A Sweet Little Maid

by Amy Ella Blanchard

  CHAPTER VII

  Housekeepers

  "Mamma," said Dimple, with her elbows on the arm of her mother's chair,"what are you thinking about so hard? You have a little puckery frownbetween your eyes, whenever you look at Florence and me. What have webeen doing?"

  "Nothing," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I was wondering if it would bewise to leave you two alone here with Bubbles for a day. Mrs. Hardywants me to go to the city with her to-morrow, and I promised Sylvy sometime ago that she should have the day; she wants to go off on anexcursion, and has been making great preparations. I could not have theheart to disappoint her, and your papa will not be at home for anotherweek, so I am very doubtful about leaving you."

  "Oh! do go, mamma," cried Dimple, clapping her hands. "We can keep housebeautifully, can't we, Florence?--and it will be such fun. Do go,there's a darling. We'll be just as grown-up as possible, and doanything you tell us."

  "And you will not be afraid?"

  "Not in the least. We'll have Bubbles, you know, and she can run awfullyfast, if we get ill, and want the doctor," replied Dimple, cheerfully.

  "I hope no such effort will be needed on Bubbles' part. You must notturn the house upside down, nor empty all the trunks and chests upon thefloor of the attic."

  "Now, mamma," exclaimed Dimple, reproachfully, "why do you remind us ofthat?"

  Mrs. Dallas laughed at the woe-begone tone.

  "That you may remember not to do it again," she replied; then she added,"Well, I'll think about it a little longer. I promised to let Mrs. Hardyknow this afternoon. Now run along and let me think."

  "You will tell us as soon as you make up your mind," said Dimple, as sheleft the room with Florence.

  "Yes, yes; don't keep me any longer from my 'think.'"

  "Don't you hope she will go?" asked Florence. "I think it would be lotsof fun to have the house all to ourselves for a whole day. What shall wedo, Dimple?"

  "Oh, there will be lots to do," replied Dimple, importantly. "There willbe the beds to make, and the house to put in order, and dinner to get.Oh, Florence! What shall we have for dinner? What should you like?"

  "I don't know, exactly; baked custards are nice."

  "Yes," assented Dimple, doubtfully, "but I'm afraid we couldn't manageto make them just right; they seem sort of hard; and you don't likehuckleberry pudding."

  "Then let's have apple 'cobbler;' we both like that."

  "Yes, and it is easy, at least I think it is, just crust and apples.Well, we'll have that. I do wish mamma would hurry up and tell us."

  The two established themselves on the lowest step, as near as possibleto the library, where Mrs. Dallas was sitting.

  "Don't make such a noise," said Dimple, as Florence, to while away thetime, began to sing; "you will keep mamma from thinking. Just let'swhisper." So for a half hour or more a little whispering sound went on,interspersed by stifled laughter. Then at the noise of Mrs. Dallas' handupon the door knob, the two girls sprang to their feet.

  "Hurry up, mamma, tell us," cried Dimple, as the door opened.

  "When you give me a chance," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I am going.Does that please you?"

  "Oh! oh!" cried the two, dancing up and down.

  "How flattering you are," said Mrs. Dallas, laughing; "I never hadpleasure so fully shown for such a cause. So you will be delighted toget rid of me?"

  "Now mamma! Now auntie!" came in chorus. "It isn't that at all, but itwill be such fun, and we are going to make an 'apple cobbler' fordinner."

  "Are you! Who said so?"

  "Why, mayn't we?" asked Dimple, somewhat taken aback.

  "Who will make it?"

  "Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvy do it often, and I knowexactly how. Do, do let us, mamma."

  It seemed too bad to dampen their ardor, and Mrs. Dallas, ratherdubiously, consented, but charged them not to eat under cooked dough, orraw apples.

  Every one was up betimes the next morning. Sylvy had set everything inreadiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs.Dallas was to leave on the nine o'clock train.

  "I shall be back by eight o'clock," she told the children. "Don't setthe house afire, and don't make yourselves ill."

  "Now, don't worry over us," said Dimple, loftily; "we shall do finely."

  But she did feel a little sinking of heart as her mamma's form was lostto view, and the two girls turned from the gate.

  "I wish Rock were not going with them," remarked Dimple. "It would benice to have him here."

  "I don't think it would," replied Florence; "we'd have to entertain him,and maybe he doesn't like 'apple cobbler.'"

  "That is true," returned Dimple, her spirits rising at the suggestionof some active employment. "Now let us go and make the beds, whileBubbles does the dishes." And they set to work, with much chattering, tofollow out this duty.

  "There, now, it looks as neat as possible," pronounced Dimple, as sheclosed the shutters to keep out the glaring sun. "Just hang up thattowel that has fallen down, Florence, and then we'll go downstairs andshut up the rest of the house; by that time Bubbles will be through herwork, and we can all play till it is time to get dinner."

  Bubbles had just emptied her dish-pan and was about to scour the kniveswhen they entered the kitchen.

  "Hurry up, Bubbles," said Dimple, "so we can all go out and play. Wewant you to take care of Celestine and Rubina, while we go out shopping.Mamma said we might use the pieces in this," holding out a calico bag."That is, we are just going to roll them up and have them for dry goods.The dry goods shop is to be at the end of the porch, where the bench is.We have cut out a great big newspaper man to sell the goods. We'll haveto pin him against the railing, Florence, or he won't stand up, he is solimp. Isn't he fine and tall? His name is Mr. Star, because we cut himout of the _Evening Star_."

  Their play proved to be so very interesting that it was after twelveo'clock before the little housekeepers remembered that they had a dinnerto prepare, and that the making and baking of their apple pie would takesome time. Then it appeared that Bubbles, in her haste to join the play,had forgotten the fire, which was nearly out.

  "Never mind, we'll put in some wood," concluded Dimple, cheerfully."I've seen Sylvy do it lots of times, to hurry up the oven. Run,Bubbles, and get some wood. Then you can pare the apples, while I makethe crust."

  "Let me pare the apples," suggested Florence; "it is such fun to putthem on that little thing and turn the crank, while the skin comes offso easily."

  "Well, you do that," agreed Dimple. "And Bubbles can set the table."

  "Why doesn't this apple go right?" said Florence. "It wabbles around soand--there!--it has gone bouncing off to the other side of the kitchen;how provoking!"

  "It is a sort of 'skew-jawed' one," pronounced Dimple. "I can never doanything with those on the parer. Pick out the ones that are perfectlyround and smooth, and they will go all right. I wonder how muchshortening I ought to put in. Does that look like enough to you?"

  Florence viewed the pan critically. "I don't know," she replied,doubtfully. "I don't believe I know much about it; it looks like apretty big lump."

  "Oh, I'll call it enough," decided Dimple. "There, it is ready to rollout. Somehow, it doesn't roll very easily."

  "Let me try," offered Florence, who, having finished paring the apples,was watching her cousin.

  "It is not easy," she said, after banging away with the rolling-pin."Maybe Bubbles can do it; her arms are stronger;" and, after this thirdeffort, some sort of crust was ready, with which to line the pan.

  "It seems pretty thick," Dimple declared, looking at it with adissatisfied eye; "but it is the best we can do."

  "Oh, it will taste all right," encouraged Florence. "Now for the apples;what else, Dimple?"

  "Sugar, and little bits of butter and--what else? Oh, yes, a littlesprinkling of flour. Now the top goes on, and it can go into the oven. Iwonder how long it will take to bake. It is one o'clock, and I ambeginning to get hungry.

 
"The oven isn't very hot," she presently pronounced. "Put some more woodin, Bubbles. Oh, what is the matter, Florence?" as an exclamation madeher turn in her cousin's direction.

  "I have burned my hand," said Florence, trying hard not to cry. "Iwanted to look at the fire, and when I lifted the lid, the steam fromthe kettle came just where I put my hand. I didn't know steam couldburn so."

  "It is worse than anything else," informed Dimple. "It is too bad. I'llget something to put on it, to take the burn out."

  "Kar'sene's mighty good," suggested Bubbles.

  "Yes, and so is flour; and linseed oil is good; that will be the best,"and the bottle being brought, the wounded hand was bound up andFlorence retired from action and sat on the step watching the others,while she nursed her hurt.

  "Let me see," went on Dimple, bustling about. "We have chicken, andbread and butter, and sliced tomatoes, and milk, and the 'cobbler.' Itis doing, Florence; it is beginning to brown."

  "I wish it would hurry up," Florence said. "I'm hungry, and, oh! how myhand hurts."

  "Isn't it any better?"

  "A little; but it doesn't feel a bit good."

  "It is too bad," said Dimple, sympathetically, coming over and putting afloury hand on her cousin's.

  "I smell the pie," she exclaimed, jumping up. "It must be burning," andshe ran to the oven.

  "Is it burned?" asked Florence, anxiously.

  "No, only just a weeny bit caught. I'll take it out. Doesn't it lookgood?"

  Florence gave an admiring assent, and they proceeded to take their meal;but alas!--when the pie was cut a mass of sticky dough and raw apple wasdisclosed to the disappointment of them all.

  "We'll have to put it back and eat it after awhile," said Florence. "Itwill taste just as good then."

  "Yes, and we can eat cake for dessert," and the pie was again placed inthe oven.

  Not long after, a rapping was heard at the side porch. "Who in the worldcan that be around there!" exclaimed Dimple. "Go and see, Bubbles."

  Bubbles looked out, cautiously, for it was not the usual place for anyone to make an appearance. Presently she came back with big eyes and asomewhat scared expression. "Hit's a man, Miss Dimple," she said, in anexcited whisper, "with a gre't big haid an' long hair, an' somethin' onhis back."

  Florence and Dimple looked at each other. "Let's peep and see,"whispered the latter, as the rapping, which had ceased, began again.

  They peeped timidly through the shutters. "He looks queer," said Dimple,"maybe he is crazy."

  "Oh!" cried Florence, with a stifled scream, "maybe he is an escapedlunatic. Dimple, let's lock all the doors, and hide," and the two raninto the kitchen, barring and locking the door, and then raced upstairsas fast as they could go, with Bubbles close following at their heels.

  Florence buried her face in the pillows and covered up her head with thebed clothes; Bubbles crawled under the bed, then, as the rappingcontinued louder than before, interspersed with calls of "Hey, there!Hey, there!" Dimple, feeling very brave, opened the window and criedout, "Go away!" then she shut down the window with a slam, and spranginto the middle of the room with very red cheeks and a beating heart.

  After a little time all was quiet, and the three timidly ventureddownstairs to find the pie baked to such a crisp brownness, that itbarely escaped being called black. It was set aside to cool, and after ashort parley, the children set out to reconnoitre, armed with suchweapons as they thought most useful. Bubbles carried an axe, Florence abottle of ammonia, which she meant to throw in the face of the intruder"to take his breath away," she declared; and Dimple bore a long rope anda pair of large scissors. She intended, she said, to snip at the man ifhe came near her, and, when he was overpowered by Florence's ammonia,to bind him hand and foot with the rope.

  But, after a long and thorough search, no one was found about thepremises, and they all returned to the house to eat the "cobbler," whichby this time was cool.

  "It doesn't taste like Sylvy's," said Dimple. "I believe I forgot to putany salt in the crust, and where it isn't hard it is tough; there! Ididn't put any water in it, of course there is scarcely any juice. I wasgoing to save some for mamma, but I don't think I shall. We'll give itaway to the first person we can," she continued to Florence.

  This happened to be an organ grinder, who made his appearance at thegate. Bubbles was despatched with the message that they hadn't anymoney, but there was some pie, and the organ grinder departed, whethergrateful or not, they did not learn.

  "It seems to me it has been a pretty long day," said Dimple, as theafternoon wore on. "Five o'clock. Three hours before we can possiblyexpect mamma. I should think she would get dreadfully tired ofhousekeeping," she continued, remembering her discouraging pie. "Idon't feel as if I wanted any supper, do you, Florence?"

  "Not now," replied Florence; "but your mamma will want some."

  "Oh, well, Bubbles can attend to it," decided Dimple. "I'm tired ofseeing dishes and dabs. What shall we do next, Florence?"

  "We haven't cleared up the porch yet. Mr. Star is out there and all thepieces."

  "Sure enough. Well, we'll get those put away, and then we can dress. Iwonder what became of the crazy man."

  "Why do you remind me of him?" said Florence, plaintively. "I had almostforgotten, and now I shall dream of him."

  "I don't believe he was crazy," said Dimple. "I suppose he had somethingto sell. I thought so at the time, but I began, to get scared andcouldn't stop. Roll up Mr. Star, Florence, we may want him again. There!I have the bag and all the rest of the things. You bring Mr. Star andthe dolls."

  Just here came a "Hallo!" from around the corner of the house. Thechildren gave a suppressed scream which changed into a hearty laughwhen Rock appeared; and with words tumbling over each other they beganto give a breathless recital of the day's experiences which amused Rockvastly.

  "But how did you happen to be here?" the girls remembered at last toask. "We thought you had gone to the city."

  "No, I didn't go after all. Mr. Brisk was going off in the country, andmamma gave me my choice of places, so I thought I'd not enjoy goingshopping very much, and I decided to go with Mr. Brisk. We got backabout half an hour ago, and I came over to see if you wouldn't go backto the house with me. I want to show you something I found."

  "What is it?"

  "Wait till you see."

  "I'm afraid we oughtn't to leave the house," said Dimple.

  "Can't you lock it up? We won't be gone long, and I'll come back andstay with you till your mother comes. Then I can walk home with mymother, for she'll stop here first."

  "That will be very nice, but I don't believe we dare lock it up."

  "Let Bubbles stay."

  But Bubbles' eyes nearly popped out of her head at this suggestion; and,finally, after many plans Rock went over to the house of the man whomMr. Dallas employed to take care of the garden and stable, and hepromised to stay on the place to give Bubbles countenance, till theothers should return.

  "I've got a job over there, anyhow," he said, "though I mostly leavesabout this time, but I can do what I have to do as well now as in themorning." Therefore the children felt perfectly safe in leaving Bubbles.

  Rock led the way to Mr. Brisk's workhouse. "What I've to show you is inhere," he said. The girls followed him somewhat timidly, but werereassured when Rock drew out a box of shavings where, cuddled up, theysaw a cat and three little bits of kittens.

  "Oh! how cunning," cried Dimple, getting down on her knees. "You littletootsy-wootsy, deary things. Aren't they soft? Oh! if we might havethem. There are three, just one a piece. Rock, don't you believe wemight have them?"

  "We'll go and ask," said Rock, and they ran pell-mell into the house.

  "What is the matter?" said Mr. Brisk, starting up lest something werewrong.

  "We are only going to ask Mrs. Brisk if we may have the kittens," theycried, breathlessly.

  Mrs. Brisk was standing in the hall, and heard their story.

  "Well! Well! Well!" she said. "
If old Topple hasn't another lot ofkittens. Have them? To be sure you may, and welcome, when they are bigenough to take from their mother."

  The girls clapped their hands delightedly and went back to the littleblind things, who, with their tight shut eyes, were mewing and nosingagainst each other.

  "Now let's choose," said Rock, after they had taken them out on thegrass where it was lighter. "Two black, and one black and white. If yougirls like the black ones best I'll take the other, or if either of youlike that best, I'll take one of the black ones."

  So, after much talking, Dimple chose a black one, and Florence the blackand white, while Rock expressed himself delighted with the other blackone as really what he liked the best.

  "I shall name mine Jet," said he.

  "And mine I'll name Onyx, and call it Nyxy for short," said Dimple.

  "And mine shall be Marble," said Florence.

  So that question being decided they left them, "like birds in theirnest," said Dimple, and started for home, for it was growing late.

  "We couldn't carry the kittens home to-night, anyhow," said Florence;"but I do hope we can see them often, and that I can take mine home."

  She did take it home, and it grew to be a big cat; though before shewent, the children often laughed to see Rock coming in with the threelittle things in a basket, bringing them over for a visit. He did thisseveral times, taking them back to their mother, until one day they cameto stay.

  Although time dragged, eight o'clock did come at last, and the hourbrought Mrs. Dallas.

  "And you are really glad to have me back again," she said, with an armaround each little girl, "though you were so glad to have me go. And howdid the pie turn out?"

  "It wasn't good," admitted Dimple, candidly; "so we gave it to anorgan-grinder."

  "What charitable, generous children, to be sure," laughed Mrs. Dallas."By the way, Dimple, I forgot to tell you that possibly the paperhangermight be here; he was to come one day this week to paper the upperhall."

  Dimple looked at Florence and Florence looked at Dimple. "We thought hewas a crazy man," presently said the latter, in a shamefaced way.

  "Crazy! Why, what do you mean?"

  "He came to the side door," explained Dimple. "Those were rolls of paperon his back, Florence, and we got frightened and wouldn't let him in."

  "You silly little geese! I see I must not leave you again."

  "But everything else was all right," Florence informed her, "only Iburned my hand a little. I had almost forgotten it, Dimple."

  "Then you don't want me to go away, altogether," said Mrs. Dallas.

  "No indeed," said they both, in the most emphatic manner.

  "You dearest, loveliest," continued Dimple; "it is too delicious to seeyou again."

  "And I didn't dream about the crazy man after all," said Florence, thenext morning.