by A. A. Milne
"She will, I know. She told me this morning that she was going to ask you to stay with her a while during the time you must be away from school. Should you like that better than going to Revell?"
"I'd like both," answered Marian truthfully.
"That is often the way in this world," returned Miss Dorothy. "It is frequently hard to choose between two equally good things. I will bring you all the home news every week, and can tell you whether Ruth knew her lessons, whether Marjorie was late, how Mrs. Hunt's fall chickens are thriving, and what Tippy and Dippy do in your absence. I shall be quite a newsmonger."
"What is a monger?"
"One who deals or sells. You can look it up in the dictionary when you go back to the house."
The preparations for her departure went forward quickly, and by Friday morning, Marian's trunk was packed, and all was in readiness. Her grandfather actually kissed her good-bye and gave her five cents. As her grandmother did not happen to be on hand at that moment to require that Marian should deposit the nickel in her missionary box, the child pocketed it in glee, and, at Miss Dorothy's suggestion, bought a picture postal card to send her father, giving her new address. Miss Dorothy wrote it for her, addressed and mailed the card, so Marian was satisfied that her father would know where she was. "I don't like to have him not know," she told Miss Dorothy. Mrs. Otway gave her granddaughter many charges to be a good girl and give no trouble, to take care of her clothes properly and not to forget to be obedient.
"As if I could forget," thought Marian.
Heppy had no remarks to make, but only grunted when Marian went to say good-bye to her. However as the child left the kitchen Heppy snapped out: "You'd better take along what belongs to you as long as you're bound to go."
"Take what?" asked Marian wonderingly, not knowing that she had left anything behind.
Heppy jerked her head in the direction of the table on which a package was lying.
"What is it?" asked Marian curiously.
"Something that belongs to you," said Heppy turning her back and taking her dish-towels out to hang in the sun.
Marian carried the package with her and later on found it contained some of Heppy's most toothsome little cakes. "It is just like her," Marian told Miss Dorothy. "She acts so cross outside and all the time she is feeling real kind inside."
Miss Dorothy laughed. "I am beginning to find that out, but I shall never forget how grim she seemed to me when I first came."
Mr. Robbins' house was very near the college, and Marian thought it the prettiest place she had ever seen. As they walked up the elm-bordered street, the college grounds stretched away beyond them. The gray buildings were draped in vines bright with autumn tints, and the many trees showed the same brilliant colors. In front of the Robbins' door was a pretty garden where chrysanthemums were all a-bloom, and one or two late roses had ventured to put forth. A wide porch ran along the front and one side the house, and on this Patty stood watching for them. She was not long in spying them and hurried down to meet them. "I am so glad you have whooping-cough," she called out before they came up. Then as they met and embraced she went on: "Isn't it fine, Marian, that we both have whooping-cough and winter coats alike? We're most like twins, aren't we? Come right in. There is a fire in the library, Dolly, and Emily has tea there for you."
"Good!" cried her sister, "that will go to the spot this chilly evening. Where are Aunt Barbara and dad?"
"Oh, puttering around somewhere."
"And the boys?"
"They went to practice for the game, but they ought to be home by now."
They entered the house and went into the library where a tall, dark-eyed girl was brewing tea. She looked up with a smile and Marian saw that she was a little like Miss Dorothy. "Here she is. Here is Marian," cried Patty.
Emily nodded pleasantly. "Come near the fire," she said. "It is quite wintry out. How good it is to see you, Dolly. I am so glad you are coming home every week."
"Oh, what are those?" said Miss Dorothy as her sister uncovered a plate.
"Your favorite tea cakes, but you mustn't eat too many of them or you will have no appetite for supper. It will be rather late to-night for the boys cannot get back before seven and they begged me to wait for them. I knew you would be hungry, though, and so I had tea, ready for you."
The two little girls, side by side, comfortably sipped some very weak tea and munched their cakes while the older girls chatted. But Patty made short work of her repast. "Hurry up," she whispered to Marian, "I have lots of things to show you and we shall have supper after a while. Is your cough very bad?"
"Not yet."
"They say mine isn't but I hate the whooping part. I hope it won't get worse."
"I'm afraid it will, for we've only begun to whoop and they say it takes a long time to get over it."
"Oh, those old they-says always are telling you something horrid. Come, let me show you the boys' puppies before it gets too dark to see them; they're out in the shed."
"Oh, I'd love to see them." Marian despatched the remainder of her cake and was ready to follow Patty out-of-doors to where five tiny fox terriers were nosing around their little mother. They were duly admired, then Patty showed the pigeons and the one rabbit. By this time it was quite dark, so they returned to the house to see the family of dolls who lived in a pleasant room up-stairs.
"This is where we are to have lessons," Patty told her guest. "Isn't it nice? Those two little tables are to be ours, and Emily will sit in that chair by the window. We arranged it all. These are my books." She dropped on her knees before a row of low book shelves.
"Oh, how many," exclaimed Marian. "I have only a few, and most of those are old-fashioned. Some were my grandparents' and some my father's."
"Doesn't your father ever get you any new ones?"
"He might if he were here," Marian answered, "but you see I don't know him."
"Don't know your father?" Patty looked amazed.
"No. He lives in Germany, and hasn't been home for seven or eight years."
"How queer. Isn't he ever coming?"
"I hope he is. I wrote to him not long ago."
"Why, don't you write to him every little while?"
"No, I haven't been doing it, but I am going to now," she said, then, as a sudden thought struck her, she exclaimed: "Oh, dear, I am afraid I can't."
"Why not?" asked Patty.
"Because I used Miss Dorothy's typewriter at home. I don't write very well with a pen and ink, you know, though I can do better than I did."
"Oh, I expect you do well enough," said Patty consolingly, "and if you don't, dad has a typewriter, and maybe he will let you use that, and if he won't I know Roy will let you write with his. It is only a little one, but it will do."
"I think you are very kind," said Marian. "Is Roy your brother?"
"My second brother; his name is Royal. Frank is the oldest one and Bert the youngest of the three. There are six of us, you know; three girls and three boys. First Dolly and Emily, then the boys and then me."
"I should think it would be lovely to have so many brothers and sisters."
"It is, only sometimes the boys tease, and my sisters think I must always do as they say because they are so much older, and sometimes I want to do as I please."
"But oughtn't you to mind them?"
"Oh, I suppose so. At least when I don't and they tell daddy, he always sides with them, so that means they are right, I suppose."
There was some advantage in not having too many persons to obey, Marian concluded, and when the three boys came storming in, one making grabs at Patty's hair, another clamoring to have her find his books, and the third berating the other two, it did seem to Marian that there were worse things than being the only child in the house.
However, the boys soon subsided, so the two little girls were left in peace and Patty displayed all the wonders in her possession; the delightful little doll house which the boys had made for her the Christmas before, the dolls who inhabited
it, five in number, Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Montgomery, their two children and the black cook. "The coachman and nurse have to live in another house, there isn't room for them here," Patty informed Marian. "Which do you like best, hard dolls or paper ones?"
"Sometimes one and sometimes another," returned Marian. "I don't know much about paper dolls, though. Mrs. Hunt gave me some out of an old fashion book, but they got wet, and I haven't any nice ones now."
"Emily makes lovely ones," Patty told her, "and I'll get her to do some for us; I know she will."
"How perfectly lovely," exclaimed Marian, beginning to feel that she had been very lucky when Dame Fortune sent the Robbins family her way.
"There is Emily calling now," said Patty. "I suppose supper is ready and we must go down. I will show you the rest of my things to-morrow. Coming, Emily," she answered as she ran down-stairs.
But it was because Marian's trunk had come that Emily wanted the little girls, and when this was unpacked and Marian felt that she was fairly established supper was announced. It was a plain but well cooked and hearty meal such as suited the appetites of six healthy young persons, three of them growing boys. As she saw the bread and butter disappear, Marian wondered how the cook managed to keep them supplied.
True to her promise Patty asked Emily about the paper dolls that very evening and she smilingly consented to make them two apiece. "Just a father and a mother and a little child," Patty begged her sister.
"Very well," said Emily. "I think I can throw in the child."
"Marian, do you want the child to be a baby?" asked Patty.
"Oh, a tiny baby," said Marian. "If I may have that, I should be delighted."
"You shall have it," promised Emily and straightway fell to work to fill the contract for paper dolls, Marian watching her with a happy face. To see any one actually drawing anything as lovely as these promised to be was a new pleasure, and her ohs and ahs, softly breathed as each was finished, showed her appreciation.
The two little girls took themselves to a corner of the library where they could play undisturbed, making houses of the lower book shelves. "Oh, may we do that?" asked Marian in surprise as she saw Patty stacking the books on the floor.
"Oh, yes," was the answer, "if we put the books back again when we have finished. You take that corner and I'll take this, then we'll have plenty of room."
Such liberties were never allowed Marian at home, and she grew so merry over Patty's funny make-believes that more than once Miss Dorothy and her sister exchanged pleased glances, and once Miss Dorothy murmured: "I'd like her father to see her now. She has been starved for just that sort of cheerful companionship."
"She seems a very nice child," said Emily.
"She is," returned Miss Dorothy. "She has never had a chance to be spoiled."
Bedtime came all too soon, and the books were reluctantly put back on their shelves, the dolls safely stowed away in a large envelope, and Miss Dorothy piloted the way to Patty's pretty little room which she was to share with Marian.
As Miss Dorothy stooped to give the two a good-night kiss, Marian whispered: "I've had such a lovely time. I'd like to live here always. I hope my whooping-cough won't get well for a long time."
Running Away
The days for the most part went happily for the two little girls. They spent much time out-of-doors, lessons taking up only two hours a day. Beside the many outdoor plays which all children love there were others which Patty invented, and these Marian liked best. The two had some disagreements and a few quarrels, for Patty, being the youngest child in her family, was a little spoiled, and liked her own way. She was an independent, venturesome little body, and led Marian into ways she had never tried before. She loved excitement and was always planning something new and unusual.
One morning after the two had raced around the lawn till they were tired, had climbed trees, jumped from the top step many times, gathered chestnuts from the burrs newly opened by the frost, Patty was at her wits' end to know what to do next. "Let's run away," she said suddenly.
"Oh, what for?" said Marian to whom such adventures never suggested themselves.
"Oh, just because; just to do something we haven't done," was the reply.
"But where shall we run?"
"Oh, anywhere. Down there." Patty nodded toward the road which led from the college grounds.
Marian looked dubious. "But where would we stay at night, and where would we get anything to eat?"
"Oh, along the way somewhere."
"We haven't any money to buy food."
"No, but some one would give it to us if we asked."
"Why, then we would be beggars."
Patty nodded. "I've always thought I would like to try what it would be like not to mind your clothes, nor your face and hands. It would be rather fine, don't you think, not to have grown-ups say to you: Be careful of your frock. Don't get your shoes wet. No lady ever has such a face and hands."
"Ye-es," doubtfully from Marian. "Suppose we should get lost and never find our way back."
"We couldn't if we kept a straight road. We might meet a princess in disguise, riding in her carriage and she might take us in with her. I should like to see a real princess."
"My father has seen one."
"I don't believe it."
"He has. Cross my heart. He wrote to grandma about her and said she looked like any one else."
"Then she couldn't have been a real princess," said Patty triumphantly.
"My father doesn't tell stories, I thank you," said Marian indignantly.
"You don't know whether he does or not; you don't know him," retorted Patty.
Marian gave her one look, arose from where she was sitting, and stalked into the house. Patty was at her heels in a moment. "Oh, please don't get mad," she begged.
Marian made no reply for a moment, then she said in a low voice, "I'm not exactly mad, but my feelings hurt me."
Patty was too warm-hearted to let this pass. She flung her arms around her friend's neck. "I was horrid to say that," she said, "when I have a father close by and you haven't any mother."
"Neither have you," returned Marian mollified.
"I know, but I have brothers and sisters, and live with my father. I think, after all, Marian, we won't run away, but we might go down that road a little way and see what it looks like."
"Haven't you ever been there?"
"No, we always go in the other direction." She did not say why, nor did she tell Marian that she had been warned of a rowdy neighborhood in the vicinity of some factories further on. "You see," she continued, "it would be fun to pretend we were running away. We could stay till it gets dark and we began to be afraid."
"Not till it is really dark," Marian improved on the suggestion, "but just till it begins to be."
"Well, yes, that would do. Come on, let us start."
"Don't you think we ought to take some lunch?"
"Well, maybe, though I would rather trust to luck; it would be much more exciting. I think I will take five cents that I have, and then if we don't see any chance of getting something to eat we can buy enough to keep us from getting very, very hungry." So saying, she ran toward the house.
"Bring Patty Wee," called Marian after her.
"All right," answered Patty the Big from the door-step. She came out again directly with the money clasped in her hand, and bearing Patty Wee.
"I suppose we mustn't go near any children," said Marian as they started off, "for we might give them the whooping-cough."
"I'm sure I don't want to go near any," replied Patty independently. "See, the road we are going to take leads right past the chapel and down that hill."
"What are those chimneys sticking up there at the foot of the hill, where all that smoke is coming out?"
"They are the chimneys of the factories."
"What kind of factories?"
"Oh, some kind. I don't know. We can ask when we get home if you would like to know." She hurried Marian past the big factory bui
ldings from which issued the clattering noise of machinery, and from whose chimneys black smoke was pouring. At the foot of the hill there was a little bridge spanning a rapid stream. Further up, the stream was bordered by willows, and a meadow beyond seemed an inviting playground. "Let's go up there," said Marian; "it looks so pleasant."
"We might fish if we had a hook and line," said Patty, bent on some new diversion.
"Oh, do you suppose there are any fish so near the factory?"
"There might be," returned Patty, "but as we haven't anything to catch them with they are perfectly safe."
Marian laughed, then added, "I think I am glad they are, for I don't believe it would make me very happy to see the poor things struggling and gasping."
"Then it is just as well we can't catch them, for I don't want to make you unhappy," said Patty. "See that big tree over there with that flat rock near it? I think it looks as if it would be a nice place to play."
"So it does. I wonder if we can reach it easily."
"I'll go and see. If it is all right I will call you. Just wait here for me."
Marian sat down on the stump of a tree near the bridge to wait. It was pleasant to hear the murmur of the water, and to watch the little eddies and ripples. It was a true Indian summer day, warm and hazy. The squirrels were whisking their tails in the trees near by, and the crows were cawing in a corn field not far off. Marian was enjoying it all very much when Patty called, "Come, Marian, come. I've found something. Come around by the fence and creep under."
Marian obeyed and was soon by Patty's side. "What have you found?"
"Just see here," said Patty excitedly. "Some one has been playing here before us."
Marian stooped down to look where, in a little cave made by the large stone, was a small doll, a table made of a block of wood, some bits of blue china for dishes, a row of acorns for cups, and a bed of green moss. Outside stood a small cart made of a box with spools for wheels.
"Isn't it cunning?" said Patty, appealed to by the unusual. "Now we can play nicely."
"Do you think we ought to touch them?"
"Why not? They are out here where anybody could get them. I shouldn't wonder if some child had been playing here and forgot all about it. There's no telling how long they have been here." This quieted Marian's scruples and they took possession. Patty Wee, as they now called Marian's little doll, just fitted in the cart, so she was brought in state to visit the cave doll, whom Patty called Miggy Wig, neither knew just why.
