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Sweet Little Maid, A

<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2><h3>The Tea-Party</h3> When the carriage left the house Mrs. Hardy directed the driver to go through one of the pleasant roads leading from the town. "Which is your favorite drive, Dimple?" she asked. "Oh, Pleasant Valley and Big Run," answered she. "Don't you think so?" "I hardly know," said Mrs. Hardy. "I have been around so little; you will have to be our guide and tell us the pretty places." Dimple felt quite important, and chatted away at a great rate. "Didn't Rock make our dolls pretty hats?" she asked. "Mrs. Hardy, I wish he were my brother. He couldn't be, could he? Even if he could only be my cousin, I should like it." Mrs. Hardy looked at Rock, who laughed and said, "That is more likely than the other." "I don't see how," said Dimple. "You will see," said Rock. But at a look from his mother he was silent. They leaned back on the soft cushions, breathing the sweet air, spicy with the scent of the pines through which they were driving. At Big Run they all begged to get out, to see if there were any fish in the water. They clambered about on the bank and over the stones, till Mrs. Hardy told them it was too late to stop longer, and they drove toward town. After they had reached the house where Rock and his mother were boarding, they took off their hats and were ready for tea. They wondered if they were all to sit with Mrs. Brisk's family at the table, and dreaded it a little. However, when Rock said, "Come this way, girls," they were a little mystified, for he took them out into the garden. Under a trellised summerhouse there was set a little table for three, and on the bench a very small table with two little chairs. "That is for the dolls," explained Rock. "Oh, Rock!" exclaimed the girls. "Where did they come from? Did you make them?" "Yes," said he. "Do you like them?" "They are perfect," said Florence. "Dimple, do see how nicely Celestine sits up to the table." "And Rubina, too," said Dimple, as she took off her doll's hat. "Don't they look lovely? Look, Rock. What a boy you are." Rock laughed, and they turned to their own table, which had a tiny bouquet by each plate and a pyramid of fruit in the centre. The long drive had given them all an appetite, and they did full justice to the croquettes, muffins and fried potatoes before they thought of the jelly, fruit and cake. "How will we get our chairs and table home?" said Florence. "I will take them to-morrow," said Rock. "Oh, no," said Dimple. "It was enough for you to make them, without taking them home, too." "Well," said Rock, "if the cabinetmaker can't take home his own goods, I think it is a pity." The girls laughed, and so the matter rested. "What shall we do now?" asked Rock. "Will you look at pictures, or play games, or what?" Dimple looked at Florence, and Florence looked at Dimple. "I think pictures are nice in winter, when you can't be out of doors," said Florence, who never could get enough of out of doors. So they concluded to play out of doors. "What nice long grass this is," said Dimple. "We could almost hide ourselves. We might play we were rabbits, and hop about and make nests." "Let's hide ourselves," cried Florence. "I speak for first count. <div class="blockquot">"'Onery Twoery, Dickery Day, Illava, Lullava, Lackava Lay, One condemn the American line. Umny Bumny, Twenty-nine. Fillason, Folloson, Nicholas John. Queevy, Quavy, English Navy, Signum, Sangnum, Buck!' </div> "You're out," she sang out to Rock and then went again rapidly over the count, making herself "It." Then Dimple and Rock stole softly off to hide themselves, while Florence covered her eyes by a tree. "Whoop!" called Dimple, presently. "Whoop!" called Rock, a moment later. And Florence went in search of them, but before she found them, she discovered something else and called out: "Rock! Dimple! Come here, quick. I have found something so funny and cunning." Out of their nests started the children to see Florence standing over another nest in a trellis, in which was a family of little baby wrens, opening their small beaks and clamoring to be fed. "Sh! Sh!" Dimple said, softly. "Don't let's scare them, poor little things. See, there is the mother bird. She is distressed because we have found her babies. Oh Rock, don't let any one else know they are here, for they might hurt them." "Let us go away now," said Rock, in a whisper. "The poor mother bird is flying around, and is so troubled. She doesn't know that we wouldn't harm her little ones for anything." So they tiptoed away and left the mother in possession. "What kind of bird was it?" Florence asked, in a low voice. "Why, don't you know? That was Jenny Wren," returned Dimple, more accustomed to creatures of woods and fields. "Was it really Jenny Wren?" exclaimed Florence, delightedly. "I'm so glad I've seen her." "Didn't you ever see her before? You have heard Mr. Wren sing, haven't you? Oh, how he sings! I think house-wrens are such dear, dear birds. We always put up boxes and cans and such things for them, for we like to have them around, and they can build their nests in quite small places. The other big birds try to drive them away sometimes, but we always try to protect them. Mamma says Jenny Wren is a very neat housekeeper, and takes excellent care of her family. They are such friendly little birds. I love them better than any others." "Do you believe you have any wrens' nests near the house, this year?" Florence asked. "Yes, indeed, ever so many. I know just where to look for them. I'll show you some to-morrow. There's one in the funniest place. You know where the bamboo shade is rolled up at the side of the front porch: well, in one end of that a wren has built a nest, and mamma will not have the shade let down till the little birds are ready to fly." Florence gave a sigh of content. She enjoyed such things so heartily, and saw none of them in her city home. "I like the robins," put in Rock, "they are such cheerful fellows. Listen to that one whistle. Doesn't it remind you of juicy cherries?" Dimple laughed. "Yes, and don't they love cherries! I believe they eat half on our trees, and they always pick out the very finest ones." "Of course. So would you, if you were a robin," Rock returned. "Speaking of birds, Florence, have you ever watched the swallows—the chimney swifts—come home? It's a sight." "No, I never saw them. Are there any here?" returned Florence, eagerly. "Lots of them. They build in that old chimney, and they come every year on a certain day of the month. They seem to have a sort of system in the way they circle around, and go down the chimney; just as if they were regularly drilled for it. It's about time for them now. Suppose we sit here and watch them." This they did, and when the last belated swallow had dropped down into the tall old chimney, they went up to the house where Mrs. Hardy was waiting for them, and where they were glad to listen to her tales of California; its big trees, its fine fruits, and the lovely flowers that grow wild there; and she told many funny tales of the Chinese, till Mr. Dallas made his appearance, and with regretful good-byes they took their leave. All this time the girls had not once remembered Bubbles. They were having such a good time, and it was not till they were on their way home, when Mr. Dallas questioned them, that they thought of how they had left her on the roof. "Mrs. Hardy is just lovely, mamma," said Dimple, when they reached home. "I hope she liked me, for I liked her, and, oh mamma! I am so sorry about Bubbles." "I am glad you like Mrs. Hardy," said her mother, "but the next time Bubbles does wrong, I hope you will tell me, and not punish her yourself. You must remember that she is only a little ignorant, colored girl, and that it is no wonder she wants what you have, for you have played with her, and been with her so much. Of course it was wrong for her to take anything without leave. Were you and Florence good girls?" "Yes, I think so. Mamma, what did Rock mean when he said he was more likely to be my cousin than my brother?" "Did he say that?" said Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "Well, so you are." "Mamma, I don't understand." "No. I know you don't. You will in a few days. Now go to bed." "Florence," said Dimple, after they were in bed. "There is another secret somewhere, and I cannot puzzle it out. Mamma wants Mrs. Hardy to be fond of me, and Rock is likely to be my cousin, and all that." "I can't imagine," answered Florence, sleepily. "I don't see into it," said Dimple, after thinking a while. "Florence, are you asleep?" But Florence made no answer, having by that time arrived in dreamland, and Dimple soon followed her, dreaming that she was feeding the little wrens on croquettes, and was taking her doll to drive in California, when a big tree came up to her, and insisted on shaking hands, because it said it was her cousin. She laughed right out in her sleep, and frightened a little mouse back into its hole. <hr class='minor' /> When the two little girls ran down to breakfast the next morning, they wore very happy faces, for Dimple had just discovered that her birthday was only a week off, and she and Florence had been planning for it. "Papa always does something very specially nice for me," Dimple had just announced, "and I always have a lovely birthday-cake with icing and candles. Mamma makes it herself, because I always think it tastes better when she does. And she lets me choose what we are to have for dinner. You tell what you like best, Florence, and we'll have that." "I like fried chicken better than anything, except, of course, ice cream and cake." "So do I. I'm so glad you like what I do, and I'm very glad my birthday is in June, for it is such a rosy month, and we can have strawberries with the ice cream. There are so many good things to eat in June; strawberries, and peas, and asparagus and—oh, I don't know what all." This conversation took place before breakfast, and Dimple was sitting on the floor hugging her knees, and looking as contented as it was possible to be. They were still talking on the important subject when they entered the dining-room. "What's all this about birthdays?" asked Mr. Dallas, looking up from his morning paper. "Why, papa, don't you know my birthday will be next week?" returned Dimple, as she went up to give him his morning kiss. "Aren't you glad?" she added. "Is it an occasion for great joyfulness? I'm not so sure of that. Don't you know it makes mamma feel very serious to have a daughter eight—or is it nine—years old? And as for myself, I begin to feel the grey hairs popping out all over my head at the very thought of it." "I shall be nine years old. But, papa, you are always making out that you are old and that makes me feel sorry. I don't see a single grey hair. People are not very old till they are forty, at least, are they?" "Well, no, but they are rather decrepit when they reach such extreme old age as that—Uncle Heath is forty you know, and see what a tottering old man he is." "Now, papa, you are laughing at me. I don't believe you'll have grey hairs for years and years." "They are starting, I am sure. However, we'll change the subject, if you wish. What do you expect me to give you on that festal day? Not another doll, surely?" "No—I don't know—perhaps." "Oh, you are insatiable as to dolls. I believe if any one were to give you a dozen at Christmas you would be glad to have a dozen more on New Years. I don't believe Florence is so doll-crazy." "Yes, she is. Aren't you, Florence?" Florence nodded. "Nevertheless," continued Mr. Dallas, "I'll promise no doll this time. Shall it be books? Perhaps we'd better consult mamma. Come to think of it, I had an idea about this same birthday. It seems to me I thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide some amusement for rainy days." The two little girls looked at each other, and Dimple hung her head. "What do you think?" Mr. Dallas asked, quizzically. "It seems to me that I have heard that the rain produces a singularly bad effect upon two little girls I know." "Yes, papa, we were horrid, especially one time. We didn't know what to do, and so—and so——" "'Satan found some mischief still For idle hands to do;' was that the way of it?" Dimple glanced at Florence shamefacedly. "Yes, papa, I'm afraid it was just that way," she replied, meekly. "Well, as I said before, I think it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide against such trouble. Perhaps that birthday will show you a way out of future difficulty." And so it proved, for on her birthday morning the secret of the little house was revealed. "You must wait till after breakfast to see your birthday gifts, daughter," Mrs. Dallas said, as Dimple came bounding into the room to receive her nine kisses. "Oh, mamma, why? I always have them the first thing. Do tell me where they are. Downstairs or up here?" "Downstairs, in one sense, but they are not in the house at all." Dimple's eyes opened wide. "Not in the house? Florence, just listen. There is a great secret. Oh, dear, how can I wait?" "Well, dearie," returned her mother, "the sooner you are dressed the sooner the secret will come. See, I am nearly ready to go down." "Please help me, just this morning, mamma. It will make it so much easier, and it's my birthday, you know." "Very well, since you are the person of importance to-day, I will help you." "Hurry up, Florence," cried Dimple. "Come in here and I'll fasten your buttons while mamma does mine; then we'll get through all the sooner." Although Dimple, the day before, had carefully selected the day's bill of fare, the breakfast was scarcely tasted, her favorite waffles offering no inducement for her to linger over them, so great was her excitement, and she watched eagerly till her father pushed back his chair, and declared himself ready for orders. It seemed to Dimple that he had never had such an appetite before, and she watched with anxious interest as he helped himself to waffles from each plateful that Bubbles brought in. There was a twinkle in his eyes as Dimple at last heaved a long sigh, and he immediately arose and led the way through the garden to the little new house between the house and the stable. "We'll look in here," he remarked, as he unlocked the door. Although Dimple had been quite curious to see the inside of the "house for little chicks," she was rather disappointed at the delay, for she thought, perhaps, her papa had something for her in the stable, a fox terrier, or maybe a goat, since she had expressed a wish for both. But when the door of the little house was opened her surprise was so great that she gave expression to one long-drawn "Oh-h!" and looked from one to the other half bewildered. For, instead of a brooder and an "inkybator," she saw before her the dearest little room with white curtains at the window, a rug upon the floor, a small cooking stove in one corner, a table, chairs, and all to suit a little girl. Upon the shelves were ranged plates, cups, saucers and dishes, and a cupboard in the corner looked as if it might hold other necessary things for housekeeping. Moreover, her family of dolls sat along in a row on the window-seat, looking as expectant as is the nature of dolls to look. "Well, Dot, how do you like it?" asked Mr. Dallas, smiling down at the child whose color came and went in her fair little face. "Oh, papa! Oh, papa! is it truly my house?" she asked, clasping him closely. "Yes, it is truly yours. I thought a rainy day house might help to keep our little chicks out of mischief, because here they can peep as loud as they choose and it will not disturb any one." "You said it was for little chicks, and I never once thought you meant us. Did you, Florence? It is lovely, lovely. Oh, papa, you are too good." "I think it is a matter of self-defence, for if you and Florence are so ambitious as to take violent possession of your neighbors' houses, it seemed to me there would be no end of complaints, and the best way to prevent further housebreaking was to give you a house where you could cook and sweep and exercise your domestic tastes to your hearts' content." Dimple understood all this banter, and she laughingly said, "Florence, we are like the birds that try to take the wrens' houses to live in. But now we have a nest of our own we won't do it any more, papa. Thank you so much. It is the most lovely surprise I ever had in all my life." "I'm glad you like your house, Mistress Eleanor Dallas; but, dear me, I can't stand here chattering. I must be off." Dimple gave him an ecstatic parting hug, and returned to a survey of her house. "Papa gives you the house, and I the furniture," her mother told her. "You must try to keep the place neat and clean. Of course, Bubbles can help you, sometimes, but I want you to learn to take care of it yourself and to be a good housekeeper." "Like Jenny Wren. Oh, yes, mamma, I will try. Florence, we'll put up boxes for the wrens, up there by the door, and maybe they will come and build. Mamma, may we have our ice cream and cake out here this afternoon?" "Yes, if you like, and you may go over and ask Rock Hardy to come, and Leila and Eugene Clark too, if you like to have them. That will make quite a nice little party. You can use your own dishes, and have all the fun you choose." "Won't that be fine!" cried Dimple, softly clapping her hands. "Shall we go now?" she asked. "Yes, unless you would rather wait." "No, I'd rather go now, so I won't have to think about it, for I shall not want to leave my house to-day; it is so dear and cunning. And, Florence, when we come back, we'll gather some flowers and make everything look as pretty as possible. Just think, we'll be like grown-up ladies, with a house, and a servant, and—oh, mamma, please let Bubbles wear a cap." Mrs. Dallas laughed. "I don't believe we will insist upon that, but you can rig up one for her if you like, when she is out here. Now I must go in." "Come, Florence, we'll go and invite the company, and get that over with, and then we'll have nothing to interrupt us the rest of the day," said Dimple. "Won't it be fine to come out here on rainy days and make all the noise we want. What time shall we tell the children to come?" she called after her mother, who was just stepping off the little porch. "At four o'clock, I think." "That's the time Rock had his tea-party," said Dimple. "I am glad we can invite him to our feast, because we had such a nice time over there. I wonder if he knows anything about this being our little house. If he doesn't, won't he be surprised!" It proved that Rock didn't know, and he was as interested as any one could wish;—so much so, indeed, that he begged to go over at once to see it, and his mother allowed him to do so. "My! but it's fine," he declared, examining both outside and in. "You might have a pretty little garden out here, and plant some vines to grow over the porch." "So we might," Dimple responded, "I never thought of that. It will make the little porch so much prettier. Just think, I never dreamed that it was being built for me." "Your father is awfully good," returned Rock, adding soberly, "I hope it runs in the family." Dimple laughed, but looked sober herself, immediately after. "I'm afraid I'll never be as good as papa and mamma, for I do horrid things," she said. She looked at Florence wistfully, then lifted one of her cousin's soft auburn curls, and laid her cheek against it; to which Florence responded by giving her a sudden kiss. They both remembered that day in the garret. Rock became so interested in the idea of a garden, that, after Mrs. Dallas's consent was gained, he spent most of the day in digging up a little patch in which the children planted a remarkable collection of plants, both wild and cultivated. They even put in some corn, so as to have roasting ears, Dimple said, and a pumpkin seed, because she liked pumpkin pies. They were so busy all day that they were scarcely willing to go in to prepare for their feast. Leila and Eugene Clark were properly impressed with the new house; yet, with the others, were quite ready to stop their play that they might do justice to the big cake with its nine candles, and its wreath of flowers; while the amount of ice cream eaten showed plainly that the refreshments were quite to the taste of the guests. Leila brought Dimple a box of candy, and Eugene presented her with a bunch of beautiful roses. Rock, too, although he hardly could spare the time to rush home and get his gift for her, had something to donate; an exquisite little fan with carved ivory sticks, that he said was made in China, and which his mother had bought in California. Mrs. Hardy added to the gift a dainty pink sash, and Florence had struggled in secret to make Rubina a new frock, and had succeeded very well. So Dimple felt herself bountifully remembered. "It's been just the very happiest day I ever had," said the little girl as she stood in her white night gown, ready for bed. "I ought to be a very, very good girl, mamma; and I have done so many naughty things lately, but I didn't think." "Didn't Think is a bad enemy to most little girls," said Mrs. Dallas, holding her daughter's fair head against her shoulder. "Did you have to fight him?" "I did, indeed." "That's a comfort. Perhaps when I grow up, I may be a little weeny, weeny bit like you, darling mamsey. Please give me nine more kisses." "One on your forehead; one on each cheek; one on each eyelid; one between the eyes; one on your chin; one on your mouth, and where shall I put the other?" "Here, in the tickley place under my chin. Now say 'my blessed child'; that always makes me feel good, and then I'll pop into bed." But the head was no sooner on the pillow than it was bobbed up again, and there came the whisper, "Mamma, please kiss Florence more than one time, and call her something nice." And when this was done, two very tired, but very happy, little girls kissed each other, and in a few moments were fast asleep. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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