CHAPTER IX--HICKORY DICKORY DOCK
It was a stormy autumn afternoon, and Phil sat in his rocking-chairbefore the red coal fire watching the clock upon the mantelpiece. Hehoped it would strike soon and tell him what time it was, for he wasexpecting company, and he felt that he had already waited quite longenough.
He looked round the nursery and saw that everything was in its place,spick and span and ready for visitors, too. The big dapple grayrocking-horse stood in his corner, his fore feet impatiently lifted andan eager gleam in his brown glass eye. No doubt he was anxious to do hispart by giving the visitor as many rides as she wished.
The tin kitchen, with its gay blue oven, was polished until it sparkledand glittered like precious stones. The kitchen was a favorite toy withPhil. He never tired of making strange little messes of pounded crackersand water, that smelled of the tins they were cooked in, and tasted noone but Phil could say how, for no one but he would eat them.
His big electric train, running on real tracks, a present fromGreat-Uncle Fred, was nicely set up in the middle of the floor, andlooked as if it could take you to Jericho and return in one afternoon.Little black Pompey in a red-and-white striped minstrel suit, high haton head, looked anxiously from the cab of the engine, for, as engineer,was he not responsible for the safety of a whole family of paper dollswho occupied an entire passenger car and who seemed not at all concernedat the delay in starting?
The nodding donkey, the dancing bear, the flannel rabbit with only oneear, stood stiffly on parade. The box of tin soldiers and sailors layinvitingly open.
Yes, everything was ready, even to the big sailboat that leaned againstthe wall, canvas spread to catch the first salt breeze. And best of all,there stood the low nursery table covered with a spotless white cloth, asight which promised such a pleasant ending to what was sure to be apleasant afternoon that Phil treated himself to a violent rocking as away of working off his emotion.
For Phil had been ill in bed, and this was his first taste of fun in twowhole weeks. He had looked forward mightily to this very moment, and hismother's promise that he should have a party as soon as he was well hadhelped, more than anything else, to make the big spoonfuls of blackmedicine go down without a struggle.
Phil's cheeks were white and his face was thin, and he wore for warmthhis manly little blue-and-white checked bathrobe, since only last nighthis cough had been croupy again. Not that Phil called it his bathrobe.In admiring imitation of his father's lounging costume he called it his"smoking-jacket," and he had even had the daring to slip a match or twointo the deep side pocket, in which he fervently hoped no one might pry.If Phil's mother had even suspected such a thing, he and the matcheswould have parted company speedily, he well knew. He meant to slip themsafely back as soon as the party was over, and no one would be the wiseror harmed in the least by what he had done, he thought. He smiled tohimself as he fingered the forbidden objects that nestled so innocentlyin his pocket and gave him such a jaunty grown-up feeling.
And, in Phil's secret heart, there was another reason why he was happythis afternoon. Gentilla had gone away.
It was not that Phil didn't like Gentilla, for he did. He had playedhappily with her and Susan through the long summer days that the littlegirl had spent in Featherbed Lane. He had enjoyed, he thought, the longstay Gentilla had made with the Whitings when her gypsy relatives haddisappeared in the night and had never been heard of from that time tothis.
But at last Gentilla's visit had come to an end. Mr. Drew knew of a Homefor little children who needed some one to love and care for them. Andso, one bright October day, the good minister took the little gypsy girlto her new home where she would lead an ordered, comfortable life quitedifferent from the rough-and-tumble days she had known in gypsy van orcamp.
At parting, Phil had presented Gentilla with his treasured Noah's arkbecause she loved it so. He would willingly have given her his expresswagon, in which he had treated her to many a ride, if his mother hadn'texplained that it would not go into Gentilla's tiny trunk which her kindfriends were filling for her with a neat little outfit. He stood uponthe station platform, loyally waving his hat until the train was quiteout of sight.
And it was not until then that he learned how pleasant it was to have anundivided Susan for a playmate once again, a Susan who was always gladto see him, who never whispered secrets and wouldn't tell, who never ranaway from him, and who, in short, was to be the chosen guest of honorthat very afternoon.
"It must be most supper-time," grumbled Phil. "I wish the clock wouldstrike, or Susan would come, or something would happen."
The clock on the mantel began a whirring and creaking that caused Philto spring to his feet and fasten his eyes upon the little Roman soldierin helmet and shield, who stood alert, both day and night, atop theclock, ready to strike the hours as they came. The whirring grew louder.Slowly the little Roman soldier raised his arm and loudly struck hisshield once, twice. Two o'clock!
"Time for Susan," said Phil joyfully.
He dragged a low cricket to the window, and, standing upon it, lookedout at the sodden brown lawn, the leafless trees rocking in a lateOctober gale, and the gray windswept sky. Big raindrops hurried nowherein particular down the window-pane, and Phil amused himself by racingthem with his finger. And presently he spied Susan.
"Come on, come on!" he shouted, knocking on the window, quite carelessof the fact that Susan couldn't possibly hear him. "I've been waitingforever. Come on!"
The little figure in blue waterproof cape and hood, Susan's pride,hurried down to the stone wall, through the gap, and across Phil's lawn.Here was a puddle, and the blue waterproof hopped nimbly over it. Justone peep into the empty dog kennel, and Phil heard the side door shut,and knew that Susan would be there in a moment.
He waited impatiently, his eyes at the crack of the nursery door, sincethe cold halls were forbidden him. He heard Susan and his mothertalking, and at last up she came, a box under her arm.
"See what I've brought," said Susan. "Grandmother sent it. And yourmother gave me some, just now, too. We will each have a long string ofthem."
Susan sat down on the hearth-rug and opened the box. It was full ofbuttons, large and small, dull and bright, white and colored, and theseshe poured out in a little heap upon the floor.
"Grandmother sent a long thread for each of us," and Susan pounced upona small parcel at the bottom of the box. "She told me how to do it, too.You string the buttons, as many as you like, and one of them is your'touch button.' You must never tell which one that is, because who evertouches that button must give you one of his. Do you see?"
"But won't you even tell me, Susan?" asked simple Phil, who wanted toshare all things with his friend, even to dark mysteries like "touchbuttons."
"Why, yes," said Susan generously, "if you will tell me yours."
Phil nodded and rummaged in the button heap.
"These are good ones," said he, ranging them on the floor before him."I'm going to begin to string."
Phil's taste was severe. He had chosen several large, dark, velvetbuttons, a brass military button, a useful black button or two thatmight have come from his father's coat, a flat silver disk as big as adollar, and, as a lighter touch, all the buttons he could find coveredwith a gay tartan plaid gingham.
Susan uttered cries of delight as she rapidly made her selection.
"Look at these blue diamonds," she exclaimed rapturously over some glassbuttons that had seen better days. "And here is one with beautiful pinkflowers painted on it. Here is a white fur one off my baby coat, andthese little violet-and-white checks are from Grandmother's ginghamdress. I know they are."
"Now this is the grandmother," she went on, taking up a fat browndoorknob of a button. "I'll put her on my string first of all, so thatshe can take care of the rest of them. And next I'll put this littlegreen velvet one so that it won't be lonesome."
"Which is your touch button?" asked Phil, after working busily insilence for a whole minute.
"Shh
-h-h!" warned Susan, looking carefully about her before answering,as if a spy might be peeping through the keyhole or even hiding behindthe one-eared rabbit. "This one. It's my favorite, too." And she toucheda hard little rose-colored ball that looked uncommonly like a pill."Which is yours?"
Phil proudly displayed the military button, and whirled away from Susanjust in time to keep the secret from his mother who entered the room,bearing a tray.
"Are you ready for your refreshments?" she asked, setting her burdendown upon the table. "Oh, let me see your button strings."
She took both strings in her hand to look them over, and to the delightof the children she touched both of the charmed buttons.
"Touch! Touch!" they cried, capering about like wild Indians. "Youtouched the 'touch button.' You owe us one now."
"So I do," said Mrs. Vane, laughing. "I had forgotten all about 'touchbuttons.' I shall be more careful after this. You won't catch me again.Now, Phil, there are your refreshments, so draw up to the table wheneveryou are ready. I must go look for buttons to pay my debt!"
Mrs. Vane, still laughing, took the tray and went downstairs.
Susan and Phil found themselves ready for the refreshments and madehaste to set the little table with the green-and-white china tea-set.The dinner plates were quite large enough to hold the sponge cakes, andif the tea-cups seemed a trifle small, think how many more times thebrimming pitcher of lemonade would go round.
Phil set out four plates instead of two.
"We will each ask one company to come to the table," said he. "I wantthe rocking-horse, he looks so thirsty, and your grandfather alwaysstops to give Nero a drink when we go riding."
And Phil dragged his steed over to the table, where he rocked back andforth for a moment bumping his nose against the edge of the table eachtime. Indeed, with his open jaws and bright red nostrils, he looked asif a whole trough of lemonade would be needed to slake his thirst.
"I'll take the bunny because he has only one ear," said tender-heartedSusan.
As she stooped to pick up the rabbit, she uttered a scream and sent poorbun flying half-way across the room. A small brown object, far morefrightened than Susan, sped like a streak of lightning along the wall,and disappeared into the big closet where Phil kept his toys.
"What is it? What is it?" cried Phil, for Susan was jumping up and downwith her hands over her ears.
"It's on me! It's on me!" cried Susan, shuddering and shaking. "It's amouse! It's a mouse!"
"It isn't on you," said Phil. "Don't cry, Susan. I saw him go in thecloset. I'll fix him, you see."
With a bravery worthy of a better cause Phil opened the closet door,struck one of his precious matches, threw it into the closet after themouse, and firmly shut the door.
"There now," said he. "I fixed him."
"What did you do?" quavered Susan, opening one eye. "Are you sure heisn't on me? Look."
"I killed him," returned Phil briefly.
"How?"
"I burned him up," answered Phil in a deep voice.
"Really?" said Susan, awed. "But won't it set the house on fire?"
"No," said Phil stoutly. "It won't. I mean I don't think it will. Maybewe had better look and see. You look, Susan."
On the floor of the closet stood an open Jack-in-the-box, and it wasupon poor Jack's hat that the match had alighted. Jack had bushy whitehair, and an equally bushy beard, and he was blazing merrily, grinninglike a hero all the while, when Susan opened the door.
Susan's heart stood still. Oh, if Mrs. Vane were only there!
"Run, Phil!" she called. "Run for your mother!"
And then with a presence of mind that, when he heard the tale,Grandfather considered remarkable, she picked up the pitcher of lemonadeand emptied it over the blaze.
Phil ran screaming downstairs.
"The house is on fire and the mouse is burned up! Mamma, Mamma, comequick! The mouse is on fire and the house is burned up!"
When Mrs. Vane reached the nursery, she found the fire out, the closetfloor covered with lemonade, Jack-in-the-box burned to a crisp, andSusan, with shining eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, but ableafter a moment to tell her story.
"But, child," said Mrs. Vane, when she had made sure that the fire wascompletely out and that the only article damaged was the unfortunateJack-in-the-box, "which one of you had matches, and what has become ofPhil? Who had the match, Susan?"
Ah, that was the question that Phil dared not face, and that had causedhim to hide himself securely behind the big sofa in the parlor where noone went in cold weather except for a special reason.
But at last he was found, and, standing before his mother, listened withdrooping head to the truths his own conscience had already told him.
"I think you have found out for yourself, Phil, why a little boy shouldnever touch matches," said Mrs. Vane soberly. "If it hadn't been forSusan, our house might have been burned to the ground. I'm sure I don'tknow what your father would say if he were here."
Phil's eyes grew glassy at the very thought, but he said nothing.Indeed, there was nothing he could say in excuse.
"You have spoiled your party, and ruined your Jack-in-the-box," went onhis mother. "And, now, after hiding so long in that chilly room, youwill have to go straight to bed so that you won't take cold."
At this Phil's tears burst forth, and Susan was moved to pity.
"Oh, dear," said she, with an arm about Phil's heaving shoulders, "hewill never touch the matches again, will you, Philly? Tell your motheryou won't."
"N-n-no," blubbered Phil dismally.
Mrs. Vane smiled down at the small sinner's comforter.
"It seems too bad that Susan shouldn't have her refreshments," sheremarked,--"especially since she put out the fire."
And in a very few moments Susan was sitting on the edge of Phil's bed,and both were drinking hot chocolate and eating the party sponge cakes.
"Hadn't you better thank Susan for putting out the fire and saving ourhouse from burning down?" asked Mrs. Vane, as, a little later, shehelped Susan into her waterproof. She wanted to drive the lesson home,and impress upon Phil's mind the danger they had so narrowly escaped.
"Thank you, Susan," returned Phil obediently. "But I'm going to dosomething nice for you to-morrow," he added. "I'm going to give you my'touch button,' you see."
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