CHAPTER III

THE FUN BEGINS

‟SAVED! I have fallen into a grotto!” exclaimed Millicent, dashing through the hall and into the parlor, where she flung herself into a big wicker rocker.

“What do you mean by that?” said Hester, who always liked to have everything explained.

“Why, don’t you remember that ridiculous hero in one of Jules Verne’s stories who fell thousands of miles down into the earth, and landed in a beautiful grotto, which caused him delight but no surprise? Those are exactly my sensations.”

“Well, your grotto is full of unused atmosphere. Let’s turn it out and get some fresh.” And swish! up went the shades, and bang! up went the windows, and in came the air and sunlight; and after eight girls had flung down their hats and wraps and bags and bundles the place began to look quite homelike.

“Here are the trunks and bicycles,” cried Helen, as a wagon stopped before the cottage.

“Oh, dear,” said Marjorie, “we haven’t chosen our rooms yet! Two will have to sleep downstairs. Who wants to?”

“I will,” said Betty. “I’m not afraid; are you, Jessie?”

“No, indeed!” And the Invincibles immediately appropriated the pretty bedroom that opened off the parlor.

Haven’t I told you about these two girls yet? Well, Betty was fifteen, a very tall girl, with that kind of tallness that is called overgrown. She was fond of all outdoor sports, and strong, athletic, and muscular, she strode through life regardless of conventions, but making friends as she went. Jessie was of directly opposite type in most ways. A chubby little maiden with a happy-go-lucky disposition, she had a positive genius for getting her own way. Always amiable and acquiescent, and very generous, she yet managed never to do anything she didn’t wish to do. She was a frivolous little creature, devoted to finery and dress, but so winning and affectionate that it was really impossible to interfere with her wishes. And so Betty’s determination and Jessie’s persistency had won them the name of the Invincibles, and whatever they agreed on always came to pass. But as they rarely agreed on anything this was not so disastrous as it might have been.

The social economy of the eight was very clearly defined. The Octave, as they called themselves, divided very naturally into two quartets or four duets whenever occasion required. And just now occasion did require; so, leaving Betty and Jessie, the other six flew upstairs, and Marjorie and Millicent took one room, Nan and Marguerite another, and Helen and Hester the third, so that when the trunks were sent up they were put at once where they belonged. The wheels were stacked in the hall—only five of them, for Millicent, Nan, and Marguerite didn’t ride. Then the trunks were unpacked, shelves divided fairly, hooks counted out, top bureau drawers tossed up for, and the settling process had begun.

Soon Betty’s voice was heard from below: “Don’t fiddle with your finery any longer now, girls; come on down and let’s see about supper.”

The six upstairs, feeling a responsive thrill, suspended operations at once and skipped down.

Then they all flocked out to the kitchen, and great and joyous were the exclamations of the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club when they beheld the completeness of the furnishings thereof.

The old corner cupboard disclosed griddles and gridirons, saucepans and frying-pans; rows of shining tins hung over the sink; egg-beaters and syllabub-churns smiled out at them from the shelves; and a big fat pudding-mold beamed a welcome from its corner.

Betty seized two tin kettle-covers, and, clashing them like cymbals, broke into the club’s “battle-song,” which they sang on every possible occasion. Marjorie played an accompaniment on the coffee-mill, Nan whisked in some trills with the egg-beater, and they all sang:

Rub-a-dub-dub!Rub-a-dub-dub!Hurrah for the girls of the Blue Ribbon Club!And whether we’re beating,Or heating,Or eating,We always have fun at the Blue Ribbon Club!

Rub-a-dub-dub!

Hurrah for the girls of the Blue Ribbon Club!

And whether we’re beating,

Or heating,

Or eating,

We always have fun at the Blue Ribbon Club!

A loud knock at the back door made them all jump.

“You go, Marjorie,” said Nan.

So Marjorie opened the door and faced again the persistent crowd of venders. The Parkins butcher, the grocer, the baker, milkman, vegetable-man, fish-man, all stood, beaming and expectant.

“The club will please come to order!” said Marjorie, turning to the girls. “These claimants must be satisfied.What, ladies of the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club,what, I ask you, do you want to eat?”

A serious silence fell on the crowd. They realized that at last they must cope with the great question.

“We’ll divide forces and appoint committees,” went on the president. “Betty, you and Jessie order the meat—whatever you like; Nan, do up the baker; Marguerite, the milkman; Helen and Hester, reason with the vegetarian; and Millikens and I will attend to the grocer.”

Nan soon despatched the baker with a standing order of two loaves per day, subject to amendment. Marguerite discussed the milk problem at length with good-natured old Farmer Hobbs, and wound up by deciding on two quarts every morning, or three quarts if there was a clothes-pin on the pail which he would find on the back steps; also a quart of cream each morning, with a like understanding of the clothes-pin. “For,” said the sagacious Matron, “what with whips and charlottes, we’ll need a lot of cream.”

Helen and Hester decided they would attend to their department in an orderly and systematic manner. Taking the index of a cookery-book for a guide, they decided they would eat their vegetables alphabetically.

“Have you any artichokes?” said Hester.

“No, mum,” replied the man, looking as if she had asked for a salamander.

“Any Brussels sprouts?” asked Helen.

“No, mum.”

“Any celery?”

“Yis, mum; fine celery indeed. Will ye look at it, mum?”

“We oughtn’t to have celery until day after to-morrow,” said Helen, dubiously, as they went out to the wagon, “but I guess we’ll have to give up the alphabet plan. Let’s order celery and potatoes. And oh, look at that big pumpkin! Wouldn’t a pumpkin-pie be grand?”

“Gay,” said Hester. “We’ll take that—and that’s enough for to-day; you’ll call to-morrow, won’t you?”

“Yis, mum,” replied the man; and when the purchases were deposited on the kitchen table Helen and Hester felt proud of their choice.

Jessie had disappeared, but the stray notes of song floating out from her room made it an open secret that the attractions of her trinkets and fripperies had charmed her away from the culinary pastures. So Betty faced the butcher alone. She was very decided and businesslike. “We want meat for supper to-night,” said she, looking at Mr. Parkins’s card as if for inspiration. “ ‘Beef, Veal, Mutton, Lamb, Pork, and Poultry’—h’m! Well, we’ll begin at the beginning. Beefsteak, I think; you may send two nice porterhouse-steaks, and please send them as soon as possible. Then we’ll have a roast for to-morrow—a two-rib roast of beef; you may send that to-morrow morning.” The butcher noted down her orders, and went away.

Then the only committee still out was Marjorie and Millicent. When Betty, having finished her course, turned to them, they were in a wild state of excitement. They had decided to suggest things alternately, while the grocer wrote the list.

The grocer was a lanky, raw-boned young man with bushy red hair, and, seated in a chair with his pad and pencil, looked for all the world like a district schoolmaster; while the two girls stood before him, looking like a very animated spelling-match.

Marjorie, dancing on one foot, was twisting up the corners of her apron into knots, which she tied and untied with unconscious rapidity. Millicent stood firmly facing her, with folded arms and screwed-up forehead.

“Flour,” said Marjorie.

“Butter,” said Millicent.

“Sugar,” said Marjorie.

“Salt,” said Millicent.

“Pepper.”

“Mustard.”

“Ketchup.”

“Sardines.”

“Olives.”

“Oh, we must get staples! Molasses.”

“Buckwheat.”

“No; we don’t want buckwheat. Kerosene.”

“Oh, yes; and candles.”

“Matches.”

“Starch.”

“We don’t need starch. Corn-starch.”

“Eggs.”

“Vanilla.”

“Worcestershire sauce.”

MARJORIE AND MILLICENT ORDERING THINGS ALTERNATELY.

“Dear! I’m sure we’ve forgotten the most important things. Lard.”

“Rice.”

“We ought to have some canned things.”

“Well, let him bring what we’ve ordered, and then we can remember what we’ve forgotten. Soap.”

“Ammonia.”

“Salad-oil.”

“Now one thing suggests another! Lemons.”

“Cheese.”

“Macaroni.”

“Macaroons.”

“He doesn’t keep those; the baker does. Don’t let’s order any more things now; I’m all mixed up.”

Mr. Fenn went away well pleased with his order, and Millicent dropped into a kitchen chair exhausted.

“Girls,” said Hester, “you’ve run up an awful big order;doyou suppose it will cost all our money?”

“Oh, no,” said the wise and matronly Marguerite, shaking her halo; “and, besides, most of those things won’t need to be ordered again; the staples will last us all the time we’re here. Now when they bring the bills I’ll fix up my accounts. I have a little red book, real Russia, and I’ll have a page for each department. Are these committees standing ones, Miss President?”

“Oh,no!” said Marjorie, “we’ll take turns at things. I don’t want to order groceries again. I’m quite worn out.”

“Poor Margy! ‘Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,’ ” sang Nan, catching Marjorie about the waist and dancing round the kitchen with her.

“Oh, I amsohungry!” pleaded Betty. “Can’t we get out the silver and table-cloth and set the table now?”

“Yes, come on; I love to set a table,” said Nan. “But oh,howI hate to wash dishes! I thought we were going to have an Irish lady to do that, eh, Marjorie?”

“Aunt Molly says there’s a nice Irish girl who lives up the beach somewhere who would come and help us for a consideration. You and Marguerite go and hunt her up. Her name is Rosie O’Neill.”

“Beautiful name!” said Nan.

“A lady named Rosie O’NeillI’m sure will be loyal and leal;Fulfilling our wishes,She’ll wash up our dishes,And our apples and onions she’ll peel.

“A lady named Rosie O’Neill

I’m sure will be loyal and leal;

Fulfilling our wishes,

She’ll wash up our dishes,

And our apples and onions she’ll peel.

There! we forgot to order apples.”

“Let’s have a slate on the kitchen table and write down orders whenever they occur to us.”

“Come on, Matron; we’ll go and hunt the radiant Rosie. Where does she live, Duchess?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Stop in and ask Aunt Molly; she’ll direct you.”

“ ’Tis well, O chief! We will return in triumph with our enchainèd captive!”

“Now,” said Marjorie, as the door banged behind Nan and Marguerite, “those rattle-pated girls are sure to get lost, and we’ll never see them again. Meantime let’s get to work. We haven’t explored the cellar yet. Perhaps the people who’ve been in the cottage all summer left a lot of good things.”

Down cellar they went; but a thorough search revealed nothing of interest but a basket of onions, a refrigerator, and an old trunk, which attracted Hester’s attention at once.

“Why, that’s a real old English trunk!” she cried. “Where did it come from? It’s locked, and the lock is all rusty. What do you find, Marjorie?”

“Nothing but onions and flour; but the flour looks queer—I don’t believe it’s good.”

“That isn’t flour, you goose; it’s Indian meal. It’ll be gay for corn-bread.”

“Who can make corn-bread?Ican’t,” confessed Betty.

“Oh, yes, you can, if you try,” declared Marjorie. “Your cooking always turns out all right. Now, as we’re going to have steak for supper, what do you say to having fried onions? There are plenty here, and I do love ’em, don’t you?”

“Yes; and we never have them at home, they’re so—so intrusive. Let’s do it!”

“All right, Betty; and as you’ve announced yourself Peeler, you can begin your vocation. Oh, you’ve got a future before you!”

Betty looked a little dubious, but bravely picked up the basket, saying: “Very well; I’ll peel them, if some one else will fry them.”

“I’ll fry them,” returned Marjorie. “In my capacity of chief cook I’ll do all the cooking for this first supper. Now let me see; what are we going to have?”

The others, as usual, all began to talk at once.

Marjorie seized a long iron spoon, and, rapping on the table, said: “This meeting will please come to order. If you don’t we’ll never have any supper. Now don’t all talk at once, but if you’ve any sensible propositions to make, make them when you’re called on. Betty the Peeler, have you any suggestions to offer?”

But Betty was speechless. She held a great pan filled with water in her lap, in which the onions were bobbing up and down. She was peeling away vigorously, but her eyes were very red and the tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“ ‘With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye,’ ” quoted Marjorie, laughing.

“She’s more like Niobe—alltears,” said Helen; “come, Hester, let’s wipe her weeping eyes for her”; and the two stationed themselves on either side of Betty, with their handkerchiefs in readiness.

“Now!” said Helen,“left! right! left! right!” And they dabbed poor Betty’s eyes so energetically that they were redder than ever.

“Clear out, girls, or you’ll soon weep with those that weep,” cried Betty. “Go away; these are nearly done. Who’ll carry out the pan of skins?”

“ ‘Oh, promise me—oh,promise me-e-e!’ ” came floating out from the bedroom where Jessie was still arranging and rearranging her cherished belongings.

“Jessie ought to dosomework,” said Millicent. “She’s too dainty and dressy for any use. She ought to be disciplined. Let’s make her come out here and be Scullery-maid.”

So they all crowded in at Jessie’s doorway, and found her sitting on the floor by her open trunk, surrounded by laces and ribbons and fans, and still musically begging the required promise.

“We’ll promise you nothing until you come out and do some work for it,” said Marjorie. “So get up at once.” Then, picking up an elaborate little Swiss apron, she tied its ribbons round Jessie’s waist. “There!” she said. “Now you’re appropriately decorated, and I herewith appoint you Scullery-maid of this institution. Now skip along and empty that pan of onion-skins.”

“Oh,don’tlet her spoil that pretty apron,” said Hester the practical, and she took off her own big gingham one and tied it over the dainty affair.

“Is this a game?” said Betty, taking off her own apron and tying it over Hester’s on Jessie.

Like a flash the three other aprons came off their owners and were piled on the luckless Jessie—round her waist, round her neck, before and behind, until Millicent declared she looked like Tweedledee prepared for his fight with Tweedledum.

Good-natured Jessie trotted off with the pan, and on her return was seized by Betty the Peeler, who peeled off the numerous aprons and restored them to their owners.

“MILLICENT DECLARED SHE LOOKED LIKE TWEEDLEDEE PREPARED FOR HIS FIGHT WITH TWEEDLEDUM.”

CHAPTER IV

THE “WHITECAP”

AGAIN Marjorie rapped on the table with her iron spoon.

“As none of you seems to offer any suggestions,” she went on, as if she had not been interrupted at all, “I will lay down the law. Hester, you’re Stoker. The coal and wood has come. Now see if you can make a fire that shall be worthy of one whom England expects this day to do her duty!”

“Aye, aye!” said Hester, bringing her hand to her temple, palm forward, with the quick, jerky salute of a British marine.

“Helen, you and Jessie might set the table; but don’t both of you get to singing at once, for you’ll drive us distracted. Millicent, what areyougood for, anyway?”

Millicent was putting away the groceries that were piled on the table in the outer kitchen, or buttery, as Hester called it, and she replied: “Oh, I would ornament any calling; but when I see these candles and kerosene it makes me just long to fill the lamps and candlesticks, ’cause it’s going to get dark pretty soon.”

“You’re a wise virgin,” said Betty, “and you shall be our honored Lamplighter. I suppose I must peel these potatoes. How many, Duchess?”

“Two apiece,” replied Marjorie. “We’ll have them mashed, and the onions fried, and the steak broiled, and I’ll make coffee, and that’s all we’ll have cooked for supper. You can hunt up some dessert out of the things that came from the grocer’s.”

Many hands make light work, and in half an hour everything was about ready. The table was laid, and wonderfully pretty it looked, too; for under Jessie’s supervision it had blossomed out into dainty doilies, and bits of shining glass and silver; and in the center was a low basket of goldenrod.

Not finding a satisfactory dessert in the cupboard, Helen had run over to the grocer’s herself, and returned triumphantly with a box of candied ginger, an Edam cheese, and a tin box of biscuits. These and the coffee-cups she arranged on a side-table, and surveyed the result with a very pardonable pride.

Millicent had filled and lighted the large swinging-lamp over the table, and candles twinkled from a pair of old-fashioned candelabra which Jessie had discovered in the attic. In the kitchen, too, all was in readiness.

Betty had boiled and mashed the potatoes until Millicent declared they looked like cotton batting. Marjorie had broiled the steak to the proverbial turn, fried the onions to an odoriferous brown, and made a potful of her celebrated coffee; and now, flushed with success and Hester’s fire, she sat on the edge of the kitchen table, her iron spoon still in her hand, like a scepter.

“Whe-e-w!” said Helen, coming out. “You must be cooking comparisons out here, they’re so odorous.”

“In onion is strength,” replied Betty.

“Why don’t you take something for that punning habit, Betty? Really, it’s getting worse, I think. Oh, I wish Nan and the Matron would come! Iamso starved.”

And in a few minutes they did come—tired and chilled with their long walk, and without the much-desired Irish lady.

“Where’s your captive?”

“Couldn’t you catch her?”

“Is she coming?”

“Yes,” said Marguerite, “it’s all right. Don’t all talk at once; let me tell you. She can’t come until to-morrow, but she’ll be here early—before breakfast.”

“Then we’ve got to wash the dishes to-night, haven’t we?” groaned Jessie.

“Never mind, my pretty Scullery-maid,” said Betty; “you needn’t do it: you can put them away with neatness and despatch.” And Jessie beamed again.

“Can you guess what we’re going to have for supper?” said Marjorie.

“Guess!” said Nan. “I should think we could! Why, we met the announcement three blocks up the street, and it led us all the way home, like the Israelites’ pillar of fire. Is supper ready?”

“Yes,” chimed a chorus; and in less time than it takes to tell it the feast was on the table.

“You sit at the head, Duchess,” said Betty, “and I’ll sit at the foot and carve, for none of the rest of you know how. The fair Scullery-maid can sit at my right hand in case I need her assistance, Nan and Daisy next, then Millicent at Marjorie’s right, and then Helen and Hester; and there you are!”

There they were indeed, and a merrier meal was never eaten by the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club.

The prosaic onions were pronounced better than any complicated French concoction, and were portioned out with exact fairness by the conscientious Betty.

Nan and Marguerite, having done nothing toward the preparations, offered their services as waitresses, and, like well-trained club members, they removed one course and served the other in the most approved fashion.

Then Marjorie poured coffee, and the red-coated cheese was placed before Betty, who thoroughly enjoyed “scooping,” and there was much laughter and merry talk. And they all complimented each other and congratulated each other, and they feasted and jested, and laughed and chaffed; and as they all talked at once, each made jokes that never were heard, and told stories that never were listened to, and asked questions that never were answered. And Timmy Loo thought it was all a great entertainment for his special benefit; and he barked his funniest barks, and ran round the table like mad, and paused in front of each one, standing up and putting out his paw in his very best beggarly manner, receiving always a bit of ginger or biscuit on his solicitous little nose. Until finally Marjorie said. “Now, sisters, if there’s any redding up to be done, ’twere well ’twere done quickly. I don’t mind washing the dishes, and if we all fly round we’ll have things in order in no time.”

They did fly round, and in very little more than no time things were in order, and the eight girls, feeling very proud of their tidy kitchen, gathered round Hester’s wood fire in the Grotto, as Millicent persisted in calling the parlor.

And then Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly came over to call, and were nearly talked to death by the enthusiastic eight, who were delighted to have some one to “tell things to.”

The much-amused guests were escorted out to the kitchen to see how beautifully the young housekeepers had “redded up,” and then they were invited to partake of crackers and cheese in the dining-room; and such a hospitable spirit pervaded the hostesses that they refreshed themselves also, until the crackers were all gone and the cheese required deep-sea scooping.

“Well, you certainly seem a capable crowd,” said Aunt Molly, as she was taking leave. “Are you sure you won’t be afraid to-night?”

“Of course they won’t,” said Uncle Ned, in tones that would have inspired confidence in a lame rabbit. “What is there to be afraid of? Long Beach is the safest old place in the world. But, my lambs, if you want us at any hour of the day or night, you’ve only to push this bell in the hall, which communicates with our bell, and we’ll fly over.”

“Now,” said Matron Marguerite, as they returned to the Grotto, “I am going to make up my accounts. I have all the bills that came in to-day, and I have five dollars apiece from each one of you for the first week, though I’m afraid it won’t be enough, and Helen forgot to give me hers anyway, and Betty gave hers to me and then borrowed it back again; and I haven’t paid my own yet either, but I paid out eighty cents for our stage-fares, and twenty-five cents expressage,—no, fifty,—and fourteen cents for two quarts of milk. You see, I didn’t know we were going to have bills, and I almost wish we hadn’t. Oh, yes, and I owe Marjorie thirty-six cents that she paid to the butter-and-egg lady—I mean the club owes it. But I guess I can straighten it all out.”

“You ought to have one of those cash-register things,” said Millicent. “You just play on it with your fingers, and it rings a bell and counts your money for you.”

“I wish I had one,” said Marguerite, who was beginning to be arithmetically bewildered. “But I’ll be all right if you girls will let me alone.”

“We will, we will,” said Nan. “Just remember, Daisy, that two and two make four, and then go ahead. NowI’m going to begin our Journal. I brought a grand and elegant new blank-book for the purpose. We must write something in it every day, and we’ll keep it here on the table where anyone can write a page when she feels disposed. What shall we call it? What’s the name of this cottage, Marjorie?”

“Oh, father calls it Fair View, but I don’t think that’s much of a name. Let’s christen it for ourselves.”

“Call it Liberty Hall,” said Jessie, “because we’re going to do just as we like all the time we’re here.”

“Too hackneyed,” returned Betty. “Let’s call it Hilarity Hall, because we’re going to have lots of fun here.”

So Hilarity Hall it was, and Nan printed it in big letters on the fly-leaf of her book. Then she began to scribble, and the others leaned over her shoulder and knelt at her side, and helped and suggested and amended, until the first instalment of the Journal stood thus, and Nan read it aloud, amid a fire of running comment:

“A SEPTEMBER SESSION OF THE BLUE RIBBON COOKING CLUB“Hilarity Hall,Blue Beach,September 21.“The entire club left Middleton on the twelve-ten train. The Wandering Minstrel [that’s you, Helen] and the Poet [that’s me], musing on higher things, strayed into the smoking-car, from which they were summarily ejected by the brakeman. Except for an ill-behaved cuckoo, who gave his unsolicited and also incorrect opinion as to the time of day, the club behaved itself with dignity and decorum.

“A SEPTEMBER SESSION OF THE BLUE RIBBON COOKING CLUB

“Hilarity Hall,Blue Beach,

September 21.

“The entire club left Middleton on the twelve-ten train. The Wandering Minstrel [that’s you, Helen] and the Poet [that’s me], musing on higher things, strayed into the smoking-car, from which they were summarily ejected by the brakeman. Except for an ill-behaved cuckoo, who gave his unsolicited and also incorrect opinion as to the time of day, the club behaved itself with dignity and decorum.

“Here, you see, it drops into verse:

“On reaching Long Beach these maids demureIn haste the local stage secure;And all the gaping rustics gazeWith open mouth and much amazeAt all the boxes, trunks, and wheels,And Timmy Loo’s pugnacious squeals.But all these curious stares and looksCan’t disconcert the calm-eyed cooks.Quickly the festive stage they fill,And amble slowly up the hill.[Poetic license—no hill!]And so at last with anxious feetThey gain their much-desired retreat.

“On reaching Long Beach these maids demure

In haste the local stage secure;

And all the gaping rustics gaze

With open mouth and much amaze

At all the boxes, trunks, and wheels,

And Timmy Loo’s pugnacious squeals.

But all these curious stares and looks

Can’t disconcert the calm-eyed cooks.

Quickly the festive stage they fill,

And amble slowly up the hill.

[Poetic license—no hill!]

And so at last with anxious feet

They gain their much-desired retreat.

“Now we come to the account of the ‘Truly Awful Encounter with the Greedy Grocer.’

“If it isn’t all quite true, you must remember that we poets must often sacrifice veracity to the demands of poetic diction.”

This was agreed to, and Nan read on:

“Ere the cooks had time for napping,Suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping,Rapping at the kitchen door.“Then the Chief, up quickly getting,All her pots and pans upsetting,All her dignity forgetting,Sprang across the kitchen floor(With one leap she cleared the floor);“Oped the door with perturbation,And observed with indignationThat a Man—oh, desecration!—Stood outside the kitchen door.“Then the cooks drew close and closer,And the Chief said sternly, ‘Go, sir!’But he murmured, ‘I’m the grocer,Grocer from the neighboring store’(Red-haired grocer from the store).“ ‘For I am the groceryman—Garrulous groceryman—Red-headed, ready, and spry;A versatile groceryman,Close-fisted groceryman,Silver-tongued groceryman, I.’“So the cooks made out their order,Made a long and costly order;And the grocer’s heart was gladdened,And he left them, smiling brightly.Then the Matron, slow departing,And the Poet going with her,Said, ‘We go to seek a Lady,Strong and willing Irish Lady,Who will wash our dinner-dishes.’“So, the other cooks agreeing,These two maidens went to Northward,Seeking for the Irish LadyWho would wash the dinner-dishes.And the hopes of all went with them.“Then the others went exploring,In the cellar went exploring;Found there—onions! Many onions!Onions strong of mighty flavor!Quickly then they grasped the basket,Grasped that basket full of onions,Hurried with them to the kitchen,Chopped them, cooked them with precaution;Then the house from roof to cellarTold a mighty tale of onions!On their groaning board they placed them,And with greediness devoured them.When the Matron and the Poet,Weary and belated travelers,Turned the corner near the cottage,They were greeted by the odor,And their hungry hearts were gladdened.Then they all sat down to supper.“Oh, who could describe all the laughter and chatter,As quickly they cleared every dish and each platter? —Each feeling they’d now reached the height of their wishes,Excepting that some one must wash up the dishes.

“Ere the cooks had time for napping,Suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping,Rapping at the kitchen door.

“Ere the cooks had time for napping,

Suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping,

Rapping at the kitchen door.

“Then the Chief, up quickly getting,All her pots and pans upsetting,All her dignity forgetting,Sprang across the kitchen floor(With one leap she cleared the floor);

“Then the Chief, up quickly getting,

All her pots and pans upsetting,

All her dignity forgetting,

Sprang across the kitchen floor

(With one leap she cleared the floor);

“Oped the door with perturbation,And observed with indignationThat a Man—oh, desecration!—Stood outside the kitchen door.

“Oped the door with perturbation,

And observed with indignation

That a Man—oh, desecration!—

Stood outside the kitchen door.

“Then the cooks drew close and closer,And the Chief said sternly, ‘Go, sir!’But he murmured, ‘I’m the grocer,Grocer from the neighboring store’(Red-haired grocer from the store).

“Then the cooks drew close and closer,

And the Chief said sternly, ‘Go, sir!’

But he murmured, ‘I’m the grocer,

Grocer from the neighboring store’

(Red-haired grocer from the store).

“ ‘For I am the groceryman—Garrulous groceryman—Red-headed, ready, and spry;A versatile groceryman,Close-fisted groceryman,Silver-tongued groceryman, I.’

“ ‘For I am the groceryman—

Garrulous groceryman—

Red-headed, ready, and spry;

A versatile groceryman,

Close-fisted groceryman,

Silver-tongued groceryman, I.’

“So the cooks made out their order,Made a long and costly order;And the grocer’s heart was gladdened,And he left them, smiling brightly.Then the Matron, slow departing,And the Poet going with her,Said, ‘We go to seek a Lady,Strong and willing Irish Lady,Who will wash our dinner-dishes.’

“So the cooks made out their order,

Made a long and costly order;

And the grocer’s heart was gladdened,

And he left them, smiling brightly.

Then the Matron, slow departing,

And the Poet going with her,

Said, ‘We go to seek a Lady,

Strong and willing Irish Lady,

Who will wash our dinner-dishes.’

“So, the other cooks agreeing,These two maidens went to Northward,Seeking for the Irish LadyWho would wash the dinner-dishes.And the hopes of all went with them.

“So, the other cooks agreeing,

These two maidens went to Northward,

Seeking for the Irish Lady

Who would wash the dinner-dishes.

And the hopes of all went with them.

“Then the others went exploring,In the cellar went exploring;Found there—onions! Many onions!Onions strong of mighty flavor!Quickly then they grasped the basket,Grasped that basket full of onions,Hurried with them to the kitchen,Chopped them, cooked them with precaution;Then the house from roof to cellarTold a mighty tale of onions!On their groaning board they placed them,And with greediness devoured them.When the Matron and the Poet,Weary and belated travelers,Turned the corner near the cottage,They were greeted by the odor,And their hungry hearts were gladdened.Then they all sat down to supper.

“Then the others went exploring,

In the cellar went exploring;

Found there—onions! Many onions!

Onions strong of mighty flavor!

Quickly then they grasped the basket,

Grasped that basket full of onions,

Hurried with them to the kitchen,

Chopped them, cooked them with precaution;

Then the house from roof to cellar

Told a mighty tale of onions!

On their groaning board they placed them,

And with greediness devoured them.

When the Matron and the Poet,

Weary and belated travelers,

Turned the corner near the cottage,

They were greeted by the odor,

And their hungry hearts were gladdened.

Then they all sat down to supper.

“Oh, who could describe all the laughter and chatter,As quickly they cleared every dish and each platter? —Each feeling they’d now reached the height of their wishes,Excepting that some one must wash up the dishes.

“Oh, who could describe all the laughter and chatter,

As quickly they cleared every dish and each platter? —

Each feeling they’d now reached the height of their wishes,

Excepting that some one must wash up the dishes.

“There, that’s as far as I’ve written.”

“Give it to me,” said Millicent; “I’m no poet, but I’ll write the kitchen chronicles.”

She scribbled away, reading aloud as she wrote —

“The dish-washing was exciting in the extreme. The Duchess, being overcome at the sight of so much work, was laid upon the buttery shelf. The Duchess’s apron fell on the Peeler, who, with the valuable assistance of the Stoker, smashed three plates and a cup. The Poet, not seeing the Matron, fell over her while crossing the kitchen, which made the Matron cross (the threshold). The Duchess (very naturally) slipped off the buttery shelf, and the Wandering Minstrel and Scullery-maid, sneaking away from the glorious company of dish-washers, made night hideous with their wild howlings in the Grotto (banjo accompaniment).”

“Now, Lamplighter, give it to me. As Matron I am the one to write up the account of our social functions”; and Marguerite threw down her account-book and took the Journal, writing and reading:

“Hilarity Hall was the scene of unparalleled gaiety this evening, the occasion being a reception which was tendered to distinguished and honored guests, Sir Edward and Lady Mary. The reception was held in the Grotto, after which the Duchess led the way to the Refectory, where a limited collation was enjoyed. The honored guests then inspected the Cinderella Section, and, expressing themselves much pleased with their visit, they reluctantly departed.”

“Why, this book is going to be fine,” said Betty. “What shall we call it? Just the Journal?”

“No; let’s call it ‘Annals of Hilarity Hall,’ ” said Nan.

“What are annals?”

“I don’t know, but they’re things they always have in a quiet neighborhood.”

“I don’t think much of annals anyway,” said Millicent; “let’s call it something to do with cooking.”

“No; we have our ‘Blotter’ for that.”

The “Blotter” was the recipe scrap-book of the club, and was supposed to be a very funny joke on Professor Blot.

“Why not call it something to suggest the sea?” said Nan.

“Call it the Whitecap,” said Millicent. “Then those who are prosaic can mean the cook’s white cap, which is the badge of our club, and poetic souls like Nan can mean the whitecaps of the breaking waves dashed high.”

All agreed to this, and “The Whitecap” was scrawled across the cover in artistically uncertain characters.

“Now, my lambs, you must go to bed,” said the Matron, ruffling up her halo and looking very sleepy. “What time do we rise, Duchess?”

“Oh, whenever we unanimously agree to. We’ll all call each other. Where are your candles, Lamplighter?”

“On the hall table”; and, sure enough, there stood eight candles, burning in a heterogeneous assortment of candlesticks. Helen grasped her banjo and began to play a lullaby.

“Put up the book, Poet, and come along.”

But Nan was adding a final verse, though her sleepy audience would scarcely wait to hear:

“The rest of the evening passed quickly away,And thus came to a close the first happy day.Then each maid with her candle filed slowly upstairs,The Minstrel preceding them, playing sweet airs.”

“The rest of the evening passed quickly away,

And thus came to a close the first happy day.

Then each maid with her candle filed slowly upstairs,

The Minstrel preceding them, playing sweet airs.”

CHAPTER V

THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS

THE sun was shining o’er the sea, shining with all its might, and had been doing so for two hours, but no one in Hilarity Hall had awakened to the fact. A loud rap at the kitchen door partially roused sleepy Jessie, who murmured, “Yes, mamma,” and dozed off again. But Betty was thoroughly awakened by the sound, and, giving Jessie a shake, she exclaimed: “I believe it’s that horde of men again!” Then, springing up, she began to dress hastily.

The knocking not only continued but was supplemented by other peremptory sounds,—a ring at the front-door bell, a toot on a tin fish-horn, the postman’s whistle,—all of which were responded to by frantic barkings from Timmy Loo, who tore madly from one door to another, bouncing at last into Betty’s room and waltzing before her on his hind legs. His fat little body was quivering with excitement, and his bright eyes blinked through the wispy locks that hung over them.

But Betty was struggling with a stiff shirt-waist and a pair of sleeve-links, and her fruitless endeavors to bring them into harmony rendered her incapable of good work in that direction. Then Timmy Loo grew wheedlesome and patted Betty’s foot, as was his custom when he wanted anybody to go anywhere. Betty pushed him aside, a little impatiently it seemed to Tim, and he ran to Jessie, who was enjoying the added luxury of Betty’s pillow, and looking as if she would stay there undisturbed though China fell.

But the second-story contingent was also aroused by this time, and six frowzled heads hung over the banister and twelve bare feet poked themselves between the rails.

“Can’t you go, Betty?” said Marguerite’s plaintive voice.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” sang out Marjorie, as she skipped back to her room and made things fly.

“Oh, hang!” said Betty, throwing her links down on the bureau and flinging her shirt-waist across the room.

“Take mine, dear,” said Jessie, placidly; “it’s on that chair, and the buttons are all in it.”

Betty’s face cleared, and she slipped on Jessie’s waist in a jiffy, and was at the front door in another.

There she found the postman and a pleasant-faced Irish girl who said:

“I’m Rosie, mum.”

“You are indeed,” said Betty, looking at her red cheeks; “come in.”

Just then Hester landed in the lower hall with a jump which had included the last four stairs.

“I’m glad to see you, Rosie,” said she, kindly; “come along with us and we’ll face the bombardment.”

Rosie, looking somewhat bewildered, followed the two girls to the kitchen. Going through, Betty unlocked the door which opened into a sort of outer kitchen or shed with latticed and morning-gloried walls. The door of the shed too was barred, and when this was finally unfastened, instead of the looked-for multitude they saw only the red-haired grocer sitting dejectedly on the stump of a tree.

He took off his cap as he saw the girls, and his hair blazed merrily in the sunshine.

“Morning, young ladies,” said he; “the fish-man he couldn’t wait no longer, and the vegetable-man likewise was in a hurry. But I sez, I’ll wait, fer like as not there’ll be things you fergot overnight, besides fresh orders.”

“Yes,” said Hester, abstractedly; “but couldn’t you come round again later? We’re—we haven’t decided yet what wedowant.”

“Well, no, mum, I couldn’t call later—not to saylater. I’ll be round again todeliver the goods, but not to take orders.”

“I’ll tell you what, Hester,” said Betty; “don’t order now, and after breakfast some of us can ride over on our wheels and leave the order in time for him to bring the things. Er—what shall I call you, sir?”

“Dan’l, mum.”

“Well, Daniel, we won’t give you any order now, but we’ll send it over to the store.”

“All right, mum”; and looking a little injured, the red-haired one shambled off.

“Now,” said Betty, “we must have breakfast first of all; and as I cooked most of the dinner last night, it isn’t my turn this morning. Marguerite’s the Matron of this establishment, and I think she ought to assume some responsibility.”

“So do I,” said Betty; “let’s go and read the Riot Act to her.”

“No,” said Hester; “let’s write a mandamus or habeas corpus or whatever they call it, and send it up to her by Rosie, and we’ll go for a spin on our wheels.”

Whisking a leaf off the order-pad, Betty wrote in large letters:

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