant. Mabel has carried off a wagonload of things, but I don't knowwhenour own house has been so peaceful."
>
Poverty in the Cottage
"There's no use talking," said Jean, one day, as the girls sat at their dining-room table eating very smoky toast and drinking the weakest of cocoa, "we'll have to get some provisions of our own before long if we're going to invite Mr. Black to dinner as we promised. The cupboard's perfectly empty and Bridget says I can't take another scrap of bread or one more potato out of the house this week."
"Aunty Jane says there'll be trouble," said Marjory, "if I don't keep out of her ice box, so I guess I can't bring any more milk. When she says there'll be trouble, there usually is, if I'm not pretty careful. But dear me, itissuch fun to cook our own meals on that dear little box-stove, even if most of the things do taste pretty awful."
"I wish," said Mabel, mournfully, "that somebody would give us a hen, so we could make omelets."
"Who ever made omelets out of a hen?" asked Jean, laughing.
"I meant out of the eggs, of course," said Mabel, with dignity. "Hens lay eggs, don't they? If we count on five or six eggs a day—"
"The goose that laid the golden egg laid only one a day," said Marjory. "It seems to me that six is a good many."
"I wasn't talking about geese," said Mabel, "but about just plain everyday hens."
"Six-every-day hens, you mean, don't you?" asked Marjory, teasingly. "You'd better wish for a cow, too, while you're about it."
"Yes," said Bettie, "we certainly need one, for I'm not to ask for butter more than twice a week. Mother says she'll be in the poorhouse before summer's over if she has to provide butter fortwofamilies."
"I just tell you what it is, girls," said Jean, nibblingher cindery crust, "we'll just have to earn some money if we're to give Mr. Black any kind of a dinner."
Mabel, who always accepted new ideas with enthusiasm, slipped quietly into the kitchen, took a solitary lemon from the cupboard, cut it in half, and squeezed the juice into a broken-nosed pitcher. This done, she added a little sugar and a great deal of water to the lemon juice, slipped quietly out of the back door, ran around the house and in at the front door, taking a small table from the front room. This she carried out of doors to the corner of the lot facing the street, where she established her lemonade stand.
She was almost immediately successful, for the day was warm, and Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who was entertaining two visitors on her front porch, was glad of an opportunity to offer her guests something in the way of refreshment. The cottage boasted only one glass that did not leak, but Mabel cheerfully made three trips across the street with it—it did not occur to any of them until too late it would have been easier to carry the pitcher across in the first place. The lemonade was decidedly weak, but the visitors were too polite to say so. On her return, a thirsty small boy offered Mabel a nickel for all that was left in the pitcher, and Mabel, after a moment's hesitation, accepted the offer.
"You're getting a bargain," said Mabel. "There's asmuch as a glass and three quarters there, besides all the lemon."
"Did you get a whole pitcherful out of one lemon?" asked the boy. "You'd be able to make circus lemonade all right."
Before the other girls had had time to discover what had become of her, the proprietor of the lemonade stand marched into the cottage and proudly displayed four shining nickels and the empty pitcher.
"Why, where in the world did you get all that?" cried Marjory. "Surely you never earned it by being on time for meals—you've been late three times a day ever since we got the cottage."
"Sold lemonade," said Mabel. "Our troubles are over, girls. I'm going to buytwolemons tomorrow and sell twice as much."
"Good!" cried Bettie, "I'll help. The boys have promised to bring me a lot of arbutus tonight—they went to the woods this morning. I'll tie it in bunches and perhaps we can sell that, too."
"Wouldn't it be splendid if we could have Mr. Black here to dinner next Saturday?" said Jean. "I'll never be satisfied until we've kept that promise, but I don't suppose we could possibly get enough things together by that time."
"I have a sample can of baking powder," offeredMarjory, hopefully. "I'll bring it over next time I come."
"What's the good?" asked matter-of-fact Mabel. "We can't feed Mr. Black on just plain baking powder, and we haven't any biscuits to raise with it."
"Dear me," said Jean, "I wish we hadn't been so extravagant at first. If we hadn't had so many tea parties last week, we might get enough flour and things at home. Mother says it's too expensive having all her groceries carried off."
"Never mind," consoled Mabel, confidently. "We'll be buying our own groceries by this time tomorrow with the money we make selling lemonade. A boy said my lemonade was quite as good as you can buy at the circus."
Unfortunately, however, it rained the next day and the next, so lemonade was out of the question. By the time it cleared, Bettie's neat little bunches of arbutus were no longer fresh, and careless Mabel had forgotten where she had put the money. She mentioned no fewer than twenty-two places where the four precious nickels might be, but none of them happened to be the right one.
"Mercy me," said Bettie, "it's dreadful to be so poor! I'm afraid we'll have to invite Mr. Black to one of our bread-and-sugar tea-parties, after all."
"No," said Jean, firmly. "We've just got to give hima regular seven-course dinner—he has 'em every day at home. We'll have to put it off until we can do it in style."
"By and by," said Mabel, "we'll have beans and radishes and things in our own garden, and we can go to the woods for berries."
"Perhaps," said Bettie, hopefully, "one of the boys might catch a fish—Robalmostdid, once."
"I suppose I could ask Aunty Jane for a potato once in a while," said Marjory, "but I'll have to give her time to forget about last month's grocery bill—she says we never before used so many eggs in one month and I guess Maggiedidgive me a good many. Potatoes will keep, you know. We can save 'em until we have enough for a meal."
"While we're about it," said Bettie, "I think we'd better have Mrs. Crane to dinner, too. She's such a nice old lady and she's been awfully good to us."
"She's not very well off," agreed Mabel, "and probably a real, first-class dinner would taste good to her."
"But," pleaded Bettie, "don't let's ask her until we're sure of the date. As it is, I can't sleep nights for thinking of how Mr. Black must feel. He'll think we don't want him."
"You'd better explain to him," suggested Jean, "that it isn't convenient to have him just yet, but that we're going to just as soon as ever we can. Wemustn't tell him why, because it would be just like him to send the provisions here himself, and then it wouldn't really beourparty."
In spite of all the girls' plans, however, by the end of the week the cottage larder was still distressingly empty. Marjory had, indeed, industriously collected potatoes, only to have them carried off by an equally industrious rat; and Mabel's four nickels still remained missing. Things in the vegetable garden seemed singularly backward, possibly because the four eager gardeners kept digging them up to see if they were growing. Their parents and Marjory's Aunty Jane were firmer than ever in their refusal to part with any more staple groceries.
Perhaps if the girls had explained why they wanted the things, their relatives would have been more generous; but girllike, the four poverty-stricken young housekeepers made a deep mystery of their dinner plan. It was their most cherished secret, and when they met each morning they always said, mysteriously, "Good morning—remember M. B. D.," which meant, of course, "Mr. Black's Dinner."
Mr. Black, indeed, never went by without referring to the girls' promise.
"When," he would ask, "is that dinner party coming off? It's a long time since I've been invited to a first-class dinner, cooked by four accomplished youngladies, and I'm getting hungrier every minute. When I get up in the morning I always say: 'Now I won't eat much breakfast because I've got to save room for that dinner'—and then, after all, I don't get invited."
The situation was growing really embarrassing. The girls began to feel that keeping house, not to mention giving dinner parties, with no income whatever, was anything but a joke.
>
A Lodger to the Rescue
Grass was beginning to grow on the tiny lawn, all sorts of thrifty young seedlings were popping up in the flower beds, and Jean's pansies were actually beginning to blossom. The girls had trained the rampant Virginia creeper away from the windows and had coaxed it to climb the porch pillars. From the outside, no one would have suspected that DandelionCottage was not occupied by a regular grown-up family. Book agents and peddlers offered their wares at the front door, and appeared very much crestfallen when Bettie, or one of the others, explained that the neatly kept little cottage was just a playhouse. Handbills and sample packages of yeast cakes were left on the doorstep, and once a brand-new postman actually dropped a letter into the letter-box; Mabel carried it afterward to Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, to whom it rightfully belonged.
One afternoon, when Jean was rearranging the dining-room pictures—they had to be rearranged very frequently—and when Mabel and Marjory were busy putting fresh papers on the pantry shelves, there was a ring at the doorbell.
Bettie, who had been dusting the parlor, pushed the chairs into place, threw her duster into the dining-room and ran to the door. A lady—Bettie described her afterwards as a "middle-aged young lady with the sweetest dimple"—stood on the doorstep.
"Is your mother at home?" asked the lady, smiling pleasantly at Bettie, who liked the stranger at once.
"She—she doesn't live here," said Bettie, taken by surprise.
"Perhaps you can tell me what I want to know. I'm a stranger in town and I want to rent a room in this neighborhood. I am to have my meals at Mrs. Baker's,but she hasn't any place for me to sleep. I don't want anything very expensive, but of course I'd be willing to pay a fair price. Do you know of anybody with rooms to rent? I'm to be in town for three weeks."
Bettie shook her head, reflectively. "No, I don't believe I do, unless—"
Bettie paused to look inquiringly at Jean, who, framed by the dining-room doorway, was nodding her head vigorously.
"Perhaps Jean does," finished Bettie.
"Are youveryparticular," asked Jean, coming forward, "about what kind of room it is?"
"Why, not so very," returned the guest. "I'm afraid I couldn't afford a very grand one."
"Are you very timid?" asked Bettie, who had suddenly guessed what Jean had in mind. "I mean are you afraid of burglars and mice and things like that?"
"Why, most persons are, I imagine," said the young woman, whose eyes were twinkling pleasantly. "Are there a great many mice and burglars in this neighborhood?"
"Mice," said Jean, "but not burglars. It's averyhonest neighborhood. I think I have an idea, but you see there are four of us and I'll have to consult the others about it, too. Sit here, please, in the cozy corner—it's the safest piece of furniture we have. Now ifyou'll excuse us just a minute we'll go to the kitchen and talk it over."
"Certainly," murmured the lady, who looked a trifle embarrassed at encountering the gaze of the forty-two staring dolls that sat all around the parlor with their backs against the baseboard. "I hope I haven't interrupted a party."
"Not at all," assured Bettie, with her best company manner.
"Girls," said Jean, when she and Bettie were in the kitchen with the door carefully closed behind them, "would you be willing to rent the front bedroom to a clean, nice-looking lady if she'd be willing to take it? She wants to pay for a room, she says, and shelooksvery polite and pleasant, doesn't she, Bettie?"
"Yes," corroborated Bettie, "I like her. She has kind of twinkling brown eyes and such nice dimples."
"You see," explained Jean, "the money would pay for Mr. Black's dinner."
"Why, so it would," cried Marjory. "Let's do it."
"Yes," echoed Mabel, "for goodness' sake, let's do it. It's only three weeks, anyway, and what's three weeks!"
"How would it be," asked Marjory, cautiously, "to take her on approval? Aunty Jane always has hats and things sent on approval, so she can send them back if they don't fit."
"Splendid!" cried Mabel. "If she doesn't fit Dandelion Cottage, she can't stay."
"Oh," gurgled Marjory, "whata dinner we'll give Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane! We'll have ice cream and—"
"Huh!" said Mabel, "most likely she won't take the room at all. Anyhow, probably she's got tired of waiting and has gone."
"We'll go and see," said Jean. "Come on, everybody."
The lady, however, still sat on the hard, lumpy cozy corner, with her toes just touching the ground.
"Well," said she, smiling at the flock of girls, "how about the idea?"
The other three looked expectantly at Jean; Mabel nudged her elbow and Bettie nodded at her.
"Youtalk," said Marjory; "you're the oldest."
"It's like this," explained Jean. "This house isn't good enough to rent to grown-ups because it's all out of repair, so they've lent it to us for the summer for a playhouse. The back of it leaks dreadfully when it rains, and the plaster is all down in the kitchen, but the front bedroom is really very nice—if you don't mind having four kinds of carpet on the floor. This is a very safe neighborhood, no tramps or anything like that, and if you're not an awfully timid person, perhaps you wouldn't mind staying alone at night."
"If you did," added Bettie, "probably one of us could sleep in the other room unless it happened to rain—it rains right down on the bed."
"Could I go upstairs to look at the room?" asked the young woman.
"There isn't any upstairs," said Bettie, pulling back a curtain; "the room's right here."
"Why! What a dear little room—all white and blue!"
"I hope you don't mind having children around," said Marjory, somewhat anxiously. "You see, we'd have to play in the rest of the house."
"Of course," added Jean, hastily, "if you had company you could use the parlor—"
"And the front steps," said Bettie.
"I'm very fond of children," said the young lady, "and I don't expect to have any company but you because I don't know anybody here. I shall be away every day until about five o'clock because I am here with my father who is tuning church organs, and I have to help him. I strike the notes while he works behind the organ. He has a room at Mrs. Baker's, but she didn't have any place to put me. I think I should like this little room very much indeed. Now, how much are you going to charge me for it?"
Jean looked at Bettie, and Bettie looked at the other two.
"I don't know," said Jean, at last.
"Neither do I," said Bettie.
"Would—would a dollar a week be too much?" asked Marjory.
"It wouldn't be enough," said the young woman, promptly. "My father pays five for the roomhehas, but it's really a larger room than he wanted. I should be very glad to give you two dollars and a half a week—I'm sure I couldn't find a furnished room anywhere for less than that. Can I move in tonight? I've nothing but a small trunk."
"Ye-es," said Bettie, looking inquiringly at Jean. "Ithinkwe could get it ready by seven o'clock. It's all perfectly clean, but you see we'll have to change things around a little and fix up the washstand."
"I'm sure," said the visitor, turning to depart, "that it all looks quite lovely just as it is. You may expect me at seven."
"Well," exclaimed Marjory, when the door had closed behind their pleasant visitor, "isn't this too grand for words! It's just like finding a bush with pennies growing on it, or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Two and a half a week! That's—let me see. Why! that's seven dollars and a half! We can buy Mr. Black's dinner and have enough money left to live on for a long time afterwards."
"Mercy!" cried Mabel. "We never said a word toher about taking her on approval. We didn't even ask her name."
"Pshaw!" said Jean. "She's all right. She couldn't be disagreeable if she wanted to with that dimple and those sparkles in her eyes; but, girls, we've a tremendous lot to do."
"Yes," said Mabel. "If she'd known that the pillows under those ruffled shams were just flour sacks stuffed with excelsior, she wouldn't have thought everything so lovely. Girls, what in the world are we to do for sheets? We haven't even one."
"And blankets?" said Marjory.
"And quilts?" said Bettie. "That old white spread is every bit of bedclothes we own. I wassoafraid she'd turn the cover down and see that everything else was just pieces of burlap."
"It's a good thing the mattress is all right," said Marjory. "But there isn't any bottom to the water pitcher, and the basin leaks like anything."
"We'll just have to go home," said Jean, "and tell our mothers all about it. We'll have to borrow what we need. We must get a lamp too, and some oil, because there isn't any other way of lighting the house."
The four girls ran first of all to Bettie's house with their surprising news.
"But, Bettie," said Mrs. Tucker, when her littledaughter, helped by the other three, had explained the situation, "are yousureshe's nice? I'm afraid you've been a little rash."
"Just as nice as can be," assured Bettie.
"Yes," said Dr. Tucker, "I guess it's all right. I know the organ tuner—I used to see him twice a year when we lived in Ohio. His name is Blossom and he's a very fine old fellow. I met his daughter this afternoon when they were examining the church organ, and she seemed a pleasant, well-educated young woman—I believe he said she teaches a kindergarten during the winter. The girls haven't made any mistake this time."
"Then we must make her comfortable," said Mrs. Tucker. "You may take sheets and pillow-cases from the linen closet, Bettie, and you must see that she has everything she needs."
Excited Bettie danced off to the linen closet and the others ran home to tell the good news.
"I've filled a lamp for you, Bettie," said Mrs. Tucker, meeting Bettie, with her arms full of sheets at the bottom of the stairs. "Here's a box of matches, too."
When Bettie was returning with her spoils to Dandelion Cottage she almost bumped into Mabel, whom she met at the gate with a pillow under each arm, a folded patchwork quilt balanced unsteadily on herhead, and her chubby hands clasped about a big brass lamp.
"The pillows are off my own bed," said Mabel. "Mother wasn't home, but she wouldn't care, anyway."
"But can you sleep without them?"
"Oh, I'll take home one of the excelsior ones," said Mabel. "I can sleep on anything."
Jean came in a moment later with a pile of blankets and quilts. She, too, had a lamp, packed carefully in a big basket that hung from her arm. Marjory followed almost at her heels with more bedding, towels, a fourth lamp, and two candlesticks.
"Well," laughed Bettie, when all the lamps and candles were placed in a row on the dining-room table, "I guess Miss Blossom will have almost light enough. Here are four big lamps and two candles—"
"I've six more candles in my blouse," said Mabel, laughing and fishing them out one at a time. "I thought they'd do for the blue candlesticks Mrs. Crane gave us for the bedroom."
"Isn't it fortunate," said Jean, who was thumping the mattress vigorously, "that we put the best bed in this room? Beds are such hard things to move."
"Ye-es," said Bettie, rather doubtfully, "but I think we'd better tell Miss Blossom not to be surprised if the slats fall out once in a while during the night. Youknow they always do if you happen to turn over too suddenly."
"We must warn her about the chairs, too," said Marjory. "They're none of them really very safe."
"I guess," said Jean, "I'd better bring over the rocking chair from my own room, but I'm afraid she'll just have to grin and bear the slats, because theywillfall out in spite of anything I can do."
By seven o'clock the room was invitingly comfortable. The washstand, which was really only a wooden box thinly disguised by a muslin curtain gathered across the front and sides, was supplied with a sound basin, a whole pitcher, numerous towels, and four kinds of soap—the girls had all thought of soap. They were unable to decide which kind the lodger would like best, so they laid Bettie's clear amber cake of glycerine soap, Jean's scentless white castile, Marjory's square of green cucumber soap, and Mabel's highly perfumed oval pink cake, in a rainbow row on the washstand.
The bed, bountifully supplied with coverings—had Dandelion Cottage been suddenly transported to Alaska the lodger would still have had blankets to spare, so generously had her enthusiastic landladies provided—looked very comfortable indeed. At half-past seven when the lodger arrived with apologies forbeing late because the drayman who was to move her trunk had been slow, the cottage, for the first time since the girls had occupied it, was brilliantly lighted.
"We thought," explained Bettie, "that you might feel less frightened in a strange place if you had plenty of light, though we didn't really mean to have so many lamps—we each supposed we were bringing the only one. Anyway, we don't know which one burns best."
"If they shouldallgo out," said Mabel, earnestly, "there are candles and matches on the little shelf above the bed."
When the lodger had been warned about the loose slats and the untrustworthiness of the chairs, the girls said good-night.
"You needn't go onmyaccount," said Miss Blossom. "It's pleasant to have you here—still, I'm not afraid to stay alone. You must always do just as you like about staying, you know; I shouldn't like to think that I was driving you out of this dear little house, for it was nice of you to let me come. I think I was very fortunate in finding a room so near Mrs. Baker's."
"Thank you," said Jean, "but we always have to be home before dark unless we have permission to stay any place."
"Ihaveto go," confided Mabel, "because I was so excited that I forgot to eat my supper."
"So did I," said Marjory, frankly, "and I'm just as hungry as a bear."
"Everybody come home with me," said Jean. "We always have dinner later than you do and the things can't beverycold."
>
The Girls Disclose a Plan
"Did you sleep well, Miss Blossom?" asked Bettie, shyly waylaying the lodger who was on her way to breakfast.
"Ye-es," said Miss Blossom, smiling brightly, "though in spite of your warning and all my care, the bottom dropped out of my bed and landed the mattress on the floor. But no harm was done. As soonas I discovered that I was not falling down an elevator shaft, I went to sleep again. I think if I had a few nails and some little blocks of wood I could fix those slats so they'd stay in better; you see they're not quite long enough for the bed."
"I'll find some for you," said Bettie. "You'll find them on the parlor table when you get back."
Before the week was over, the girls had discovered that their new friend was in every way a most delightful person. She proved surprisingly skillful with hammer and nails, and besides mending the bed she soon had several of the chairs quite firm on their legs.
"Why," cried Bettie one day as she delightedly inspected an old black walnut rocker that had always collapsed at the slightest touch, "this old chair is almost strong enough towalk! I'm so glad you've made so many of them safe, because, when Mrs. Bartholomew Crane comes to see us, she's always afraid to sit down. She's such a nice neighbor that we'd like to make her comfortable."
"We do have the loveliest friends," said Jean, with a contented sigh. "It's hard to tell which is the nicest one."
"But the dearesttwo," exclaimed Marjory, discriminating nicely, "are Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane—except you, of course, Miss Blossom."
"Somehow," added Bettie, "we always think ofthose two in one breath, like Dombey and Son, or Jack and Jill."
"But they couldn't be farther apartreally," declared Jean. "They're both nice, both are kind of old, both are dark and rather stout, but except for that they're altogether different. Mr. Black has everything in the world that anybody could want, and Mrs. Crane hasn't much of anything. Mr. Black is invited to banquets and things and rides in carriages and—"
"Has a silk hat," Mabel broke in.
"And Mrs. Crane," continued Jean, paying no attention to the interruption, "can't even afford to ride in the street car—I've heard her say so."
"I wish," groaned generous Mabel, with deep contrition, "that I'd never taken a cent for that lemonade I sold her last spring. If I'd dreamed how good and how poor she was, I wouldn't have. She might have hadfourrides with that money."
"Iwish," said Jean, "we could do something perfectly grand and beautiful for Mrs. Crane. She's always doing the kindest little things for other people."
"Well," demanded Marjory, "aren't we going to have her here to dinner, too, when we have Mr. Black? Please don't tell anybody, Miss Blossom—it's to be a surprise."
"Still, just a dinner doesn't seem to be enough," said Jean, who, with her chin in her hand, seemed to bethinking deeply. "Of course it helps, but I'd rather save her life or do something like that."
"Little things count for a great deal in this world, sometimes," said Miss Blossom, leaning down to brush her cheek softly against Jean's. "It's generally wiser to leave the big things until one is big enough to handle them."
"Mrs. Craneispretty big," offered matter-of-fact Mabel.
"Oh, dear," laughed Miss Blossom, "that wasn't at all what I meant."
"Mr. Black," said Bettie, dreamily, "has enoughthings, but I don't believe he really cares about anything in the world but his roses. His face is different when he talks about them, kind of soft all about the corners and not so—not so—"
"Daniel Webstery," supplied Jean, understandingly.
"It must be pretty lonely for him without any family," agreed Miss Blossom. "I don't know what would become of Father if he didn't have me to keep him cheered up—we're wonderful chums, Father and I."
"Oh", mourned tender-hearted Bettie, "IwishI could make Mrs. Crane rich enough so she wouldn't need to mend all the time, and that I could provide Mr. Black with some really truly relatives to love him the way you love your father."
"Oh, Bettie! Bettie!" cried Mabel, suddenly beginning, in her excitement, to bounce up and down on the one chair that possessed springs. "I know exactly how we could help them both. We could beg seven or eight children from the orphan asylum—they'regladto give 'em away—and let Mrs. Crane sell 'em to Mr. Black for—for ten dollars apiece."
Such a storm of merriment followed this simple solution of the problem that Mabel for the moment looked quite crushed. Her chair, incidentally, was crushed too, for Mabel's final bounce proved too much for its frail constitution; its four legs spread suddenly and lowered the surprised Mabel gently to the floor. Everybody laughed again, Mabel as heartily as anyone, and, for a time, the sorrows of Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black were forgotten.
The dinner party, however, still remained uppermost in all their plans. Mabel was in favor of giving it at once, but the other girls were more cautious, so the little mistresses of Dandelion Cottage finally decided to postpone the party until after Miss Blossom had paid her rent in full.
"You see," explained cautious Marjory, one day when the girls were alone, "she might get called away suddenly before the three weeks are up, and if we spent more money than wehaveit wouldn't be verycomfortable. Besides, I've never seen seven dollars and a half all at once, and I'd like to."
But the dinner plan was no longer the profound secret that it had been at first, for when the young housekeepers had told their mothers about their lodger, they had been obliged to tell them also what they intended to do with the money. In the excitement of the moment, they had all neglected to mention Mrs. Crane, but later, when they made good this omission, their news was received in a most perplexing fashion. The girls were greatly puzzled, but they did not happen to compare notes until after something that happened at the dinner party had reminded them of their parents' incomprehensible behavior.
"Mamma," said Bettie, one evening at supper time, soon after Miss Blossom's arrival, "I forgot to tell you that we're going to ask Mrs. Crane, too, when we have Mr. Black to dinner. It's to be a surprise for both of them."
"What!" gasped Mrs. Tucker, dropping her muffin, and looking not at Bettie, but at Dr. Tucker. "Surely not Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black, too! You don't mean both at the same time!"
"Why, yes, Mamma," said Bettie. "It wouldn't cost any more."
Then the little girl looked with astonishment first at her father and then at her mother, for Dr. Tucker,with a warning finger against his lips, was shaking his head just as hard as he could at Mrs. Tucker, who looked the very picture of amazement.
"Why," asked Bettie, "what's the matter? Don't you think it's a good plan? Isn't it the right thing to do?"
"Yes," said Dr. Tucker, still looking at Bettie's mother, who was nodding her approval, "I shouldn't be surprised if it might prove averygood thing to do. Your idea of making it a surprise to both of them is a good one, too. I should keep it the darkest kind of secret until the very last moment, if I were you."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Tucker, "I should certainly keep it a secret."
Jean, too, happened to mention the matter at home and with very much the same result. Mr. Mapes looked at Mrs. Mapes with something in his eye that very closely resembled an amused twinkle, and Jean was almost certain that there was an answering twinkle in her mother's eye.
"What's the joke?" asked Jean.
"I couldn't think of spoiling it by telling," said Mrs. Mapes. "If there's anything I can do to help you with your dinner party I shall be delighted to do it."
"Oh, will you?" cried Jean. "When I told you about it last week I thought, somehow, that you weren't very much interested."
"I'm very much interested indeed," returned Mrs. Mapes. "I hope you'll be able to keep the surprise part of it a secret to the very last moment. That's always the best part of a dinner party, you know."
"Yes," said Mr. Mapes, "if you know who the other guests are to be, it always takes away part of the pleasure."
When Marjory told the news, her Aunty Jane, who seldom smiled and who usually appeared to care very little about the doings in Dandelion Cottage, greatly surprised her niece by suddenly displaying as many as seven upper teeth; she showed, too, such flattering interest in the coming event that Marjory plucked up courage to ask for potatoes and other provisions that might prove useful.
"When you've decided what day you're going to have your party," said Aunty Jane, with astonishing good nature, "I'll give or lend you anything you want, provided you don't tell either of your guests who the other one is to be."
When Mabel told about the plan, she too was very much perplexed at the way her news was received. Her parents, after one speaking glance at each other, leaned back in their chairs and laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. But they, too, heartily approved of the dinner party and advised strict secrecy regarding the guests.
School was out, and, as Bettie said, every day was Saturday, but the days were slipping away altogether too rapidly. The lawn, by this time, was covered with what Mabel called "real grass," great bunches of Jean's sweetest purple pansies had to be picked every morning so they wouldn't go to seed, and the long bed by the fence threatened to burst at any moment into blossom. Even the much-disturbed vegetable garden was doing so nicely that it was possible to tell the lettuce from the radish plants.
Two of Miss Blossom's three weeks had gone. She herself was to leave town the following Thursday, and the dinner party was to take place the day after; but even the thought of the great event failed to keep the little cottagers quite cheerful, for they hated to think of losing their lovely lodger. Whenever this charming young person was not busy at one or another of the various churches with her father, she was playing with the children. "Just exactly," said Bettie, "as if she were just twelve years old, too." Her clever fingers made dresses for each of the four biggest dolls, and such cunning baby bonnets for each of the four littlest ones.
Best of all, she taught the girls how to do a great many things. She showed them how to turn the narrowest of hems, how to gather a ruffle neatly, and how to take the tiniest of stitches. Bettie, who hadto help with the weekly darning, and Marjory, who had to mend her own stockings, actually found it pleasant work after Miss Blossom had shown them several different ways of weaving the threads.
"I just wish," cried Mabel, one day, in a burst of gratitude, "that you'd fall ill, or something so we could do something foryou. You're just lovely tous."
"Thank you, Mabel," said Miss Blossom, with eyes that twinkled delightedly, "I'm sure you'd take beautiful care of me—I'm almost tempted to try it. Shall I have measles, or just plain smallpox?"