What Two Children Did by Charlotte E. Chittenden

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Presently the door opened, and in walked Ethelwyn draped in a green
denim closet door curtain, and bobbing up and down at every step.

"What is this?" said mother.

"You have to guess, it's a guessing show."

Then came Beth in her Japanese costume, fanning vigorously.

Nan followed in a Turkey red calico wrapper, beloved of 'Vada's heart.
She tumbled down every two or three steps, which might have been the
fault of the wrapper, or part of the show.

Last of all was Bobby, very hot and sweaty, in a moth-ball smelling fur
rug, and ringing a bell.

"It looks like the four seasons," said mother.

"O mother, but you are smart," said Ethelwyn; "we thought you couldn't
possibly guess, so we were going to charge you another nickel!" she
continued in a disappointed voice.

"I will pay it for guessing," said mother, laughing.

"I'm spring, all dressed in green, and I spring when I walk," said
Ethelwyn beginning again.

"I'm summer," said Beth fanning.

"And I'm fall," said Nan, tumbling down, "that hurts the worst," she
added with pride.

"I'm Christmas," said Bobby, "and I know now why it doesn't come in
summer. My! I'm hot!" he continued, mopping his brow.

"I'm Fourth of July," said Beth.

"And I'm Thanksgiving and turkey--"

"There isn't a thing but April fool in spring, I do believe," said
Ethelwyn, disgusted.

"Decoration Day, Arbor Day, and May Day," said mother. "It was a fine
show, and the sun is out. You may go down now, and buy peanuts with your
money."

_CHAPTER XIV_
_The Wedding and the Visit_

Out in the country, God's flowers bravely grow.
And all the dusty wayside is edged with golden glow;

They were up in the nursery the next morning, having a wedding. A doll
had opportunely lost her wig, and that always meant a good deal of
excitement for the wigless one, for she was at once put to bed, and
given medicine through the opening on top of the head, or made into a
boy doll.

This last happened now; poor cracked and dead Billy Boy's wig was
jauntily glued on the wigless head, and the late Janet became Lord
Jimmy, and was in the process of being wedded to Arabella, the walking,
talking doll from Paris.

They were propped up in the doll house, and Beth was marrying them.

"Lord Jimmy," she said, "wilt thou marry Arabella and nobody else and
be her quilt in time of trouble--?"

"A quilt!" said Ethelwyn. "What's that?"

"A comfort then," said Beth with dignity, "or something like that.
Anyway I wish you wouldn't talk in the middle of the wedding--and give
her clothes, and things to eat, eh? Make him nod 'yes,' sister." So
Ethelwyn, reaching out an energetic hand, clutched the bridegroom by the
waist and made him bow so low, that his freshly-glued wig came off.

"O, for goodness sake, sister," said Beth, in an exasperated tone, "I
never knew any one that could upset things like you--"

But their mother was heard calling them, in a way that meant something
nice, so the poor bald-headed bridegroom and his wig were left at the
feet of the haughty Arabella, who stared rigidly at the landscape
outside, and tried not to see him.

"We are going to drive out to Grandmother Van Stark's to spend the day,
and perhaps a little longer," said mother.

"Oh won't that be the nicest thing!" they cried in a breath. "Who can go
on the pony?"

"Ethelwyn may ride out, and Beth back," said mother.

"I've always been so thankful to think you weren't born a _no_ and
_don't_ mother," said Ethelwyn, hugging her. "Are we going right away?"

"Right away."

Sure enough there was Joe leading Ninkum, their own pony. Mother and
Beth were to go in the phaeton.

All the way out they played games with the trees and flowers. Ethelwyn
rode alongside the phaeton.

They counted the spots they passed that were purple with thistles, and
they were many. Others were pink and white with clover and daisies.
Their mother told them the story of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, when
they drove down the lane bordered with golden Spanish needles.

But they enjoyed the missing word game the most, because it was new.

"It's your turn to make up a game, mother," said Beth.

"I will give you lines that rhyme, only I will leave off the last word,
after the first line," said mother, "and you must guess what that word
is."

"There was a man rode to the mill.
The road ran steeply up the--"

"Hill," cried Beth.

"Yes; now let sister guess the next."

He stopped beside a flowing--"

"Rill?" asked Ethelwyn, after thinking awhile.

"Yes."

"This horse was dry, so drank his--"

"Fill."

"Along there came a girl named--"

"Jill."

"He wished that his was Jack, not--"

"Will."

"For people sometimes called him--"

"Bill."

"This really was a bitter--"

"Pill."

"And made him feel both vexed and--"

"Ill." Mother had to tell them that, because they both guessed sick.

"He brought his gun along to--"

"Kill."

"A bird to give to Jill a--"

"Quill?" Ethelwyn guessed after a long time.

"They lingered long, they lingered--"

"Till," and again mother had to tell them this.

"The sun went down and all was--"

"Still."

They had both missed one, so they each had to pay a forfeit or get up a
game.

But they were now within sight of Grandmother Van Stark's fine old
colonial house, and there on the porch stood grandmother herself, who
had seen them coming, so had come out to meet them.

"Oh isn't our grandmother pretty though?" said Ethelwyn, as they turned
in at the circular driveway. She had snow white hair, dark eyes and a
very stately carriage.

She welcomed them warmly, and invited them into the grand old hall with
its white staircase and mahogany rail.

Modern children seemed almost out of place in this old-time house.

"I always seem to think you need short-waisted frocks, and drooping hats
like Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and the Gainsborough pictures," said their
mother laughing.

"O may we go up to the attic and dress up?" begged Ethelwyn.

"After while," said grandmother. "It is luncheon time now. I am glad you
came to-day, my daughter, for Nancy, the housemaid, has gone home for a
week's rest, and there is a meeting of the women of the church this
afternoon to arrange about a rummage sale, and a loan exhibition, and
they are rather depending upon me to contribute to both; but as Nancy is
away, I cannot well leave for I am a little overtired with more duties
than usual. So I have made a list of things that I will lend, and give.
I should like you to take it down."

"Yes, mother, I will, but what about the children--?"

"O mother, please let me stay," begged Beth. "I will take excellent care
of grandmother, and I will take Nancy's place, so grandmother can lie
down; I know how, I've watched Nancy lots of times. You can take
sister."

This was the final arrangement, and soon after luncheon they drove away
to town. Grandmother disappeared up the beautiful staircase after
shutting the blind doors, and shading the hall from the afternoon sun.

Then Beth arrayed in a red sweeping cap, instead of Nancy's white one,
which she and cook failed to find, and armed with a huge silver salver
for cards, instead of Nancy's small one, took up her position in the
hall, on the bottom stair, to await visitors: but the hall was full of
slumberous shadows, with sunshine flecks dancing down from the blind
doors to the polished floor. It is not strange, therefore, that by and
by the red sweeping cap began to droop over the silver salver, until
finally they all settled down together, and the new parlor maid was
sound asleep, to the music of the tall old clock in the corner of the
hall back under the stairway.

Then some one came up the walk, and rapped briskly with the end of his
riding whip on the blind doors.

The parlor maid suddenly awoke, stumbled to the door, and fumbled with
the fastenings, but it was no use, she couldn't open them; thereupon she
turned the slats and looked through at the young clergyman standing
there.

The red cap nodded affably.

"Could you climb in through the window, s'pose?" she asked.

This was such a new and startling novelty at the Van Stark homestead,
that the visitor laughed, while the parlor maid patiently waited for his
decision.

He had shone in athletics at his college, so when he stopped laughing,
he put his hands on the stone window-sill leading into the library, and
vaulted in so lightly and easily, that Beth was delighted to think she
had thought of it.

She then went back to adjust her sweeping cap, which had dropped off,
and to pick up the salver, which she had put down to free her hands.

"Put your card there," she instructed him, bobbing her head towards the
exact centre of the salver, and thereby completely covering one eye with
that abominably big and wobbly cap.

The reverend gentleman gravely complied, whereupon the maid swung
herself around, but with caution, somewhat after the manner of a boat
carrying too much sail.

After Mrs. Van Stark had come down, the parlor maid reappeared without
her badges of office, and was duly presented to the rector of the
church, who made no sign, save a twinkle of his eye, of having met her
in another, and humbler capacity, but shook hands and talked to her
without that insufferable air of patronage which elder people at times
seem to delight to bestow upon their juniors.

As he was taking his leave, he explained that he was going down into the
grove for a little while to read and to take pictures.

As he went out, they met, coming in, an old lady whom Grandmother Van
Stark greeted with rare cordiality, kissing her on both cheeks and
calling her Tildy Ann. She called grandmother Jane Somerset, and
explained that her son, going to town, had brought her that far on his
way, and would call for her on his return.

She had brought her knitting in a beautiful silk bag, and explained that
she was making a long purse of black silk and steel beads, for the sale
at the church.

Beth brought grandmother's bag down to her, and grandmother produced
silk stockings that she was knitting for the same purpose.

They sat down for a comfortable chat, and Beth, feeling that it was too
prehistoric an atmosphere for her, by and by stole up-stairs to the
attic and went on a rummage for old clothes in which to dress up.

She found an old figured silk gown, with short sleeves. By much rolling
up and pinning, she made the skirt the right length. Then she pulled out
an old green silk calash and set it on her head. This she felt was a
finishing touch, so she softly crept down the stairs and past the old
ladies, who had entirely forgotten her, and out on the lawn; then she
walked down the circular driveway and out into the road, where presently
the clergyman, striding along to where his pony was tied, overtook her.

He looked with astonishment at the quaint little figure in the silk
frock, but when the disguised parlor maid looked out from the depths of
the great bonnet, he went off into peals of laughter again.

"You seem to laugh a great deal," said Beth.

He at once stopped and said:

"It is a weakness of mine, and now let me beg a favor of you. Will you
come back to the porch, and sit in a Chippendale chair, and let me take
your picture for the sale at the church?"

"Yes, I don't mind at all," said Beth promptly, turning around and
putting her hand in his. "You see Mrs. Tildy Ann and grandmother were
having such a long-way-back time, I had to dress up to match
everything."

"I see," said the minister. "But she may presently miss you and be
worried."

"O that's so," said Beth. "Let's hurry. I promised to take care of
grandmother," she added, in a remorseful tone.

But nothing had happened, and the picture proved a great success, many
of them being sold at the fair.

"I don't like it much," said Beth, when she saw one, "for it reminds me
of how I forgot to take care of my Grandmother Van Stork."

"It will do you good, I trust," said her mother.

"It'll improve my thinkery, I hope," said Beth.

_CHAPTER XV_
_The Lost Invitation_

A heartache when the heart is young,
Seems quite too big to bear;
But when it ends in laughter,
Away goes every care.

When they started to return the next day, Beth in triumph mounted
Ninkum. She had a little difficulty in turning around to wave a farewell
to dear grandmother on the porch, because the pony took this opportune
time to munch the grass at the road-side, and Beth nearly went over his
head.

"Dear me, Ninkum, you are very rude," she said, much vexed. "You try to
spill me off, besides making Grandmother Van Stark feel as though you
didn't have enough to eat while you were visiting her!"

There was another disturbing feature also, and that was sister, whose
countenance kept peering above the phaeton top, and who shouted
exceedingly unwelcome advice, until silenced and firmly seated by the
maternal command.

However, these were small things, compared with the bliss of galloping
down the smooth road, bordered by flowers and green fields.

"I am very fond of wild flowers," said Ethelwyn by and by, "because they
come right from God's garden, and they keep things so cheerful and
bright out in the country."

"I remember some verses about wild flowers and woods that a friend of
mine wrote," said mother, "and I intend sometime to put some of them to
music."

"O say one, mother," said Ethelwyn, who loved verses. So Mrs. Rayburn
began:

"I know a quiet place,
Where a spring comes gurgling out,
And the shadowed leaves like lace
Fall on the ground about.

"A tempting grapevine swing
Is swung from the near-by trees,
And life is a dreamful thing
Lulled by the birds and bees.

"Flowers at the great trees' feet
Are sheltered quite from harm;
For above the blossoms sweet,
The oak holds forth his arm.

"Perhaps if I lie quite still,
I may hear far down below,
The first and joyous thrill
Of things, when they start to grow."

"I've wondered if they do get out of the seed with a little cracky pop,"
said Ethelwyn.

"What, sister?" asked Beth, coming up on Ninkum.

"Flowers and things."

"I've wondered how things know how to make themselves flowers, and not
potatoes, or something like that," said Beth; "but I suppose God tells
them."

"And I've often thought what was it that makes part of them stalk and
leaves, and then all at once end in a flower," said Ethelwyn. Then,
after a moment's silence, she proposed, "Let's have another game."

"Yes, mother, you think of one."

"I was thinking of one this morning," said mother, "for I thought likely
you would be asking me to make up one, though it isn't my turn."

"O, but motherdy, you are so much smarter than we are!" said Ethelwyn.

"That is one way to get out of it," said mother, laughing. "Well, I will
tell you a story, and leave a blank occasionally, which you must fill up
with the name of a tree.

"There were two little girls who dressed exactly alike, and, as they
were very near the same age, it was difficult to tell which was the--"

"Elder?" said Ethelwyn, after a hard think.

"Yes."

"I didn't really know there was such a tree, but I had heard something
like it, and thought there wasn't a younger tree."

"One of the little girls was named Louise and the other Minerva, and
people grew to calling them by their initials, which together made--"

"Elm," said Beth.

"They were very good children, and people used to say what a nice--"

"Pear," they both said at once.

"They were. They had cheeks like a--"

"Peach."

"It was spring, and they were invited to a sugaring off party, and they
saw the men tap the trees to make--"

"Maple sugar," cried Beth, who knew that, if she knew anything.

"So, when they went home, they tapped a tree in the front yard, and
invited a party to come and eat maple sugar; but they tapped the wrong
tree, and their father was vexed, saying, 'I ought to take a ---- to
----'"

But mother had to tell them these words for they had never heard of
birch, or of yew. "'I wonder if you will be ----'"

"Evergreen," said Ethelwyn, after a little prompting.

"'All your life.' 'I thought,' said one, 'that maple sugar parties were
very ----'"

"'Pop'lar? (mother had to tell them this also), 'at this time of year.'"

"---- laughed their father."

"Haw, haw," said Ethelwyn, who had been thinking of the tree under which
they played at home.

"'I'll have to take you to the seashore to play on the ----'"

"Beech," said Beth in triumph.

"Then he lighted a cigar and knocked off the ----"

"Ash," said Ethelwyn.

"And walked down street, whistling a song from 'Mikado.' Tit ----"

"Willow," they both cried at once, for they knew that song as well as
the tree.

"You have done well," said mother, "but you each have two fines to pay,
and it really is your turn next time; so you must remember to think up a
game. But here we are at home, and there is 'Vada coming out to meet
us."

"O, 'Vada, what has happened since we went away?" said Ethelwyn,
climbing out.

"Mista Bobby gwine to give a party this ebenin'; it's his birthday, and
his uncle brought him some fiah works like those you all had las' yeah,"
said 'Vada.

"O goody! did he invite us?"

"Nome, not to say invite. But he's been in to see if you all was
expected home."

"O, it won't matter," said Beth easily; "we'll go anyway. Of course he
knew we would come."

When Nan came over, she brought her invitation with her. It was very
formally enclosed in a small envelope, and informed his friend that
Bobby would be at home on that very evening.

This struck Beth as very silly.

"Of course he'll be at home if he's going to give a party! Just as
though he'd be anywhere else!" she remarked.

They wished to go over immediately and tell Bobby that they were home
and all ready to be invited, but their mother would not allow this.

"He will come over by and by," she said. But the day went by and no
invitation came, although great preparations were going on, as they
could see, for they kept very near the window that looked out on Bobby's
lawn. A slow drizzling rain was falling, or they would probably have
been much nearer. But Bobby was evidently very busy getting ready. They
caught only flying glimpses of him, and their hearts grew heavy within
their breasts.

"O dear! I shall never, never get over this, never!" said Beth,
swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I wouldn't have thought Bobby could have done it," said Ethelwyn, also
swallowing.

After their bath, they begged for their best slippers, silk stockings,
and embroidered petticoats, and on having their hair done in their
dress-up-and-go-away-from-home style. "Because," said Ethelwyn,
"something may happen yet to make him think of us."

So mother let them have on what they liked, for she was very sorry for
them.

In the evening, after dinner, when the electric lights came flashing
out, it was worse, because, still standing forlornly by the window, they
saw the orchestra come, with their instruments, and presently the
sounds of music came floating up to them. Then the ice cream man came,
and Beth, who had almost melted to tears at the sight of the orchestra,
shed them openly when the ice cream went around the side of the house.
Having no handkerchief, she wiped her eyes on Soosana, her big rag doll.
She always loved Soosana when she was unhappy, for she was so squeezy
and felt so comfortable.

"I hope Bobby will be sorry when he has time to think about it," she
remarked in a subdued tone.

"Look at that!" said Ethelwyn in such a hopeful voice that Beth at once
emerged from her eclipse behind Soosana, and looked with all her eyes.

There was Bobby, resplendent in a new suit and slippers with shining
buckles, running across the lawn.

Ethelwyn and Beth at once pushed up the window, in order to meet him
half-way.

"Do you want us, Bobby?" called Beth encouragingly.

"Yes; why on earth don't you come?" cried Bobby. "We are all ready to
dance and Nan and everybody but you, are there, and I wouldn't let 'em
begin till you came, so hurry up."

"We will," they cried in a breath, "and we would have come a long time
ago if you only hadn't forgotten to invite us till so late. What made
you, Bobby?"

"Why I didn't!" said Bobby in a surprised tone. "I took your invitation
over to your front door and--and--your bell is pretty high up--"

"Yes, I can't reach it at all," said Beth breathlessly; "go on."

"So I shoved it under the door--"

Ethelwyn disappeared like a flash, and, sure enough, under the carpet's
edge she could see sticking out the little white corner of the
envelope. She knelt down and pulled it out, then ran back.

"We'll come right over in a minute, Bobby," she called happily. "We're
pretty nearly all dressed for fear you'd remember you had forgotten--"

"All right, hurry up," called up Bobby.

Down on the floor went Soosana, all damp with tears, but she still
smiled broadly at the ceiling in the dark. She probably did not, if the
truth were known, quite enjoy being used as a handkerchief, but she felt
it was her mission in this life to act as comforter, and so she bore it
with cheerfulness. The next morning she was told by happy, though
sleepy, Beth that it was a "beyewtiful party, with fireworks, and ice
cream, and dancing, and games, and souvenirs. I should never have been
so happy again, Soosana, if I had missed going, I know," she concluded,
kissing Soosana with such fervor, that she put a dent in that portion
of her doll's head where she had been kissed; but this time Soosana was
sure she did not care.

_CHAPTER XVI_
_The Mail and Ethelwyn's Visit_

Good-bye, speed by
Days till we meet again.
Hearts' ease, ne'er cease,
Keep free from fret or pain.

There had come an interesting mail that morning, for it began with
another letter from Cousin Gladys, who was in London now for the winter,
and there was also one from Aunty Stevens and from Grandmother Van
Stark. While the two children ate their oatmeal and cream, they read
their cousin's letter. This was it:

"DEAR COUSINS:

"We have seen the Coronation, and my eyes ached, there was so much
to see and do. It was worse than a circus with six rings.

"The King is not pretty, but I suppose that won't hinder him from
being good, and nurse is always saying, 'Pretty is that pretty
does, Miss Gladys.' I think she thinks that the two hardly ever go
together. The dear Queen is pretty, however, and so young-looking
and sweet that even nurse has to give in about her.

"I will tell you all about it when we come home, but it tires me
now even to think about it. One morning I begged to go back to the
hotel and rest, and nurse was so disappointed that I told her she
could go out and I would stay alone. I dug around in my trunk and
got rather homesick, looking at the things I had at home. I found
some jacks but no ball, so I thought I would go down to a near-by
shop, and buy one. I slipped down and out, before I had time to
think about mother making me promise not to go anywhere alone. I
turned a corner or two, but didn't find the right kind of a shop.
It was cloudy, and sort of foggy, and crowds and crowds of people
were pushing along. I knew all at once that I was lost, and I began
to feel a lump in my throat, bigger than any ball you ever saw, and
just then I saw a tall man coming towards me. I saw only his legs,
but they looked so Americanish that I rushed up, and said, 'Please
take me to the L---- Hotel,' He stopped at once and said, 'Well, I
certainly will; I am going there myself.' He was a minister from
New York. He laughed when I told him about the jacks, and then he
talked to me in such a nice way about going out alone, that it made
a great impression on me. I found mother and nurse in such a state
when I got back. I was kissed and then put to bed to eat my supper,
but the minister came to call in the evening, and when I had
promised never to do such a thing again, they let me get up. He was
so nice, and brought me a ball. I play jacks every day now, and
think of America and nice 'things like that. I shall be glad to get
there again.

"Yours truly,

"GLADYS.

"P.S.--I can probably beat you at jacks when I get back, I practice
so much."

"I'll get mine out to-day," said Ethelwyn, "and we'll see whether she
can or not. When will she come home, mother?"

But mother was reading Aunty Stevens's letter, and did not hear.

"The Home is getting on beautifully," she said presently. "There are
ten pale little children out there now. Dick is quite well and strong
again, and helps with the work in every way. They are very anxious that
we shall come on this summer."

"O let's; for my birthday," said Ethelwyn. "Can't we, mother?"

"I will see. But Grandmother Van Stark would like one of you to come out
and stay with her for a few days. Peter is coming in this afternoon and
will take one of you out."

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