THE MERRY FIVECHAPTER ITHE MERRY FIVE
THE MERRY FIVE
TheMerry Five were Molly, Kirke, and Weezy Rowe, and their twin comrades, Paul and Pauline Bradstreet, who lived over the way. Paul, Pauline, and Molly were now fourteen years old, Kirke was twelve, and little Miss Weezy seven. The story begins with the Rowes at luncheon-time.
“O papa! I’m so glad we’re going to the beach,” cried Molly, laying down her fork.
“And I’m glad we’re going to be so near Captain Bradstreet’s camp,” added Kirke, flourishing his napkin. “Oh! we shall have a famous outing.”
“Exquit!” chirped Weezy, not at all sure what an outing might be, only that it must be something jolly.
“Me too, mamma,” lisped Baby Donald, paddling with his spoon in his bowl of milk.
Mr. Rowe had caused this unusual excitement by reading aloud a letter from Mrs. Kitto, who kept a boarding-house at Santa Luzia. The letter stated that she had received Mr. Rowe’s note of inquiry, and that if he desired it, she would take himself and family as boarders on the following Wednesday.
“You do desire it, papa; don’t you?” added Molly eagerly.
“If your mamma does, my daughter.”
“It will be difficult to leave so soon,” remarked Mrs. Rowe, thoughtfully stroking Donald’s restless fingers.
“But we children can help,” said Molly quickly. “We have helped a great deal since vacation; now, haven’t we, mamma?”
“Certainly you have, my dear,” returned Mrs. Rowe with a smile. Did Molly remember that this vacation was as yet hardly two days old?
The first thing that Molly did after luncheon by way of helping, was to run across the street to Captain Bradstreet’s to signal to Pauline in the cheery trill that all school-girls know.
“Mrs. Kitto can take us, Polly! We’re going Wednesday!” she cried, as Pauline came dancing out, her long hair floating behind her like a black flag.
“You are, Molly? Papa sayswesha’n’t be off before the first of next month. But he has partly promised to let Paul and me stop at Santa Luzia on the way.”
“O Pauline, how perfectly lovely!”
“I didn’t believe he’d ever think of such a thing,” said Pauline, braiding her hair. “He’s so silly about us twins since mamma died. Can’t bear to have us out of his sight.”
“I don’t wonder, Polly, I’m sure.” Molly’s eyes glowed with pity, as they always did when Pauline spoke of her dead mother. She longed to tell Pauline how sorry she was for her, but the words would not come. What she did say was only this, “Your shoe-string’s untied, Polly, the right one.”
“Is it? Well, it might as well be the right as the left. It’s sure to be one or the other,” returned easy-going Pauline, stooping to fasten the offending lacing.
“Oh! won’t it be delightful if you and Paul can come to Santa Luzia, Polly? I hope you can stay at Mrs. Kitto’s a whole week.”
“Thank you, Molly dear, and I”—Pauline had been about to say that she hoped Molly and Kirke would stay at least that length of time at the camp; but suddenly remembered that there might not be room enough for them. She must ask her father.
“I—I suppose Auntie David will meet usat Santa Luzia,” she said, to finish the sentence.
“What does make you call her Auntie David, Pauline? You’ve never told me.”
“Oh, Paul and I began to call her that when we were little snips, and we’ve done it ever since. Auntie doesn’t mind. Her name is Davidson, you know. She married Uncle John Davidson.”
“Will Mr. Davidson come to Santa Luzia too, Polly?”
“Oh, no; Uncle John has gone East. He goes East every summer on business, and then Auntie comes to live with us. Lucky for Paul and me; lucky for papa too! Auntie David is papa’s only sister. I believe he thinks she made the world!”
“Well, I must skip back,” said Molly, with an important air. “Kirke has gone over to Mrs. Carillo’s to see if Manuel wants to keep Kirke’s cart and burro while we’re away;and mamma may want me to do some errands.”
All the rest of the week there was a pleasant bustle in the Rowe household, the bustle of preparing for a journey.
“We’re going to ride in the cars,” little Miss Weezy explained to all callers. “We’re going to Sandy Luzia. It’s ’most a hundred miles.”
The little maiden was very busy these days; for she had to hunt up her scattered dolls, many of them having strayed out of sight.
Mr. Rowe, though still far from strong, was very busy too.
“I must drive over to the gardener’s this morning to instruct him in regard to the hedge,” he said to Mrs. Rowe the next Monday.
“Shall we shut up Zip?” asked Mrs. Rowe, as she brought her husband a glass of milk.
“No, my dear,” Mr. Rowe smiled. “Let the little Mexican follow. I believe his dogshipthinks none of the family can be trusted anywhere without him.”
As soon as Mr. Rowe had gone, Mrs. Rowe hastened to call Molly from the book she was reading.
“Come, Molly, while papa is away we will begin our packing. Please ask Hop Kee to take the largest trunk from the store-room, and set it down in the upper hall in front of the grate.”
Molly put “Alice in Wonderland” upon the table with a little sigh, and walked out to the kitchen rather more slowly than a girl ought to walk when she goes on her mother’s errands. She was thinking about Alice and that surprising rabbit. Whatwouldhe do next?
“Now, children, you can collect the articles that you cannot do without,” said Mrs. Rowe, after the trunk had been placed before the unused grate. “The necessary articles mustbe put in first, for we sha’n’t have room for everything you’d like.”
Kirke immediately brought his tennis-racket, his foot-ball, and his jointed fishing-rod, and flung them into the trunk.
“I must have my tool-box, too, mamma, and the ship I’m rigging, and”—
“Any clothes, Kirke?” interrupted Molly mischievously, as she appeared with an armful of bathing-suits.
Kirke had not thought of clothes; and when these had been hunted up, and laid smoothly over the bathing-suits, he grudged them the space they occupied.
But his mamma did not let him remain idle.
“You may get the hammock next, Kirke, and papa’s afghan and pillows.”
Kirke skipped down-stairs two steps at a time, and speedily returned with the hammock slung over his shoulder, and bulging in a very peculiar manner.
“Here’s a big hang-bird’s nest, mamma. It has one wee bird in it. Do you want to see the fellow hop?”
“O Kirke! what made you bring Donald here now?” said Mrs. Rowe, with a vexed laugh, as Kirke spilled his baby brother at her feet.
Donald scrambled up, and rested his chin on the edge of the trunk to see his mamma put in the sofa-pillows, and spread blankets over them. “P’itty ’itty bed,” said he.
“So you think that’s a bed do you, little brother?” cried Kirke, much amused. “It does look like your cribby, that’s a fact.”
“P’itty ’ittymamma,” pursued the young rogue, throwing his arms about his mother’s neck, partly because he loved her, partly because he feared she was going to send him away.
“There, sweetheart, that will do,” said she at last, between his kisses. “Mamma is busynow. Brother must take little Donald down-stairs.”
“Pit-a-bat, pit-a-bat,” pleaded the baby. He saw he must go, and, as that was the case, preferred to go in state, riding on his brother’s back.
“Well, pick-a-back it is, then,” exclaimed Kirke, slinging the teasing child across his shoulders. In the lower hall he met Captain Bradstreet and Pauline.
“You’re the very young man I want to speak to,” cried the cheery captain; “I want”—
“Now, papa, Kirke’s not soveryyoung, I’m sure,” interrupted Pauline archly.
Captain Bradstreet chuckled as though his motherless daughter had made a witty remark.
“True, my little girl, Kirke’s not so very young; but then, on the other hand, not so old as he may be later.”
“I’m going on thirteen, Captain Bradstreet,” said Kirke, jealous for his own dignity.
The captain chuckled again, and wiped his sunburned face so hard that Kirke half looked for a crimson stain on the white pocket-handkerchief.
“Yes, yes, to be sure, you’ll overtake your father before long, Kirke. Hop Kee says your father’s not at home.”
“No; papa has gone to Mr. Gleason’s, Captain Bradstreet.”
“We’ve come, Pauline and I, to engage you and that big sister of yours to visit us at our camp when we’re settled in it. Pauline won’t sleep a wink till this thing’s arranged. Can we see your mother?”
Kirke set Donald down upon the floor, and hastened to the upper hall, where Molly was capering about in the wildest excitement.
“O mamma! did you hear what Captain Bradstreet said? Did you hear? He wants Kirke and me to make a visit at his camp—I never made a visit at a camp in my life!”
“Yes, mamma,” said Kirke, in the same low tone, “Captain Bradstreet wants to ask you if Molly and I can go. Came on purpose.”
“O mamma! you’ll say yes; won’t you?” begged Molly.
Mrs. Rowe was hastily laying aside her apron.
“We’ll ask papa, Molly. Captain Bradstreet is certainly very kind.”
“Idon’t think Captain Bradstreet’s kind—I don’t think he’s kind a bit,” muttered little Miss Weezy, as the others went down-stairs. “Never ’vited me at all! Didn’t I ’vite him to my seven-years-old party, ice-cream to it too? O dear, dear, dear!”
Unloading an apronful of dolls in a heap by the trunk, offended little Weezy stole down the back staircase into the garden to confide her sorrows to Ginger, Molly’s yellow kitten.
“Captain Bradstreet said I was a nice, sweet little girl; he said it two times, he truly did.And now he’s gone and asked Kirke and Molly to go to his—to his something—oh, yes, he’s asked them, and never asked me.”
Ginger purred softly, and rubbed her head against her little mistress’s feet; but Weezy could not be comforted. What a miserable old world it was to be sure, where captains called you nice, sweet little girls, and then went and didn’t invite you to their—to their—she couldn’t quite remember what.
Grown-up people liked big boys and girls like Kirke and Molly; they didn’t like little ones like herself and Donald.
Poor little Donald, he was crying too. She heard him. What was he crying about? Weezy wondered. And where was he? He seemed a great way off, by the sound, ’most up in the sky. Why didn’t somebody find him and make him happy?