CHAPTER VI

MATRON MARGUERITEOFHILARITY HALLWILL PREPARE AND SERVEBREAKFASTTHIS (FRIDAY) MORNINGIN THEREFECTORYCOVERS LAID FOR EIGHT

MATRON MARGUERITE

HILARITY HALL

WILL PREPARE AND SERVE

BREAKFAST

THIS (FRIDAY) MORNING

IN THE

REFECTORY

COVERS LAID FOR EIGHT

“There, Rosie; take that upstairs, please, and knock at the first door at the head of the stairs, and give this to the young lady with the fly-away yellow hair: the one that came to see you last night, you know—Miss Marguerite.”

“Yes, mum,” said Rosie.

Then Hester and Betty each drank a tumblerful of the fresh milk Farmer Hobbs had brought, and in great glee started off on their wheels, while Timmy Loo scampered along behind.

“It seems mean to run away,” said Hester; but Betty replied:

“Not at all; it’s only fair that Daisy should do some work. Let’s go around by the church and down that road to the beach.”

Rosie started obediently on her errand; but Jessie stopped her as she passed the door, inquiring:

“Where did the girls go?”

“I cudden’t tell ye, miss; they wint galloping away on their bicycles.”

“They did! What about breakfast?”

“They towld me to give this note to Miss Margreet.”

“Oho!” said Jessie, reading the notice, “they did, did they? Well, take it up, Rosie.” And Jessie sauntered out on the piazza and sniffed the salt morning air.

Rosie went upstairs with the note, but her knock at the door received no response. After another gentle rap she opened the door, to find the room vacated. The bed-clothing was thrown back and the windows wide open.

“Faix, they’ve been shpirited away,” thought the astonished maid. “If this ain’t the quarest family! I’ll be l’avin’ if things goes on like this.”

Uncertain how to proceed, she returned to the kitchen, and sat down with folded hands to await developments.

Helen came downstairs next. Seeing nobody around, she went into the kitchen, and looked amazed at the solitary Rosie.

“Whereiseverybody?” began Helen.

“Sure, I don’t know, mum. Thim as was in the house wint out, and the rest was gone before.”

“Well, of all performances!” And Helen wandered out to the front veranda, and discovered Jessie there.

Now the front door of Hilarity Hall was at the side, and so faced Aunt Molly’s front door, which was also on the side. And just as the two puzzled-looking maidens met on their veranda, Aunt Molly stepped out on hers.

“Good morning, girlies! Had your breakfast?”

“No,” said they.

“Come over and breakfast with us,” cried jolly Uncle Ned, not expecting at all that they would do so.

But Helen replied: “Indeed we will; for I’m awfully hungry, and it doesn’t look at all hopeful over here.” And the two girls ran across and gratefully seated themselves at Aunt Molly’s cozy table.

And that’s how it happened that the mystified Rosie waited alone in the silent kitchen until she could stand it no longer, and resolved to take her hat and go home. But first she thought she would go upstairs and make sure that the fairy-like “Miss Margreet” had not reappeared in the same mysterious fashion in which she must have taken her departure.

But no, she found the room still empty.

Uncertain what to do, she opened the door of the next room, and there were Millicent and Marjorie, who had returned to bed and to sleep, just waking up, startled at the sudden apparition.

The apparition was startled, too, and exclaimed:

“Oh, young ladies, I was thot shcared! Sure there’s nobody in the house at all, at all—savin’ your prisince.”

Millicent could think of no explanation for this extraordinary statement, but that didn’t bother her in the least. Here was a dramatic situation just to her mind, and she grasped it at once.

“Who are you?” she said in a low, mysterious whisper.

“Rosie O’Neill, miss,” said the Irish girl, fascinated by Millicent’s gaze.

“Roseoneal,” continued Millicent, pronouncing it as if it were one word, and speaking in a thrilling tone, “I am a Princess—the Princess Millikens. This lady beside me is my first gold-stick in waiting. But, alas! we are under an enchantment, and dare not leave this bed. If I were to set foot to the floor I should at once be changed into a red dragon breathing forth fire and flames.”

“Oh, Lor’, miss!” exclaimed Rosie, clasping her hands and gazing, horror-stricken, at Millicent’s tragic face.

“But there is one thing that will break the direful spell,” went on the mendacious maiden. “If any one should bring me a mug of mead and a golden pomegranate, I would be freed from the enchantment and regain my liberty.”

“What’s thim things, miss? Could I get ’em fer ye?”

“Alas, no! they grow in the land of the cypress and myrtle, where Afric’s sunny fountains roll down their golden sand. But a base imitationmightanswer the purpose. Is there aught of food below?”

“ ‘WHO ARE YOU?’ SHE SAID IN A LOW, MYSTERIOUS WHISPER.”

“Plenty of milk an’ bread, miss; an’ I can make you a toast.”

“Roseoneal, truly thou art a man-of-infinite-resource-and-sagacity. But, stay! Can you indeed make a golden toast which may play the part of the missing pomegranate? I want no slice of charred bread. Listen! I will give minute directions which, if faithfully carried out,maybe the means of releasing my Royal Highness and my gold-stick, who is, alas! dumb and all unable to speak for herself, from our unfortunate predicament. First, cut two slices from last night’s loaf—this morning’s bread is too fresh to toast. Let them be of even thickness, about the thickness of—of a lead-pencil. Then, having trimmed off the upper crusts, lay them in the oven—the slices, I mean, not the crusts. Then get the little Japanese tray from the sideboard, and lay on it a fresh napkin from the upper drawer; find one that fits. Then add two of those gold-edged plates and two thin glass tumblers. Now pour milk in the tumblers until it reaches three quarters of an inch from the top; but have a care that no drip or drop appears on the glass above the sea-level. Have a bit of butter in readiness. And now comes the exciting part. Toast your bread over a clear, bright fire. Have you one handy?”

“Yes, miss—Princess, I mean.”

“That’s right. Or say, ‘Yes, your Royal Highness.’ Well, then, make your toast with the greatest care; brown first one side and then the other until each is a clear, golden crisp thatmaydeceive the enchanter into thinking it is the golden pomegranate. Then, the moment it is done, spread it lightly with the bit of butter, lay it on the plate, and fly upstairs, that we may nibble the portion in all its pristine hotness. Hast thou understood me, O maiden?”

“Yes, your Royal Highness; but wouldn’t you like some jam?”

“Roseoneal, I am your friend, and therefore your future is assured. Right heartily will I like jam, if jam there be. Place a generous spoonful on a small glass saucer, but prepare it ere thou toastest thy toast. And lay also on the tray a silver knife and spoon. Now hie thee to thy task, and we may yet cheat the enchanter of his dire intent. But beware of a crumb or a drop out of place! All is lost unless it be conveyed hither with neatness and despatch. And before you go please hand me my gold crown which is on the bureau.”

“I don’t see it, your Highness; there’s nothing here but brushes and hair-pins.”

“What! has my crown been stolen? Alackaday! What shall I do? Bring me then a bunch of goldenrod, and we may devise a temporary coronet that shall at least proclaim my rank and station. Disappear!” And Millicent waved her hands with such an impressive gesture that Rosie shot out of the door as if under the influence of a real enchantment. Marjorie lay back on her pillows choking with laughter at Millicent’s dramatics, and wondering whether Rosie would really bring them some breakfast.

CHAPTER VI

HESTER’S DINNER

‟ISN’T it splendiferous!” cried Betty, as they reached the beach. “Hester Laverack, you are the most exasperating girl! You just sit there like a bump on a log. Why don’t you shout, or turn a handspring, or do something to express your delight?”

“Let dogs delightTo bark and bite,”

“Let dogs delight

To bark and bite,”

said Hester; “ ’tisn’tmynature to. I’m enjoying it all just as much as you are, but I don’t make such a fuss about it.”

“Well, I don’t see how any one can look at that great, boiling blue ocean, and those jolly big waves coming up ker-smash! and not feel like yelling. I shall have to burst into song. ‘Columbia thegemof theo-shun!’ ”

“Betty, you haven’t a speck of romance in your nature,” said Hester, laughing. “Now if Daisy were here she’d quote an appropriate ditty instead of howling a national air.”

“Pooh! I’d rather haverealpatriotism than all Daisy’s make-believe romantic notions. She puts on all that, but she can’t fool me.”

“Oh, I don’t think she pretends always.”

“Yes, she does; she’s never sincere; and that’s the one thing I can’t stand. I’d rather be honest and say what I mean than to be the petted favorite of everybody, as she is.”

“Marguerite has so many talents,” put in Hester; “she does everything so well that people can’t help praising her.”

“Shedoesn’tdo things well,” went on Betty; “she pretends to. But she’s lazy, and she thinks whenever she gets half a chance—”

“Oh, dear!” said Hester. “Don’t let’s be so hard on poor Daisy, especially when she’s hard at work getting our breakfast. Let’s take a run to the end of the board walk and back, and then go up to the house, for even a snail would have breakfast ready by that time.”

The girls got up and shook off a flying shower of sand which nearly buried poor Timmy Loo. But he did some shaking on his own account, and scampered along beside them. All at once he gave a squeal and darted ahead, and then flew back with a great news written all over his funny little face.

“He’s found somebody,” said Hester. “Who is it, Tim?”

Tim flew round the corner of an old pier, the girls followed, and there, leaning cozily against a post, were Marguerite and Nan.

“Did you come for us?” said Marguerite. “We were just going to start. We’ve been here a long while, and we’ve had the loveliest time.”

“You have!” exclaimed Hester. “How did you get here?”

The two scapegraces laughed, and Nan said: “Well, you see, it was such a pleasant morning, and such a short walk, we left our hats to home, and, not to disturb the rest of you, we climbed out of our window, and crawled down that low sloping roof, and jumped off.”

“Then you didn’t get our note?” said Betty.

“What note?”

“Oh, girls, there’s no breakfast ready—or anything.”

“Well,” confessed Marguerite, “when we jumped down by the shed steps, there was the pail of milk, and—we just took a drink, and, truly, we didn’t mean to stay so long; but Nannie’s been writing a poem, and I hated to interrupt her till she finished.”

“Yes, yes,” said Betty, “that’s all very well; but I’m hungry as a bear, and I’m going home to forage.”

The others agreed to this, and Betty and Hester led their wheels, while they all walked along together.

Half-way home they met Helen and Jessie coming down to the beach. A general explanation followed, and Marjorie exclaimed:

“Well, we are the best set of housekeepers I everdidsee! But perhaps that duck of a Millicent has a gay old breakfast all ready for us. It would be just like her to do it, and I say let’s hurry up and not keep her waiting.”

Helen and Jessie turned back with them to see the fun; and the six, with Timmy Loo at their heels, burst into the house. No one was in sight; but as the little dog wagged his sagacious tail and hopped upstairs, they all followed and bundled into Millicent’s room.

That absurd damsel was still in bed, propped up against a pillowy background; a red shawl draped her shoulders, and a wabbly wreath of goldenrod lay gracefully on her black curls, while a shaking mound under the bed-covers was the only indication of Marjorie’s presence. Rosie sat on the edge of a chair, her hands tightly clasped and her eyes wide open, enthralled by the tales of magical experiences that Millicent was dramatically pouring forth.

“Why, Millicent Payne!”

“Why, Marjorie Bond!”

“For goodness’ sake!”

“Well, youarenice ones!”

“Look at that tray!”

“Did you ever?”

These exclamations, being all shouted at once, conveyed no intelligence, and the serene Millicent waved her scepter, which was a long stalk of goldenrod, and said:

“Minions and slaves, how dare you rush thus unannounced into the royal presence? And—where in the world have you been?”

Concerted explanation followed, and Marguerite protested so prettily that she would gladly have prepared breakfast if she had received the notice before she jumped out of the window that of course she was forgiven.

Timmy Loo had stationed himself before the table which held the tray of empty dishes, and sat up motionless, his fore paw extended in his very best beggarly manner.

“You precious poodle-puppy,” said Marjorie, catching him up. “You haven’t had a single speck to eat this day; and I think it’s a shame, so I do! Girls, we’re a high old cooking club; we’ve been here nearly twenty-four hours and we’ve hadonemeal! Now I call a conference of the powers, and let’s settle on some definite line of action, or we’ll have the agent from the Associated Charities down here giving us soup-tickets. Rosie, won’t you please take Tim down to the kitchen and give him some bread and milk? And the Blue Ribbon Cooking Club will please come to order.”

Marjorie had on her “presidential pose,” and when that was the case the girls always became rational and quit fooling.

But Hester broke in with her slow English drawl: “Miss President, I’ve a suggestion to make. With the exception of Helen and myself, who were breakfasting out, and the somewhat eccentric-looking lady in the red scarf and her fellow-conspirator, who breakfasted in their room, our members have had neither bit nor sup. I therefore propose that Helen and I be excused from the meeting, with the understanding that we will agree to any decisions the rest of you may come to, and that we go down and get breakfast for the crowd.”

This speech was received with enthusiastic clapping of hands and cries of “Good for you!” “Go ahead!”

“Furthermore,” Hester went on, “as it is already half after eleven, I move we let bygones be bygones and make this breakfast a dinner.”

“All right,” said Marjorie; “go on, and cook whatever you like, whichever way you want to.”

So the English sister and her chum disappeared.

“Now, my fellow-sufferers,” said their president, “we’ve got to have some sort of a system. We thought it was going to be such lots of fun to do all the work, and already we’re sneaking out of it. Do you want to give up the scheme and go home?”

“No!” chorused the crowd.

“Well, then, here’s my plan, and any one can improve upon it who wants to. We’ll have three meals a day, with dinner at noon and a supper or high tea at six o’clock, and we’ll take turns by twos. Two is enough to have in the kitchen at once besides Rosie, and then, having four pairs of people and three meals, we won’t have to cook the same kinds of things each time. Am I clear?”

“Clear as mud,” said Millicent; “your plan would be lucid to a doddering idiot.”

“That’s whyyouunderstand it so thoroughly,” returned the president, with a withering glance at the enchanted princess.

“Now Helen and Hester are getting dinner to-day, so suppose Marguerite and Nan take charge to-night; then Millikens and I will get breakfast for you to-morrow morning,—and we’lldoit, too,—and Betty and Jessie can dine us, and so on over again.”

All agreed that the plan was fair, and Marguerite announced that any one who felt at all incapable could call on her for assistance at any time, and she would always be glad to cook, whether it was her turn or not.

Betty sniffed a little, and said that if Daisy was on time with her scheduled performances that was all that would be expected or required of her; at which Marguerite looked injured, but put her good intentions into practice at once by running down to help Hester.

The kitchen was already a scene of action. Hester possessed administrative power as well as executive ability, and while she roasted the beef and made the soup she directed her helpers, Helen and Rosie, so that everything was going on in the most systematic manner.

“Oh, do let me help you!” said Marguerite. “What are you going to have?”

“I only know how to cook a few things,” said Hester, “so I’m going to have those. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and browned potatoes. And I know two soups, bean and tomato. Bean is the best, but we didn’t have any beans, and anyway you have to soak ’em overnight; so I’m making the other.”

“Let me see you make it; I love to watch people cook. What do you do first?”

“Why, I’ve just put the tomatoes on to heat; one apiece,—that’s nine,—cut up in a quart of water. Then I threw in with them a small onion cut in bits, a couple of stalks of celery, and a little parsley. I would put in a bay-leaf if I had it, but I haven’t. Then a tablespoonful of sugar.”

“Sugar in soup! I never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, yes, in tomato soup; and then a little pepper and a teaspoonful of salt. Now while that’s cooking I put a large tablespoonful of butter in this tiny spider. It melts quickly, and then I stir in a tablespoonful of flour. You see it’s a thin, smooth paste. Now the tomatoes are boiling, so I turn it in and stir while it thickens. Have you the colander ready, Rosie? Now I strain it all through the colander into this big bowl, and then turn it back again into the kettle, and set it on the back of the range until we want to use it. Now that’s done.”

“And it’s beautiful, too,” commented Marguerite. “I say, Hester, let’s have a salad.”

“No,” said Hester, decidedly; “I can’t make salad dressing, and I’m running this dinner myself. You can have salad when it’s your turn. If you want to help, go and set the table.” Hester’s manner was brusque and very matter-of-fact; but she meant no offense, and Marguerite knew it.

“Come on, Rosie,” cried the merry Matron; “I’ll show you how to set the table. Goodness! Millicent, whatareyou doing?”

Millicent, evidently freed from her enchantment, stood on the dining-table with a kerosene-can in one hand and a lamp-chimney in the other. The lamp-shade was on her head, and she was with difficulty holding the swing-lamp still while she filled it.

“Why didn’t you take the lamp down?” began Marguerite.

“Who’s Lamplighter of this establishment, I’d like to know! This is the only correct and elegant way to fill a swing-lamp. It is a patented way, and recommended by all the crowned heads of Europe, of which I am one. Now, you see, I set down my can, then my chimney, replace the shade—and there you are!” And Millicent sprang off the table and betook herself and her can to the Grotto.

“Oh, there’s kerosene all over the table—shall I scrub it, miss?” said Rosie, anxiously.

“No,” said the Matron; “just wipe it off with a dry cloth. Now lay the felt and then the table-cloth—so; no, wait, Rosie, get it perfectly straight;almoststraight is crooked, you know. There, that will do.”

Marguerite arranged an embroidered centerpiece in place just as Helen came in with a dish of fruit.

“This is our dessert,” she announced.

“ ‘THIS IS THE ONLY CORRECT AND ELEGANT WAY TO FILL A SWING-LAMP.’ ”

“Set it right here,” said Marguerite; “just the thing for the center of the table. Now, Helen, you finish showing Rosie how to set the table, will you? I promised to help Hester make the Yorkshire pudding.”

But the pudding was already made and browning.

“Oh, I wanted to see you do it,” said the aggrieved Marguerite; “what did you put in?”

“It’s awfully easy,” said Hester, “and yet so few people make it right. I just took a quart of milk—no, I only took part of it at first. Well, first of all I beat two eggs very light, and added a teaspoonful of salt and two tablespoonfuls of flour and about a third of the quart of milk. Then I beat all that to a nice, smooth batter, and added the rest of the milk. Then I turned it into a boiling-hot baking-pan with about three tablespoonfuls of nice beef dripping, and gravy from the roasting joint; now it is nearly cooked, so I add a little more gravy from the joint-pan.”

“Your expressions are so funny, Hester; I never heard of a ‘joint-pan’ before.”

“Why, what do you call it?”

“Oh, I don’t know; meat-pan, I suppose.”

Then Betty invaded the kitchen, and peeped into the soup-kettle, remarking: “I don’t think there’s very much there; I could eat all that myself. What else is there, Hester?”

Hester’s menu seemed small to hungry Betty, and she said so; and Marguerite observed:

“I offered to make a salad, but Hester said no.”

“We’ll do it, all the same,” said Betty. “Hester may rule Britannia if she wants to, but she can’t rule Hilarity Hall. Come on, Daisy; let’s mutiny. As Peeler-in-Chief I’ll peel some tomatoes, and you stir up a mayonnaise.”

“All right,” said Marguerite; “or rather, as Hester is managing this dinner, she can stir while I dump in the things.”

Marguerite was “great on mayonnaise,” and she broke two eggs, daintily separating the whites and yolks, and put the latter in a soup-plate, stirring them round and round with a silver fork. Then she added oil, drop by drop at first, and then a trifle faster as the dressing began to thicken.

“Here, Hester; it’s all nonsense to say you can’t do this, and you Stoker! Come and stir it while I hunt up some more ingrejents.”

So Hester stirred away briskly but evenly, and added oil, while Marguerite dropped in a tablespoonful of vinegar at intervals. Then she flirted in a dash of Cayenne and sprinkled in a teaspoonful of salt, and then, taking the dish into her own hands, gave it a final whisk or two and declared it completed.

Betty had her tomatoes pared carefully and cored with an apple-corer; then Marguerite arranged them each on a few crisp lettuce-leaves, and filled the centers with her dressing.

And now all was ready, and Betty announced dinner by sounding a bicycle-bell. There was no table-bell to be found, so she blocked her bicycle beside her chair, and explained to Rosie that she must answer the summons.

The girls came flying to their places at table with the alacrity of horses in a well-ordered fire department, and Timmy Loo was so excited that he jumped up into Marjorie’s chair without realizing what he was doing. The Duchess brushed him out with scant ceremony, giving him a cracker to console himself with; but Tim spurned this, and sat up begging for sugar.

Rosie proved to be a deft waitress, and she brought in the soup and placed it before Marguerite, who presided very prettily.

But a hungry howl rent the air as the cover was removed, for certainly the soup looked very scant.

“Never mind,” said the tactful Matron. “We’ll divide it evenly, and we have several other courses.”

“Fish?” asked Jessie, hopefully, for she was fond of it.

“No,” said Hester, feeling as if she had defrauded the girls somehow; “but there’s a beautiful salad.”

Hester’s self-respect returned, however, with the next course, for the Yorkshire pudding was pronounced wonderful, and the roast was tender and beautifully cooked.

“It doesn’t seem a very big roast for two dollars and ten cents, does it?” said Marguerite, thinking of her accounts.

“Don’t be prosaic, Daisy,” said Nan; “never count the cost during the feast.”

Then the salad was brought, and was enjoyed and much complimented; and then the great dish of fruit was passed around.

“I didn’t make any pastry,” said Hester, apologetically; “for I had no time, and I thought the ripe fruit would do as well.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Marjorie, “I love pears. Ow!” And simultaneously Betty made a wry face and left the table.

“Whatisthe matter?”

“Ugh! the fruit is all kerosene.”

The luckless Lamplighter looked up at the swing-lamp, and, sure enough, it was still dripping.

“I must have put in too much oil,” she said calmly, scrutinizing it with interest, “and it—it overflew.”

“I should think it did,” wailed Jessie, looking at her pretty centerpiece spotted with drops of oil.

“It won’t hurt it any,” said Marguerite. “I’ll wash it for you myself. Is there any more fruit?”

But there wasn’t, and the girls didn’t care very much anyway; and leaving the table to Rosie, they all went out on the veranda.

CHAPTER VII

THE INDIAN CALLER

THE veranda at Hilarity Hall was a most attractive place. Hammocks, rockers, and wicker settees abounded, and pillows were as sands of the sea-shore for multitude.

Marjorie threw herself into a hammock, and declared that she should just stay there.

The Matron settled her small person in the biggest rocking-chair, and, with an air of weighty responsibility, frowned over her account-books.

Nan appropriated a wicker couch, and announced that she was going to dream dreams and see visions.

Betty and Jessie sat together in another hammock, swinging themselves by vigorous kicks, which scratched much paint off the piazza floor.

Hester sat bolt upright in a small straight-backed chair, and crocheted lace from a gently bobbing spool of thread.

Helen was trying to write a letter, but was much hampered by Millicent’s teasing.

It pleased the ingenious Lamplighter to substitute various articles in place of Helen’s inkstand, and that preoccupied scribe had dipped her pen successively into an apple, a hat, a slipper, and, finally, into Millicent’s own curly topknot.

Long-suffering Helen smiled good-naturedly at each prank, and patiently set her inkstand in place again. So Millicent declared it was no fun to tease her, and transferred her attention to Timmy Loo.

Taking a sheet of Helen’s paper, she made a cocked hat for him, and, with a paper-cutter for a sword, he posed successfully as Napoleon.

The applause at this performance was so great that it caused Aunt Molly to appear at her window.

“Come over,” called Marjorie.

“Yea, come, Fairy Godmother,” chimed in Millicent; and well pleased, Aunt Molly trotted over and joined the merry group.

They had a good time telling her all about their most recent fun, for what is nicer than a really interested listener? Marjorie read the “Whitecap” to her, which she declared was the work of genius.

“Why,” said the Duchess, as she reached the end of what they had written the night before, “here’s another page. Who wrote it?”

“Read it,” said Betty, and Marjorie read:

“There’s something gone wrong in Hilarity Hall,There’s something awry, I guess;For the Scullery-maid to the parlor has strayed,And the Stoker is mending her dress!“The Wandering Minstrel is cooking the soup,The Peeler is writing a pome;The Lamplighter’s painting a ‘Sunrise at Sea,’Resplendent with madder and chrome.“The dignified Duchess is washing the hearth,The Matron’s embroidering a scarf;While the Peeler is writing this lyrical odeIn hopes that the others will larf.

“There’s something gone wrong in Hilarity Hall,There’s something awry, I guess;For the Scullery-maid to the parlor has strayed,And the Stoker is mending her dress!

“There’s something gone wrong in Hilarity Hall,

There’s something awry, I guess;

For the Scullery-maid to the parlor has strayed,

And the Stoker is mending her dress!

“The Wandering Minstrel is cooking the soup,The Peeler is writing a pome;The Lamplighter’s painting a ‘Sunrise at Sea,’Resplendent with madder and chrome.

“The Wandering Minstrel is cooking the soup,

The Peeler is writing a pome;

The Lamplighter’s painting a ‘Sunrise at Sea,’

Resplendent with madder and chrome.

“The dignified Duchess is washing the hearth,The Matron’s embroidering a scarf;While the Peeler is writing this lyrical odeIn hopes that the others will larf.

“The dignified Duchess is washing the hearth,

The Matron’s embroidering a scarf;

While the Peeler is writing this lyrical ode

In hopes that the others will larf.

“Why, that’s fine, Betty; I’m proud of you!” cried Marjorie; but Betty only said, “Pooh, that’s nothing; read the next page.”

So Marjorie read:

“TO NAN“Our poet writes such clever verse,I’m sure no one writes prettier;And though some poets have done Moore,I know that she is Whittier.“Of course our poet fair is Young,Although she is not quite a Child;And if in years to come she’s Gray,She never, never will be Wilde.“She almost always is all Smiles,And of her kind Harte I speak highly;But on occasions she is Sterne,And when she’s nervous she is Riley.“Our poet wants to be a CookAnd turn her mind to Ruskin jelly;She’s very, very fond of Crabbe—Indeed, of anything that’s Shelley.“She yearns for Browning, fears not Burns,And for a Piatt times has sighed;But yesterday she had a Payne,And day before an Akenside.“She scorns the Wordsworth of her brain,Though she’s as wise as forty owls;But when her muse once gets a start,Look out! for, great Scott, Howitt Howells!”

“TO NAN

“Our poet writes such clever verse,I’m sure no one writes prettier;And though some poets have done Moore,I know that she is Whittier.

“Our poet writes such clever verse,

I’m sure no one writes prettier;

And though some poets have done Moore,

I know that she is Whittier.

“Of course our poet fair is Young,Although she is not quite a Child;And if in years to come she’s Gray,She never, never will be Wilde.

“Of course our poet fair is Young,

Although she is not quite a Child;

And if in years to come she’s Gray,

She never, never will be Wilde.

“She almost always is all Smiles,And of her kind Harte I speak highly;But on occasions she is Sterne,And when she’s nervous she is Riley.

“She almost always is all Smiles,

And of her kind Harte I speak highly;

But on occasions she is Sterne,

And when she’s nervous she is Riley.

“Our poet wants to be a CookAnd turn her mind to Ruskin jelly;She’s very, very fond of Crabbe—Indeed, of anything that’s Shelley.

“Our poet wants to be a Cook

And turn her mind to Ruskin jelly;

She’s very, very fond of Crabbe—

Indeed, of anything that’s Shelley.

“She yearns for Browning, fears not Burns,And for a Piatt times has sighed;But yesterday she had a Payne,And day before an Akenside.

“She yearns for Browning, fears not Burns,

And for a Piatt times has sighed;

But yesterday she had a Payne,

And day before an Akenside.

“She scorns the Wordsworth of her brain,Though she’s as wise as forty owls;But when her muse once gets a start,Look out! for, great Scott, Howitt Howells!”

“She scorns the Wordsworth of her brain,

Though she’s as wise as forty owls;

But when her muse once gets a start,

Look out! for, great Scott, Howitt Howells!”

“Who wrote it? Who wrote it?” queried the girls in chorus; and then each one tried to blush and pretended to look conscious, and Hester said suddenly:

“Oh, look at that queer man coming up the road!”

The queer man, who carried a large pack on his back, came nearer, turned in at the cottage gate, and paused at the foot of the veranda steps. He was evidently a foreigner, a great, gaunt creature with a swarthy skin, coarse black hair, and black, beady eyes. He wore a long mantle heavy with embroidery, and on his head was a gay-colored turban-like arrangement.

“He looks like a supplement to an art magazine,” whispered Millicent to Marjorie.

“He has something to sell,” returned Marjorie, and indeed he had.

Beautiful Oriental fabrics were quickly spread out before the eyes of the delighted girls. Scarfs, handkerchiefs, embroidered jackets, and spangled sashes were shaken out one after another by the long bony fingers of the East Indian. He had, too, a lot of fancy baskets and some hideous little idols.

His talk was a queer kind of half-foreign jargon, and he addressed himself principally to Aunt Molly.

But Jessie and Marguerite were so dazzled by the glory of his wares that he turned his attention to them as more likely purchasers.

“Ach, mees, ver’ fine, ver’ fine,” he would say, clasping his not overclean hands and rolling his eyes.

Then, catching up a white-and-gold scarf, he deftly twisted it into a turban, which he placed on Marguerite’s curly head and then struck an attitude of mute adoration.

“Ver’ fine, ver’ fine,” he repeated, which phrase seemed to be his entire stock of English.

Then, seeing Millicent’s eyes wander toward the grotesque images, he picked up a snake, which uncoiled itself in such a realistic way that the girls squealed. This seemed to amuse him very much, and he began to tell a horrible snake story. Only a few words were intelligible, but his gestures were so dramatic that he was easily understood, and the girls were thrilled at the pantomimic relation of his fearful encounter with a rattlesnake in the wilds of his own country.

The prices of his goods were exorbitant, but Aunt Molly had dealt with his kind before, and by reason of her sagacious hints of the girls’ limited means he was induced to accept about half of what he at first asked, and the bargains were finally concluded to the satisfaction of all concerned.

Then the picturesque peddler departed with gestures of respectful admiration and regretful leave-taking.

Jessie had bought a scarf of exquisite embroidery on pale-blue gauze, which was very becoming to her pretty girlishness.

Hester and Betty bought baskets of bright-colored sweet-grass, and Hester put hers at once to use by dropping her crochet work into it.

Millicent bought a bolero jacket, which she put on at once, and catching up the red fez which was Marjorie’s purchase, she perched it sidewise on her saucy head and began to dance a fandango, while Helen played a tinkling air on her banjo.

“He was a funny old chap,” said Nan, looking at the curious little idol she had bought; “let’s write him up in the ‘Whitecap.’ ”

“Do,” said Millicent, “and I’ll draw his portrait to illustrate it. He looked like the Ancient Mariner.”

The hint was enough for Nan, and while Millicent drew a startling-looking sketch which the girls declared was exactly like him, the club Poet produced the

RIME OF THE INDIAN PEDDLER

Ye Indian intervieweth ye maids

It is an Ancient In-di-an,And he stoppeth here by we;“By thy swarthy face and coal-black hair,Now wherefore loiter ye?”

It is an Ancient In-di-an,

And he stoppeth here by we;

“By thy swarthy face and coal-black hair,

Now wherefore loiter ye?”

He displayeth his wares

He takes his pack from off his back,Displaying costly wares;The while the girls his movements watchWith interested stares.

He takes his pack from off his back,

Displaying costly wares;

The while the girls his movements watch

With interested stares.

He seeth snakes (all see snakes)

Then many a creepy tale he tellsOf snakes and sich-like cattle,Dramatically showing forthTheir snaky curve and rattle.

Then many a creepy tale he tells

Of snakes and sich-like cattle,

Dramatically showing forth

Their snaky curve and rattle.

Ye maidens buy his wares (75 cents reduced from $1.50)

Ye maidens buy his gaudy wares,His prices crying down;And slowly and reluctantlyHe wends his way to town.

Ye maidens buy his gaudy wares,

His prices crying down;

And slowly and reluctantly

He wends his way to town.

This was hailed with enthusiasm, and Betty declared they really ought to write an account of Hester’s dinner. Seizing the “Whitecap,” she began a fresh page with a grand flourish reading as she wrote:

“On Friday the Hilarious Populace gathered round their festal board and partook of a dinner which was most successfully served by the Stoker and the Wandering Minstrel, et al.”

“We didn’t eat all,” said Helen, laughing.

“That’s Latin,” said Betty, “and it means that Marguerite helped you.”

Then she proceeded to write:

THE DINNERMenuSoup(Nota Bene) Tomato Soup à la DeficitFishFish à la NunRoastBeef (Cost $2.10)SaladTomatoes (Peeled by the Peeler)Mayonnaise (Stirred by the Stoker)Dressed by the MatronDessertFruit à la KeroseneDressed by the Lamplighter

THE DINNER

Soup

(Nota Bene) Tomato Soup à la Deficit

Fish

Fish à la Nun

Roast

Beef (Cost $2.10)

Salad

Tomatoes (Peeled by the Peeler)

Mayonnaise (Stirred by the Stoker)

Dressed by the Matron

Dessert

Fruit à la Kerosene

Dressed by the Lamplighter

“Girls,” said Hester, suddenly, “there’s a fine light just now. I’ll take your pictures if you like.”

This speech had seven different answers all at once, but they were all acquiescent, so Hester went to get her camera.

“But let’s go down to the beach,” she said, returning; “it’s so much more picturesque than the piazza.”

In a moment of inspiration Betty seized the “Whitecap” and wrote a stanza:

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