 CHAPTER 19 THE RESPONSE TO MABLE'S TELEGRAM The night of their flitting from Dandelion Cottage the girls had hastily eaten all the radishes in the cottage garden to prevent their falling into the hands of the grasping milligans. Now, the morning after their visit to Mr. Downing, they were wishing that they hadn't, not because the radishes had disagreed with them, but for quite a different reason. They could not enter the cottage, of course, but it had occurred to them that it might be possible to derive a certain melancholy satisfaction from tending and replenishing the little garden. That pleasure, at least, had not been forbidden them. But before beginning active operations they took the precaution of enlarging the hole in the back fence so that instantaneous flight would be possible in case Mr. Downing should scrawl cottageward. Their motive was good. When Mr. Black returned, if he ever should, Betty meant that he should find the little yard in perfect order. "'We'll keep to our part of the bargain, anyway,' said Betty, as the four girls were making their first cautious tour of inspection about the cottage yard. "'There's lots of work to be done.' "'Yes,' agreed Jean. "'We said we'd keep this yard nice all summer and it wouldn't be right not to do it.' "'I wonder if we ought to ask Mr. Downing,' asked conscientious Betty, stooping to pull off some gone-to-seed pansies. "'Perhaps you'd like the job,' suggested Marjorie, with mild sarcasm. "'My sakes,' said Mabel. "'I wouldn't go near that man again if I was going to swallow an automobile the next moment if I didn't. I could hear him roar, "'No, every few minutes all night. I fell out of bed twice, dreaming that I was trying to get off of that old porch of his before he could grab me.' "'Well, I guess we'd better not ask,' said Jean, because I'm pretty sure he'd have the same answer ready. "'He certainly ought to not mind having us take care of our own flowers,' said Marjorie. "'That's true,' said Betty, poking the moist earth with a friendly finger. "'They're growing splendidly since the rain. See how nice and full of growiness the ground is. I can get more pansy plants,' offered Marjorie, to fill up these holes the milligan dog made. "'Miss Crane promised to give us some aster plants,' said Mabel. "'Let's put them along by the fence.' "'Let's do,' said Jean. "'You go see if you can have them now.' "'I know Mr. Black will be pleased,' declared Betty, if he finds this place looking nice. I'm so thankful we didn't remember to ask Mr. Downing about it.' "'We didn't have a chance,' said Jean, roofily. But just the same I'm willing to keep on forgetting until Mr. Black comes.' It began to look, however, as if Mr. Black were never coming. Betty had written as she had promised, but had had no reply, though the letter had not been mailed for ten minutes before she began to watch for the postman. Even Mabel, having had no response to her telegram, and supposing it to have gone astray, had given up hope. Mabel, ever averse to confessing the failure of any of her enterprises, had decided to postpone saying anything about the telegram until one or another of the girls should remember to ask what had become of the thirty-five cents. So far none of them had thought of it. Still it seemed probable, in spite of Mr. Black's continued absence, that he would get home some time, for he had left so much behind him. In the business portion of the town there was a huge building whose sign read, Peter Black and Company. Then in the prettiest part of the residence district, where the lawns were big and the shrubs were planted scientifically by a landscape gardener, and where the hillside bristled with roses, there was a large handsome stone house that, as everybody knew, belonged to Mr. Black. Although there were industrious clerks at work in the one, and the middle-aged housekeeper with a furnace-tending, grass-cutting husband equally busy in the other, it was reasonable to suppose that Mr. Black, even if he had no family, would have to return some time, if only to enjoy his beloved rose-bushes. Thanks to Mabel's telegram, Betty's letter forwarded from Washington to not reach him for many days. He did come. He had had to stop in Chicago after all, and there had been unexpected delays, but just a week from the day the Milligans had left the cottage, Mr. Black returned. Without even stopping to look in at his own office, the traveller went straight to the rectory to ask for Betty. Betty, Mrs. Tucker told him, he would probably find in the cottage-yard. Mr. Black took a shortcut through the hole in the back fence, arriving on the cottage lawn just in time to meet a procession of girls entering the front gate. Each girl was carrying a huge, heavy clot of earth out of the top of which grew a sturdy green plant, for the cottage-less cottagers had discovered the only successful way of performing the difficult feat of restocking their garden with half-grown vegetables. Their neighbors had proved generous when Betty had explained that if one could only dig deep enough, one could transplant anything from a cabbage to pole beans. Some of the grown-up gardeners, to be sure, had been skeptical, but they were all willing that the girls should make the attempt. Oh, Mr. Black, shrieked the four girls, dropping their burdens to make a simultaneous rush for the senior warden. Oh, oh, oh, is it really you? We're so glad—so awfully glad you've come. Well, I declare so am I, said Mr. Black, with his arms full of girls. It seems like getting home again to have a family of nice girls waiting with a welcome, even if it's a pretty sandy one. What are you doing with all the real estate? I thought you'd all been turned out. But you seem to all be here, I declare, if you haven't all been growing. We were, we are, we have—cried the girls, dancing up and down delightedly. Mr. Downing made us give up the cottage, but he didn't say anything about the garden, and—and—we thought we'd better forget to ask about it. Tell me the whole story, said Mr. Black. Let's sit here on the doorstep. I'm sure I could listen more comfortably if there were not so many excited girls dancing on my best toes. So Mr. Black, with a girl at each side and two at his feet, heard the story from beginning to end, and he seemed to find it much more amusing than the girls had at any time considered it. He simply roared with laughter when Betty apologized about Bob and the tin. Well, said he, when the recital was ended, and he had shown the girls, Mabel's telegram, and the thoroughly delighted Mabel had been praised, and enthusiastically hugged by the other three. I have heard of cottages with more than one key. Suppose you see, Betty, if anything on this ring will fit that keyhole. Three of the flat, slender keys did not, but the fourth turned easily in the lock. Betty opened the door. Possession, said Mr. Black, with a twinkle in his eye, is nine points of the law. You'd better go to work at once and move in and get to cooking. You see, there's a vacancy under my vest that nothing but that promised dinner-party can fill. The sooner you get settled, the sooner I get that good square meal. Besides, if you don't work, you won't have an appetite for a great big box of candy that I have in my trunk. Oh! sighed Betty, rubbing her cheeks against Mr. Black's sleeve. It seems too good to be true. About the candy, teased Mr. Black. No, the cottage, explained Betty earnestly. Oh, I do hope winter will be about six months late this year to make up for this. Perhaps it'll forget to come at all, breathed Mabel, hopefully. I'd almost be willing to skip Christmas if there was any way of stretching this summer out to February. Somebody, please, pinch me. I'm afraid I'm dreaming. Oh! ouch! I didn't say everybody! By this time, of course, all the young housekeepers' relatives were deeply interested in the cottage. After living for a never-to-be-forgotten week with the four unhappiest little girls in town, all were eager to reinstate them in the restored treasure. The girls, having rushed home with the joyful news, were almost overwhelmed with unexpected offers of parental assistance. The grown-ups were not only willing but anxious to help. Then, too, the mape's boys and the young tuckers almost came to blows over who should have the honour of mending the roof with the bundles of shingles that Mr. Bennett insisted on furnishing. Marjorie's Auntie Jane said that if somebody who could drive nails without smashing his thumb would mend the holes in the parlor floor, she would give the girls a pretty ingrained carpet, one side of which looked almost new. Mr. Bennett himself laid a clean new floor in the little kitchen over the rough old one, and Mrs. Mape's mended the broken plaster in all the rooms by pasting unbleached muslin over the holes. Mr. Tucker replaced all broken paints of glass while his busy wife found time to tack mosquito netting over the kitchen and pantry windows. So interested, indeed, were all the grown-ups and all the brothers that the girls chuckled delightedly. It wouldn't have surprised them so very much if all their people had fallen suddenly to playing with dolls and having tea parties in the cottage. But the place was still far too disorderly for either of those juvenile occupations to prove attractive to anybody. In the midst of the confusion Mr. Downing stopped at the cottage door one afternoon and asked for the girls who eyed him doubtfully and resentfully as they met him after Marjorie had hesitatingly ushered him into the untidy little parlor. Mr. Downing smiled at them in a friendly but decidedly embarrassed manner. He had not forgotten his own lack of cordiality when the girls had called on him and he wanted to atone for it. Mr. Black had tactfully but effectively pointed out to Mr. Downing, already deeply disgusted with the milligans, the error of his ways, and Mr. Downing, as generous as he was hasty and irascible, was honest enough to admit that he had been mistaken not only in his estimate of Mr. Black but also in his treatment of the little cottagers. Now eager to make amends he looked somewhat anxiously from one to another of his silent hostesses, who in return looked questioningly at Mr. Downing. Surely with Mr. Black in town Mr. Downing couldn't be thinking of turning them out a second time. Still he had disappointed them before. Probably he would again and the girls meant to take no chances, so they kept still with searching eyes glued upon Mr. Downing's countenance. Still at once they realized that they were looking into friendly eyes, and three of them jumped to the conclusion that the Junior Warden was not the heartless monster they had considered him. "'I came,' said Mr. Downing, noticing the change of expression in Betty's face, to offer you, with my apologies, this key and this little document. The paper, as you will see, is signed by all the Vesterman. My own name is written very large, and it gives you the right to the use of this cottage until some time as the church feels rich enough to tear it down and build a new one. There is no immediate cause for alarm on that score, for there were only sixty-two cents in the plate last Sunday. I have come to the conclusion, young ladies, that I was overhasty in my judgment. I didn't understand the matter, and I'm afraid I acted without due consideration. I often do. But I hope you'll forgive me, for I certainly beg all your pardon's. "'It's all right,' said Betty, as long as it was just a mistake. It's easy to forgive mistakes.' "'Yes,' said Marjorie Sagely, we all make them.' "'It's all right, anyway,' added Jean. Mr. Downing looked expectantly at Mabel, who for once had preserved a dead silence. "'Well,' he asked interrogatively, "'I don't suppose I can ever really quite forgive you,' confessed Mabel with evident reluctance. "'It'll be awfully hard work, but I guess I can try.' "'Perhaps my peace offering will help your efforts a little,' said Mr. Downing, smiling. "'It seems to be coming in now at your gate.' The girls turned hastily to look, but all they could see was a very untidy man with a large book under his arm. "'These,' said Mr. Downing, taking the book from the man who had walked in at the open door, are samples of inexpensive wallpapers. "'You're to choose as much as you need of the kinds you like best, and this man will put it wherever it will do the most good, and I'll pay the bill.' "'Now, Miss Blue Eyes, do I stand a better chance of forgiveness?' "'Yes, yes,' cried Mabel. "'I'm almost glad you needed to apologize. You did it beautifully, too. Mercy, when I apologize, and I have to do a fearful lot of apologizing, I don't begin to do it so nicely. When you've had as much practice as I have, it will come easier. I see, however, that you are far more suitable tenants than the Milligans would have been, for my humble apologies to them met with a very different reception. I assure you that, if there's ever any rivalry between you again, my vote goes with you. You're so easily satisfied. Now, don't hesitate to choose whatever you want from this book. Super-hanger is yours, too, until you're done with him. "'Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,' cried the girls with happy voices, as Mr. Downing turned to go. You couldn't have thought of a nicer peace-offering.' Of course it took a long, long time for so many young housekeepers to choose papers for the parlor in the two bedrooms. But after much discussion and many differences of opinion, it was finally selected. The girls decided on green for the parlor, blue for one bedroom, and pink for the other, and they were easily persuaded to choose small patterns. Then the smiling paper-hanger worked with astonishing rapidity and said that he didn't object in the least to having four pairs of bright-eyes watch from the doorway every strip go into place. It seemed to be no trouble at all to paper the little low- ceilings to cottage, and oh, how beautiful it was when it was all done. The cool cucumber-green parlor was just the right shade to melt into the soft blue and white of the front bedroom. As for the dainty pink room, as Betty said rapturously, it fairly made one smell roses to look at it. It was so sweet. It was finished by the following night, for no paper-hanger could have had the heart to linger over his work with so many anxious eyes following every movement. Mrs. Tucker washed and ironed and mended the white muslin curtains, and with such a bower to move into, the second moving in and settling, the girls decided was really much better than the first. When their belongings were finally reinstalled in the cottage, even Mabel no longer felt resentful toward the Milligan's. CHAPTER XXI. The odd behavior of the grown-ups. Even with all its ingenious, though inexpensive, improvements, the renovated cottage would probably have failed to satisfy a genuine rent-paying family. But to the contented girls it seemed absolutely perfect. At last it looked to everybody as if the long-deferred dinner-party was actually to take place. There in readiness were the girls, the money, the cottage, and Mr. Black, and nothing had happened to Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who might easily, as Mabel suggested harrowingly, have moved away or died at any moment during the summer. One day, very soon after the cottage was settled, a knotted-all surprised Mr. Black, and a very much astonished Mrs. Crane, each received a formal invitation to dine under its reshingled roof. Composed by all four, the note was written by Jean, whose writing and spelling all conceded to be better than the combined efforts of the other three. Betty delivered the notes with her own hand, two days before the event, and on the morning of the party she went a second time to each house, to make certain that neither of the expected guests had forgotten the date. Forget! exclaimed Mr. Black, standing framed in his own doorway. My dear little girl, how could I forget when I've been saving room for that dinner ever since early last spring? Nothing I assure you could keep me away or even delay me. I have eaten a very light breakfast. I shall go entirely without luncheon. I wouldn't do that, warned Betty. You see, it's our very first dinner party and something might go wrong. The soup might scorch. It wouldn't have the heart to, said Mr. Black. No soup could be so unkind. Of course the cottage was the busiest place imaginable. During the days immediately preceding the dinner party, the girls had made elaborate plans and their pockets fairly bulged with lists of things that they were to be sure to remember and not on any account to forget. Then the time came for them to begin to do all the things that they had planned to do, and the cottage hummed like a hive of bees. First, the precious seven dollars and a half, swelled by some mysterious process to seven dollars and fifty-seven cents, had to be withdrawn from the bank, the most imposing building in town, with its almost oppressive air of formal dignity. The rather diffident girls went in a body to get the money and looked with astonishment at the extra pennies. That's the interest, explained the cashier, noting with quiet amazement the puzzled faces. Oh, said Jean, we've had that in school, but this is the first time we've ever seen any. We didn't suppose, supplemented Betty, that interest was real money. I thought it was something like those X plus Y things that the boys have in algebra. You're like mermaids and goddesses, said Mabel. She means myths, interpreted Marjorie. I see, said the cashier. Perhaps you like real, tangible interest better than the kind you have in school. Oh, we do, we do, cried the four girls. After this, confided Betty, it will be easier to study about. Then with the money carefully divided into three portions, placed in three separate purses, which in turn were deposited one each in jeans, Marjorie's and Betty's pockets, Mabel having flatly declined to burden herself with any such weighty responsibility, the four went to purchase their groceries. The smiling clerks at the various shops confused them a little at first by offering them new brands of breakfast foods with strange oddly spelled names, but the girls explained patiently at each place that they were giving a dinner party, not a breakfast, and they wanted nothing but the things on their list. It took time and a great deal of discussion to make so many important purchases, but finally the groceries were all ordered. Next, the little housekeepers went to the butchers to ask for a chicken. What kind of chicken do you want? asked the stout impatient German butcher. Jean looked at Betty, Betty looked at Marjorie, and Marjorie although she knew it was hopeless looked at Mabel. Well, said the busy butcher interrogatively, one to cook without feathers, gasped Jean, a spring chicken. Is that—is that better than a summer one? faltered Betty cautiously. You see it summer now. Perhaps suggested Mabel seized with a bright thought an August one. Here, shone, shouted the busy butcher to his assistant, you bring out three-four chicken. You can pick one out while I wait on these utter customer. I think, said Jean, indicating one of the fouls John had produced for her inspection, that that's about the right size. It's so small and smooth that it ought to be tender. I wouldn't take that one, miss, cautioned honest John under his breath. It looks to me like a little old Bantam rooster. Give it to me, and I'll find you a good one. To his credit, John was as good as his word. The little housekeepers felt very important indeed when later in the day a procession of genuine grocery wagons, drawn by flesh and blood horses, drew up before the cottage door to deliver all kinds of really truly parcels. They had not quite escaped the breakfast foods after all, because each consignment of groceries was enriched by several sample packages. Enough altogether the girls declared joyously to provide a great many noon luncheons. Of course all the parcels had to be unwrapped, admired, and sorted before being carefully arranged in the pantry cupboard, which had never before found itself so bountifully supplied. Then for a busy half-day cookbooks and real cooks were anxiously consulted. Four, as Mabel said, it was really surprising to see how many different ways there were to cook even the simplest things. Jean and Betty were to do the actual cooking. The other two, in elaborately starched caps and aprons of spotless white, provided Mabel, though this seemed doubtful, could keep hers white, were to take turns serving the courses. The first course was to bepe tomato soup. It came in a can with directions outside and cost fifteen cents, which Mabel considered cheap because of the printed cooking lesson. If they'd sent printed directions with their raw chickens and vegetables, said she, maybe folks might be able to tell which recipe belonged to which thing. Well, laughed Marjorie, some cooks don't have to read a whole page before they discover that directions for making plum pudding don't help them to make corned beef hash. You always forget to look at the top of the page. Never mind, said Jean. She found a good recipe for salad dressing. That's true, said Marjorie, but before you use it you'd better make sure that it isn't a polish for hardwood floors. There, don't throw the book at me, Mabel. I won't say another word. The three mothers and Auntie Jane grown suddenly astonishingly up-lidging, not only consented to lend whatever the girls asked for, but actually thrust their belongings upon them to an extent that was almost overwhelming. The same impulse seemed to have seized them all. It puzzled the girls, yet it pleased them too, for it had been such a decided novelty to have six parents, even the fathers appeared interested, and one aunt positively vying with one another to aid the young cottagers with their latest plan. The girls could remember a time, not so far distant, when it was almost hopeless to ask for even such common things as potatoes, not to mention eggs and butter. Now, however, everything was changed. Auntie Jane would provide soup spoons, napkins, and a tablecloth, yes, her very best short one. Marjorie could hardly believe her ears, but hastily accepted the cloth lest the offer should be withdrawn. The girls, having set their hearts on using the frog that would a wooing go, plates for the escaloped salmon, to their minds there seemed to be some vague connection between frogs and fishes, were compelled to decline offers of all the fish plates belonging to the four families. The potato salad, garnished with lettuce from the cottage garden, was to be eaten with Mrs. Bennet's best salad forks. The roasted chicken was not to be entrusted to the not always reliable cottage oven, but was to be cooked at the Tucker's house and carved with Mrs. Mape's best game set. Mrs. Bennet's cook would make a pie, yes, even a difficult lemon pie with a meringue on top, promised Mrs. Bennet. Then there were to be butter-beans out of the cottage garden and sliced cucumbers from the greengrocers because Mrs. Crane had confessed to a fondness for cucumbers. There was one beat in the garden, almost large enough to be eaten, that two was to be sacrificed. The dessert had been something of a problem. It had proved so hard to decide this matter that they decided to compromise by adding both pudding and ice cream to the Bennet pie. A brick of ice cream and some little cakes could easily be purchased ready-made from the town caterer with the change they had left. Thoughts of their money giving out had no longer troubled them, for it had not Mabel's surprising father told them that if they ran short they need not hesitate to ask him for any amount within reason. I declare, said bewildered Mabel, I can't see what has come over Papa and Mama. Do I look pale or anything, as if I might be going to die before very long? No, said Marjorie, you certainly don't. But I've wondered if Auntie Jane could be worried about me. I never knew her to be so generous. Why, it's getting to be a kind of nuisance. Do you suppose they're going to insist on doing everything? Well, said Betty, they've certainly helped us a lot. I don't know why they've done it, but I'm glad they have. You see, we must have everything perfectly beautiful because Mr. Black is rich and is accustomed to good dinners, and Mrs. Crane is poor and has never had any very nice ones. If our people keep all their promises, it can't help being a splendid dinner. The three mothers and Auntie Jane and all the fathers did keep their promises. They too wanted the dinner to be a success, for they knew, as all the older residents of the little town knew, and as the children themselves might have known if the story had not been so old and their parents had been in the habit of gossiping, which fortunately they were not. That there was a reason why Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane were the last two persons to be invited to a tete-a-tete dinner party. Yet strangely enough there was an equally good reason why no one wanted to interfere and why everyone wanted to help. CHAPTER XXI THE DINNER. The girls, a little uneasy, lest their alarmingly interested parents should insist on cooking and serving the entire dinner, were both relieved and perplexed to find that the grown-ups, while perfectly willing to help with the dinner, provided they could work in their own kitchens, flatly declined the most urgent invitations to enter the cottage on the afternoon or evening of the party. It was incomprehensible. Until noon of the very day of the feast the parents and anti-Jane had paid the girls an almost embarrassing number of visits. Now when the girls really wanted them and actually gave each of them a very special invitation, each one unexpectedly held aloof. For, as the hour approached, the girls momentarily became more and more convinced that something would surely go wrong in the cottage kitchen with no experienced person to keep things moving. They decided at four o'clock to ask Mrs. Mates to oversee things. No, indeed, said Mrs. Mates, you may have anything there is in my house, but you can't have me. You don't need anybody. You won't have a might of trouble. Finding Mrs. Mates unpersuadable they went to Mrs. Tucker, who, next to Jean's mother, was usually the most obliging of parents. No, said Mrs. Tucker, I couldn't think of it. No, no, no, not for one moment. It's much better for you to do it all by yourselves. Still hopeful the girls ran to Mrs. Bennett. Mercy, no, exclaimed that good woman with discouraging emphasis. I'm not a bit of use in a strange kitchen, and there are reasons. Oh, I mean it's your party, and it won't be any fun if somebody else runs it. Now we ask your Auntie Jane, asked Betty, we don't seem to be having any luck. Yes, replied Marjorie, she loves to manage things. But Marjorie's Auntie Jane proved no more willing than the rest. No, ma'am, she said emphatically, I wouldn't do it for ten dollars, why it would just spoil everything to have a grown person around. Don't even think of such a thing. So the girls, feeling just a little indignant at their disobliging relatives, decided to get along as well as they could without them. At last everything was either cooked or cooking. The table was beautifully set and decorated, and flowers bloomed everywhere in dandelion cottage. Jean and Betty, in the freshest of gingham aprons, were taking turns watching the things simmering on the stove. Mabel, looking fatter than ever in her short white, stifly starched apron, was on the doorstep craning her neck to see if the guests showed any signs of coming. And Marjorie was busily putting a few entirely unnecessary finishing touches to the table. The guests were invited for half-past six, but had been hospitably urged by Betty to appear sooner if they wished. At exactly fifteen minutes after six, Mrs. Crane, in her old-fashioned thread-bear, best black silk, and a very much-mended real lace collar, and with her iron-grey hair far more elaborately arranged than she usually wore it, crossed the street, lifting her skirts high and stepping gingerly to avoid the dust. She supposed that she was to be the only guest, for the girls had not mentioned any other. Mabel, prodigiously formal and most unusually solemn, met her at the door, ushered her into the blue room, and invited her to remove her wraps. The light shawl that Mrs. Crane had worn over her head was the only wrap she had, but it was not so easily removed as it might have been. It caught on one of her hairpins, which necessitated rearranging several locks of hair that had slipped from place. This took some time, and while she was thus occupied, Mr. Black turned the corner, went swiftly toward the cottage, mounted the steps, and rang the doorbell. Mabel received him with even greater solemnity than she had Mrs. Crane. I think I'd better take your hat, said she. We haven't any hat-rack, but it'll be perfectly safe on the pink-room bed, because we haven't any Tucker babies taking naps on it to-day. Mr. Black handed his hat to her with an elaborate politeness that equaled her own. Marjorie, she whispered as she went through the dining-room, he's wearing his dress-suit. Sh! he'll hear you, warned Marjorie. Well, anyway, I'm frightened half to death. Oh, would you mind passing all the wettest things? I hadn't thought about his clothes. Yes, I guess I'd better. Marjorie might want to wear them again. They're both here, announced Mabel opening the kitchen door. You help Betty stir the soup in the mashed potatoes, said Jean, whisking off her apron and tying it about Mabel's neck. I'll go in and shake hands with them, and then come back and dish up. Jean found both guests looking decidedly ill at ease. Mr. Black stood by the parlor table absentmindedly undressing a family of paper dolls. Mrs. Crane, pale and nervously clutching the curtain, seemed unable to move from the bedroom doorway. Oh, said Jean, I do believe Mabel forgot all about introducing you. We told her to be sure to remember, but she hasn't been able to take her mind off of her apron since she put it on. Mrs. Crane, this is our—our preserver, Mr. Black. The guests bowed stiffly. Jean began to wish that she could think of some way to break the ice. Both were jolly enough on ordinary occasions, but apparently both had suddenly been struck in dumb. Perhaps dinner parties always affected grown persons that way. Or perhaps the starch from Mabel's apron had proved contagious. Jean smiled at the thought. Then she made another effort to promote sociability. Mrs. Crane, explained Jean, turning to Mr. Black, who was nervously tearing the legs off of the father of the paper doll family. It's our very best neighbor. We like her just ever so much. Everybody does. We've often told you, Mrs. Crane, how fond we are of Mr. Black. It was because you are our two dearest friends that we invited you both. Jean! called a distressed voice from the kitchen. Mercy! exclaimed Jean, making a hurried exit. I hope that soup isn't scorched. No, said Betty, slightly aggrieved. But I wanted a chance, too, to say how do you do to those people before I get all mixed up with the cooking. I thought you were never coming back. Well, it's your turn now, said Jean. Give me that spoon. Betty, finding her guests, seated in opposite corners of the room, and apparently deeply interested in the cottage literature, Mr. Black buried in Dottie Dimple, and Mrs. Crane absorbed in Mother Goose, naturally concluded that they were waiting to be introduced, and accordingly made the presentation. Mrs. Crane, said she, I want you to meet Mr. Black, and I hope, added warm heart of Betty, that you'll like each other very much, because we're so fond of you both. You're each a surprise party for the other. We thought you'd both like it better if you had somebody besides children to talk to. Very kind, I'm sure. Mumbled Mr. Black, whose company manners, it seemed to Betty, were far from being as pleasant as his everyday ones. Betty gave a deep sigh, and made one more effort to set the conversational ball rolling. I'm afraid I'll have to go back to the kitchen now, and leave you to entertain each other. Please, both of you be very entertaining. You're both so jolly when you just run in. Betty's eyes were wistful as she went toward the kitchen. Was it possible, she wondered, that her beloved Mr. Black could despise Mrs. Crane because she was poor? It didn't seem possible, yet there was certainly something wrong. Perhaps he was merely hungry. That was it, of course. She would put the dinner on at once. Even good-natured Dr. Tucker, she remembered, was sometimes a little bare like when meals were delayed. Five minutes later Marjorie escorted the guests to the dining-room, and finding both of these usually talkative persons alarmingly silent, she inferred, of course, that Mabel had forgotten, as indeed Mabel had, her instructions in regard to introducing them. Marjorie's manners on formal occasions were very pretty. They were pretty now, and so was she, as she hastened to make up for Mabel's oversight. Oh, Mr. Black, she cried earnestly. I'm afraid no one remembered to introduce you. It's our first dinner-party, you know, and we're not very wise. This is our dearest neighbor, Mrs. Crane, Mr. Black. The guests bowed stiffly for the third time. Practice should have lent grace to the salutation, but seemingly it had not. Aren't some of you young people going to sit down with me? demanded Mr. Black, noticing suddenly that the table is set for only two. Yes, had Mrs. Crane with evident dismay, surely you're coming to the table, too. We can't, explained Marjorie. It takes all of us to do the serving. Besides, we haven't but two dining-room chairs. Sit here, please, Mrs. Crane, and this is your place, Mr. Black. Mr. Black looked red and uncomfortable as he unfolded his napkin. Mrs. Crane looked, as Marjorie said afterward, for all the world as if she was going to cry. Perhaps the prospect of a good dinner after a long siege of poor ones was too much for her. For ordinarily Mrs. Crane was a very cheerful woman. Although both guests declared that the soup was very good indeed, others seemed to really enjoy it. They just kind of worried a little of it down, said the distressed Marjorie, when she handed Mr. Black's plate, still three-quarters full, to Jean in the kitchen. Do you suppose there's anything the matter with it? There can't be, said Betty. I've tasted it, and it's good. They're just saving room for the other things, comforted Mabel. I guess I wouldn't fill myself up with soup if I could smell roasted chicken keeping warm in the oven. Although Mabel had asked to be spared passing the spillable things, it seemed reasonably safe to trust her with the dish of a scalloped salmon. She succeeded in passing it without disaster to either the dish or the guests' garments, and her apron was still immaculant. Why, exclaimed Mabel, suddenly noticing that the guests sat stiff and silent, the girl said I was to be sure to introduce you the moment you came, and I never thought a thing about it. Do forgive me. I'm the stupidest girl. Mrs. Black—I mean, Mr. Crane—no, Mrs. Crane—we've been introduced, said Mr. Black, rather shortly. Might I have a glass of water? A pained, surprised look crept into Mabel's eyes. A moment later she went to the kitchen. The instant the guests were left alone Mrs. Crane did an odd thing. She leaned forward and spoke in a low earnest tone to Mr. Black. Peter, said she, can't we pretend to be sociable for a little while? It isn't comfortable, of course, but it isn't right to spoil these children's pleasure by acting like a pair of wooden dowels. Let's talk to each other whenever they're in the room just as if we had just met for the first time. You're right, Sarah, said Mr. Black, let's talk about the weather. It's a safe topic and there's always plenty of it. When Marjorie opened the door to carry in the salad there was a pleasant hum of voices in the dining-room. It seemed to all the girls that the guests were really enjoying themselves, for Mr. Black was telling Mrs. Crane how much warmer it was in Washington, and Mrs. Crane was informing Mr. Black that except for the one shower that fell so opportunely on the Milligans it had been a remarkably dry summer. The four anxious hostesses, feeling suddenly cheered, fell joyously to eating the soup and the salmon that remained on the stove. Until that moment they had been too uneasy to realize that they were hungry, but as Marjorie carried in the crackers half famished, Mabel breathed a fervent hope that the guests wouldn't help themselves too lavishly to the salad. To the astonishment of Mabel, who carried the chicken successfully to its place before Mr. Black, who was to carve it, Mr. Black did not ask the other guest what part she liked best, but, with a whimsical smile, quietly cut off both wings and put them on Mrs. Crane's plate. Mrs. Crane looked up with an odd, tremulous expression. Sort of weepy, Mabel called it afterwards and said, Thank you, Peter. It seemed to Mabel at the time that the guests were getting acquainted with a rapidity that was little short of remarkable. Peter, indeed! Then when everything else was eaten and Marjorie had brought the nuts and served them, Mrs. Crane, hardly waiting for the door to close behind the little waitress, leaned forward suddenly and said, Peter, do you remember how you pounded my thumb when I held that hard black walnut for you to crack? I remember everything, Sarah. I've always been sorry about that thumb, and I've been sorry about a good many other things, too. Do you think—do you think you could forgive me? Well, I just guess I could, returned Mrs. Crane heartily. After all, it was just as much my fault as it was yours, maybe more. No, I never thought that, Sarah. I was the one to blame. When the door opened a moment later to admit to the finger bowls and all four of the girls who had licked the ice cream platter and had nothing more to do in the kitchen since everything had been served, there to the housekeeper's unbounded amazement were Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane, with their arms stretched across the little table, holding each other's middle-aged hands in a tight clasp, and both had tears in their eyes. The girls looked at them in consternation. As—was it the dinner? ventured Mabel at last. Was it as bad as—as all that? Well, said Mr. Black, rising to go around the table to place an affectionate arm across Mrs. Crane's plump shoulders. It was the dinner, but not its badness, or even its very goodness. I guess you'd better tell them all about it, Peter, suggested Mrs. Crane, whose eyes were shining happily. It's only fair they should know about it, bless their little hearts. Well, you see, said Mr. Black, who, as the girls had quickly discovered, was once more their own delightfully jolly friend. Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a black-eyed girl named Sarah and a two-years younger boy, who looked a good deal like her named Peter, and they were brother and sister. They were all the brothers and sisters that each had, for their parents died when this boy and girl were very young. Peter and Sarah used to dream a beautiful dream of living together always, and of going down hand in hand to a peaceful plentiful old age. You see, they had no other relative but one very cross grandmother, who scolded them both even oftener than they deserved, which was probably quite often enough. So I suspect that those abused black-eyed half-starved children loved each other more than most brothers and sisters do. Yes, agreed Mrs. Crane, nodding her head and smiling mistily. They certainly did. The poor young things had no one else to love. That, said Mr. Black, was no doubt the reason why, when the headstrong boy grew up and married a girl that his sister didn't like, and the equally headstrong girl grew up and married a man that her brother couldn't like, a rather scoundrel that, Peter, warned Mrs. Crane. Well, said Mr. Black hastily, it's all over now, and perhaps we had better leave that part of it out. It isn't a pretty story, and we'll never mention it again, Sarah. But anyway, girls, this foolish brother and sister quarreled, and the brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, and even the grandmother, who was old enough to know better, quarreled, until finally all four of those hot-tempered young persons were so angry that the brother named Peter said he'd never speak to his sister again, and the sister named Sarah said she'd never speak to her brother again, and they haven't until this very day. Just a pair of young geese, weren't they, Sarah? Old geese, too, agreed Mrs. Crane, for they've both been fearfully lonely ever since, and they've both been too proud to say so. One of them, at least, has wished a great many times that there had never been a quarrel. Two of them, but now this one, said Mr. Black, placing his forefinger against his own broad chest, is going to ask this one, and he pointed to Mrs. Crane, to come and live with him in his own great big empty house, so he'll have a sister again to sew on his buttons, listen to his old stories and make a home for him. What do you say, Sarah? I say yes, said Mrs. Crane, yes, with all my heart. And here, said Mr. Black, smiling into four pairs of sympathetic eyes, are four young people who will have to pretend that they truly belong to us once in a while, because we both like to have our house full of happy little girls. You never had any children, Sarah? No, and you lost your only one, Peter. Yes, a little brown-eyed thing like Betty here. She'd be a woman now, probably with children of her own. It's—it's just like a story, breathed Betty happily. We've been part of a real story and never knew it. I'm so glad you let us have dandelion cottage. So glad we invited you to dinner and that nothing happened to keep either of you away. Peter and I are glad, too, said Mrs. Crane, who indeed looked wonderfully happy. Yes, said Mr. Black, it's the most successful dinner party I've ever attended. Of course I can't hope to equal it, but as soon as Sarah and I get to keeping house properly and have decided which is to pour the coffee, we're going to return the compliment with a dinner that will make your eyes stick out, aren't we, Sarah? Oh, we'll do a great deal more than that, responded generous Mrs. Crane. We'll keep four extra places set at our table all the time. Of course we will, cried Mr. Black heartily, and will fill the biggest case in the library with children's books. We'll all go tomorrow to pick out the first shelfful, so that when it gets too cold for you to stay in dandelion cottage, you'll have something to take its place. You're going to be little sunny dandelions in the black crane-house whenever your own people can spare you. But what's the matter? Have you all lost your tongues? I didn't suppose you could be so astonishingly quiet. Oh, side-beddy joyfully, you've taken such a load off our minds, we were simply treading the winter with no cottage to have good times in. Yes, said Jean, we didn't know how we could manage to live with the cottage closed. We've been wondering what in the world we were going to do. But with school and you dear people to visit every day on the way home, said Marjorie, we'll hardly have time to miss it. Oh, won't it be perfectly lovely? I'm going to begin at once to practice being on time to meals, said Mabel. I'm not going to let that extra place do any waiting for me. These were the things that the four girls said aloud, but the joyous look that flashed from Jean to Betty, from Betty to Marjorie, from Marjorie to Mabel, and then Mabel back to Jean, said even more plainly. Now there'll be somebody to take care of Mrs. Crane. Now there'll be somebody to make a home for lovely Mr. Black. And indeed subsequent events proved that it was a beautiful arrangement for everybody, besides being quite the most astonishing thing that had happened in the history of Lakeville. End of Dandelion Cottage by Carol Watson Rankin, read by Betsy Bush, Marquette, Michigan, May 2010.