after the second thursday, which was floribel’s and zeke’s day out, came the second saturday of the children’s stay in the little house, and on that saturday all the parents came to satuit from charlestown to see how their children were getting on: mr. and mrs. brine, mr. and mrs. lathrop, mr. and mrs. clark, mr. and mrs. doyle, mr. and mrs. hale. arthur had no mother but mr. duncan appeared with the rest. mr. westabrook appeared at odd moments and helped entertain the guests. the children of these parents were so excited that maida and dicky lamented loudly that they had no relatives to show the little house. this was before the train which brought all these guests arrived. afterwards, they had no time to regret anything. the hospitality of the little house was stretched to its furthest expansion. the boys, bunking in tents, hastily erected on the lawn, gave up their beds to their fathers. the girls, sleeping on extra cots in the nursery, gave up[pg 110] their beds to their mothers. this did not take care of the entire company. all the rooms in the annex were filled.
it was a two days, equally busy for hosts and guests. the children were determined to show their parents everything and the parents were equally determined to see everything. one instant mr. and mrs. doyle could be seen being dragged off by molly and timmie to view house rock; the next, mr. and mrs. clark, herded by the twins, were being pulled in the direction of the fairy ring. laura and rosie displayed every detail of house and barn to their parents. arthur took his father on two long explorations through the woods. betsy celebrated the arrival of mr. and mrs. hale by her first attempt to run house and the magic mirror, and brought back away. she was caught half way between them in triumph, her big eyes sparkling with the mischief which always filled them when she was successful in accomplishing her purpose.
perhaps though, granny flynn and mrs. dore enjoyed more than anybody this break in their country life; for a happy smile never left granny’s wrinkled face, and mrs. dore talked to the visitors all day long.
the company left on a late sunday [pg 111]afternoon train with an invitation to come every future week-end; and it looked as though life in the little house would go on as usual.
however, monday proved to be an equally exciting day as the two which had preceded it. for when the children—big six and little six—came back from their swim in the afternoon, they saw, lying placidly on the lawn, the figure of a strange man—asleep or awake they could not at first make out.
the figure decided that for them by leaping to its feet in what seemed one athletic jerk.
“it’s billy potter!” shrieked maida.
“billy!” “billy!” “billy!” the others made chorus. and they raced over to his side; threw themselves in one scrambled heap upon him. being of athletic build, billy potter sustained that shock splendidly.
billy potter was one of the oldest friends the little shop had had. he was a reporter on a boston paper, a great favorite with mr. westabrook, whom he had many times interviewed; and a devoted friend of maida’s whom he called petronilla. it was the first time the children had seen him since maida left for europe.
he was rather short—billy potter—blue-eyed and golden-haired; the eyes very blue[pg 112] and very observant; his hair closely woven into a thick curly thatch.
the children alternately hugged and thumped him.
“why haven’t you been here before, billy?” maida said, “i’ve been at home two weeks now.”
“only because i wasn’t in boston,” billy declared. “i’ve been away on my vacation. i had to take it early this year. i couldn’t have come over here at this moment, but that i’m on a story.”
when billy potter spoke of a “story,” he meant the account which he wrote of events for his paper. “i’m on a kidnapping case,” he explained over their heads to mr. westabrook. “i may be here in satuit on and off for a few days. and if invited, i might become a guest of this noble establishment.”
“oh do come, oh do, oh do!” the children entreated.
“all right,” billy agreed, “i’m only waiting for an invitation, petronilla.”
“well here it is,” said maida.
“i accept,” billy potter laughed.
the children had to take him the rounds too. he wondered at and exclaimed over the [pg 113]vegetable garden. he exclaimed over and wondered at the flower garden. he went in swimming in the magic mirror, and showed them many new water tricks. he inspected house rock with the little six. he climbed to the tree room with the big six. he declared that the tree room was where he must sleep. and he did sleep there, although it took all the ingenuity that he possessed, plus the assistance of the three boys, to pull a cot up into it.
and while billy potter was still a guest, as though, as maida said, wonders would never cease, dr. pierce suddenly appeared on the scene.
dr. pierce was the westabrook family physician. he had known maida all her life and called her pinkwink. he too had often visited the little shop; had been one of its advisors.
the children deserted billy for a moment and threw themselves pell-mell on the old physician. he stood braced for the shock which made every one of the tight gray curls on his head quiver and brought the twinkliest of twinkles to his happy old eyes.
“well, pinkwink!” he exclaimed, “is this the little girl who used to have cheeks as white as paper and eyes like a burnt hole in a [pg 114]blanket? and are these those pale, washed-out, colorless, slim-jim-looking city children i used to know?”
he hugged all the girls impartially, shook hands with the boys; then he too made the rounds of the place.
he played all his old games on them; drawing betsy out to tell her exploits; listening with great enjoyment to molly and timmie; and never ceasing to pretend that dorothy and mabel were one girl with a magic power of being in two places at once.
“you must come oftener, dr. pierce,” maida said when at last they found themselves seated in the living room.
“oh i’m coming often enough,” dr. pierce said. “you’ll get good and tired of me before i have finished with you. i’m coming at regular intervals to see that you don’t drown yourselves or get ivy-poison, or sun-stroke or lockjaw or any of those things that children are so fond of. i shall make regular inspections. in fact i am going to make one this visit. now that i speak of it, this strikes me as a good time. line up over there against the wall, all of you, and stick out your tongues.”
life fell into regular habits after a while.[pg 115] for work—two hours every morning, except on thursdays, took care of that. on thursdays, however, it was a matter of several hours. for play—it seemed as though the rest of the long golden days was all play.
after the household tasks came bathing which had become a habit as regular as eating. bathing was almost the best fun they had—especially for dicky.
dicky soon rejected the water wings. he was swimming now—not of course as fast or as well as the others—but swimming with that fresh joy which only the amateur knows. the others were perfecting strokes of various kinds and practising fancy diving of various sorts. arthur was of course the best and strongest performer among them. maida would never be more than a fair swimmer nor harold; but rosie had soon out-distanced laura, was beginning to work into arthur’s class. however laura was still, would probably always be, the most graceful of them all.
the afternoons were spent in walking and playing tennis; the evenings were given up to reading and games.
it looked at first as if their program would never vary. the beautiful weather kept up and the beautiful country seemed full of [pg 116]diversion. occasionally came a dark day and then the boys devoted themselves to boxing in the barn; their shouts and laughter would reach even to the little house. on those occasions mrs. dore and granny would gather the girls about them; set the older ones to mending or to teaching molly and the clark twins how to sew.
the big six kept running into the burles although the appearance of any of the little house children on the path leading to the gypsy camp was a signal for silva and tyma to disappear instantly into the bushes. the children frequently came across the young gypsies peddling their baskets in the village—at the pleasant wampum arms which was the satuit hotel; or at the quiet farmhouses along the road. in the long walks that they occasionally took in the woods, maida and her friends were likely to happen upon the outlaw pair. if the burles saw the girls coming, they quickly looked and walked the other way. the two gypsies were not however much bothered with attentions from the little house children, for since the experience at the magic mirror, the latter never voluntarily glanced in their direction.
once rosie came home almost breathless with rage. “what do you think has just[pg 117] happened, maida?” she asked indignantly. “i was coming along the path when i saw a little opening in the bushes. it looked so pretty that i thought i’d cut into it. just then i saw silva burle running—oh running like sixty—although she had a bottle of milk under her arm. she heard me coming and suddenly she disappeared through the bushes. but before she got away she made—oh the horridest face at me. i was so mad—”
“she certainly is a strange girl,” maida remarked in a perplexed tone. “i don’t understand why she acts so. we’ve never done anything to her. why should she treat us like this?”
arthur also reported that once, early in the morning, he caught sight of silva burle flying along the path ahead of him, a bundle of—he could not tell what—under her arms. at the sound of his footsteps—arthur said it was exactly as though she were afraid of something he might do—though, he added, what she expected him to do, he couldn’t guess, she flew to cover like a rabbit; actually vanished from his sight.
but the most disagreeable of all was laura’s experience. rosie pointed out to her the little opening among the trees which had so[pg 118] interested her. the next day, passing it alone, it occurred to laura that she would find out where it led. like rosie she walked through the underbrush—but she got farther than rosie did. suddenly she came against a trailing tree branch; she started to climb over it. one foot had planted itself. she lifted the other and—splash! a pail of water, hung on an over-hanging branch, fell on her, drenching her from head to foot. it spoiled the gloss of her freshly-ironed muslin frock of course, but it spoiled her temper more. maida pondered all this evidence, utterly perplexed. why the burles should have taken such a dislike to them all she could not guess. she did not speak of it to her father because she was afraid he might complain to aunt save. and maida did not want to make trouble for her friend. but under promise of secrecy, she discussed the situation with billy potter. for once, that astute young gentleman had no explanation of a curious social phenomenon.
billy potter was coming to see them regularly now; so was mr. westabrook. they both had long talks with the children, collectively and separately.
one afternoon as they were sitting in the[pg 119] living room a curious revelation occurred. arthur was talking about the forest. it was plain to be seen that it fascinated him beyond measure. often he would wake early in the morning; slip down to the magic mirror; canoe himself across its dawn-swept, glossy surface to the other side; wander for an hour or more in the woods.
“i guess i’ll have to make a forester out of you,” mr. westabrook said that afternoon. “i hope you don’t stay up late at night.” his remark was not a question, only a comment.
arthur flushed, remained silent. mr. westabrook continued to look at him. and now his look was a question.
“twice—” arthur faltered finally—“when the moon was full. i wanted to see if i could come up to some of your deer.”
“well, did you manage?” mr. westabrook asked.
“only once,” arthur answered. “if they get the smell of you—good night! but i read in a book here in the library how to work around so’s the wind wouldn’t carry it—and one night, i watched a group feeding and tossing their horns nearly five minutes.”
“it’s a pretty sight,” mr. westabrook remarked. “i guess if i were a boy i couldn’t[pg 120] resist that myself. but i want you to promise me that you’ll make these explorations only the three nights that the moon is full.”
arthur promised readily.
“oh father,” maida begged, “couldn’t i do it too?”
her father shook his head. “no i guess you little girls must stay in your beds. yes you too dicky,” as dicky’s lips opened automatically, “and you harold. sometime perhaps but not now. arthur is older and bigger. he can take care of himself. now,” he concluded quickly as if determined to give envy no time to develop, “come out into the barn. i hear there’s some good boxing going on here. besides i want you to show me how your tennis is improving.”
the little six continued to play near or in the house directly under granny flynn’s or mrs. dore’s watchful eye. occasionally they were permitted to wade in the lake, but only when one of the grown-ups accompanied them. for the most of their time, they were contented to frequent home rock.
maida had told the little six that there were toys awaiting them in the little house. these included dolls of all sizes; doll [pg 121]furniture; little sets of dishes, china and pewter. granny eked these out with the store of saucerless cups and cupless saucers, the cracked bowls and plates which linger on the outskirts of all respectable china closets. the children were permitted to carry pails of water over to house rock and there, in its shade, miniature housekeeping began.
from every level, glassy-eyed dolls, sitting placidly in little chairs, or lying placidly in little beds, surveyed the landscape. every morning the small mothers burst into an orgy of house-cleaning, sweeping rock rooms, dusting doll furniture, washing doll dishes. every afternoon, there broke out a fury of baking. hundreds of delicious mud pies were mixed, baked and then abandoned to that limbo, to which all mud pies are sooner or later consigned. when this play gave out, the ingenious mrs. dore set them to cutting out paper dolls; and to making, in scrap-books hastily improvised from brown paper, innumerable rooms, furnished with advertisement furniture, cut from magazines. this involved endless hours of cutting in which scissors disappeared as though by witchcraft and reappeared as though by magic; endless hours of pasting from which the small interior [pg 122]decorators returned splashed with flour paste from head to foot.
when in turn this game lost its savor, the resourceful mrs. dore designed paper houses, these architectural wonders, made from the endless piles of rejected paper boxes which the under-the-eaves closets of the little house contained. the little six were as much delighted with the little house and its neighborhood as the big six. but unlike the big six—with the exception of betsy—they were content with near-by joys. but betsy had never recovered from her tendency to run away.
once or twice she slipped off the house rock and started to make through the green forests in any direction that occurred to her. but she was always caught. caught—because after her first straying, mrs. dore put on the efficient little molly the burden of keeping a watch upon her. and molly watched betsy—watched her with the same quiet, supervising care which she had always brought to her guardianship of the self-willed, stubborn timmie. after a while, astute betsy came to realize that a guard was always near and, for the time being ceased to stray.
“she’ll do it sometime,” dicky prophesied[pg 123] again and again. “she always has and she always will.”
the children recovered from their first attack of sunburn; but they succumbed to another and another. the second attack was not so painful and the third was scarcely noticed. the red in their faces deepened to a brown which was like the protection of armor against the sun. the blue-eyed and fair-haired ones—maida and the two lathrops—freckled; but rosie turned a deeper rose-bronze every day; dicky was fast changing to the color of a coffee bean and arthur threatened to become pitch-black. as for the little six, maida said they were “just colonies of freckles”; and colonies in which layer had grown on layer.
“i can’t believe you are the same children i saw in the city a little over two weeks ago,” buffalo westabrook remarked on his second visit. “first i was afraid you were working too hard. when maida sent me the program of your work, it looked to me as if you were undertaking altogether too much, but you certainly thrive on it.”
“well we play more than we work,” rosie explained.
“i never was so hungry in all my life,”[pg 124] laura declared, “and i fall asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.”
“all right,” buffalo westabrook laughed. “you’re doing so well i’ll leave it all in your hands.”
he always surveyed both the flower garden and the vegetable garden when he came—surveyed them with much interest. he always went into the barn and made an examination of the boys’ quarters.
and so with work and play, july wore itself away.
