Mostly Mary Part 15

"Oh, dear, no!" laughed the little girl. "Father wouldn't give me a haunted doll. Who ever heard of a haunted doll, anyway? Please don't go away, Liza. Come and finish setting the table."

"Not while dat doll am sottin' dah, Miss May-ree!"

"But the doll can't do anything unless I push a b.u.t.ton in the back of her neck. You are not afraid of the electric lights, are you?"

"Co'se I isn't, Miss May-ree."

"Well, you push a b.u.t.ton to turn them on and off, and I push a b.u.t.ton to turn my doll's head around and show her other face. She has two faces, you see. That's all."

"I nebah done laked two-face folkses. Miss May-ree, an' I'se not gwine to begin to lak dem now," and Liza could not be coaxed back until Sister Julia had carried the doll into the next room.

Presently, a cheery whistle broke the stillness of the house.

"There's Uncle, Sister! Please peep over the banisters to see what he does when he finds the invitation. Oh, he sees it!" for the merry time had suddenly ceased.

"I wish you could have seen his face while he read it, Mary," said the nurse a few moments later. "He had a great laugh over the stamp and postmark. Then he started upstairs at such a rate that I was almost caught in the act. I heard him say, 'Well, she won't get ahead of me there!' So what he is up to is hard to tell."

"He is whistling, 'There's a Good Time Coming, Boys!' and there _is_, Sister! Why--why, he has gone to his room!"

"You surely would not expect him to pay you a call when he is coming to dine with you. Perhaps he, too, thinks that he should dress up."

CHAPTER XV.

IN THE FIRELIGHT.

The little girl's patience was pretty well tried; but at last she heard the Doctor's step in the hall, and the next moment he stood in the doorway in his tuxedo, the red rosebud in his b.u.t.tonhole. Mary almost clapped her hands; but remembering that she was the hostess, she tried to behave in a most grown-up manner and welcomed her uncle as she had seen her mother greet guests. It was a little hard not to forget that she was _Miss_ Selwyn, especially when the Doctor started toward the left side of the bed, which was the dining-room, and almost saw behind the screen which hid the table from view.

Liza appeared very promptly with the dinner, the screen was removed, and the Doctor took his place at the table, saying, "I am very sorry, Miss Selwyn, that you cannot partake of anything more than the first course."

"I am quite sure that I am even more sorry than you are, Doctor Carlton," was the very truthful response.

Then the Doctor forgot that he was a guest at a fas.h.i.+onable dinner party, and declared that Mary should have a few bites of meat if she would swallow no more than the juice of it.

Several times, Liza was obliged to hurry from the room so as not to be seen laughing at Mary's quaint remarks. After she had served the dessert, Mary said, "Doctor Carlton, one of my guests is in the playroom waiting to be brought in to dinner. I could not have her here while Liza was in the room."

"I shall be delighted to act as her escort, Miss Selwyn."

The Doctor soon returned with Amelia Anabelle, whom he placed in the high chair, saying, "A fine, little girl, Miss Selwyn, a fine, healthy child, indeed! Is she a relative of yours?"

"Yes, Doctor, she is my niece. On the whole, she is a very good child; but, of course, she has her tantrums sometimes just as other children have."

"Oh, I think you must be mistaken about that, Miss Selwyn. Such a good-natured-looking child could not possibly give way to tantrums," and the Doctor began to eat his pie.

Mary pressed the b.u.t.ton; and dropping his fork, he stared at the screaming, kicking Amelia Anabelle.

"You see, Doctor, she can be a very naughty child. I think she is crying for some of your pie."

"No, no, madam, pumpkin pie is very bad for so young a child. Some of the cream on your gelatine will be just the thing for her." Then, when peace was restored, he once more forgot that he was a guest and asked, "How did you manage that? is the face made of rubber?"

"No, Uncle, it is the same as my other dolls' faces. Liza says that Amelia Anabelle is a haunt."

"Nonsense! That doll's antics can be explained as easily as most of the ghosts that we hear about. A string and a spring will work wonders; but I don't quite see how they can make so great a change in a bisque face.

Never mind. I shall find out for myself before I go to bed to-night. No wonder that poor Liza is afraid of that doll."

"Uncle, has Liza much book learning?"

"'Education' is a better word, dear. No, Liza has not had much education. If she had had a little more, she would not be so ready to believe in haunts, as she calls them. Why do you ask that question?"

"Aunt Mandy told me that she didn't have any herself, and that she expects to live to be ever so old. She seems to think that book--I mean _education_ makes people die young. Does it, Uncle?"

"Not at all. Of course, if one devotes too much time to study and not enough to proper exercise and rest, there is reason to fear that the health will suffer. But there is not much danger that many young people nowadays will die of overstudy. There, I can't begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed this dinner."

"O Uncle, will you let Liza bring your dinner up here every evening until I am well enough to go down stairs?"

"Unless she objects, I shall be only too glad to do so--that is, if you will not expect me to dress up in this fas.h.i.+on."

"Why, Uncle, I didn't expect you to do that even _this_ evening."

"But your invitation called for it."

"Then I shall not send you any more invitations. We shall be just our own selves and not pretend anything. Don't you think it would be nice if you took off those stiff things now and put on your smoking jacket and slippers? And--and couldn't we sit by the fire in the sitting-room and talk until oh, ever so late? I took a long, long nap this afternoon."

"I quite agree to part of your plan; but as for sitting up until a very late hour--well, we shall see."

Ten minutes later found him in a big leather chair before the blazing fire with Mary, snugly wrapped in a blanket, on his knee. For some time, he forgot the little girl, and sat watching the dancing flames and thinking of the great steamer plowing its way through the dark waters of the Atlantic. Mary's eyes never left his face; and feeling her gaze upon him, he smiled down at her. She slipped her arm around his neck, drawing his head down; and his kind blue eyes grew misty as, gazing once more into the fire, he listened while she whispered many things into his ear--things which let him see deep down into her loving little heart and bound it more closely to his own with bands which the sad after days only strengthened.

When she had finished, he said nothing--just held her close and pressed his lips to the bright little head resting so trustingly against his arm; and Mary knew that he understood.

After a long, long silence, he began to tell her of the beautiful, old, southern city to which he was planning to take her.

"Is it near Wilhelmina's home, Uncle?"

"No, dear, it is much farther from New York. Wilhelmina's home is in Georgia, too near the sea for you at present. We shall go to Texas, a long, long journey; but we shall be well repaid when we reach San Antonio. That is the Spanish way of saying Saint Anthony. It is a very old city, founded by the Franciscan Fathers more than two hundred years ago, and has an interesting and exciting history."

"And will it really be warm there?"

"So warm that by the first of February you will probably be able to play outdoors in a white dress without wraps. The poorest shanty will be almost hidden by roses."

"Then I won't need to take my winter clothes at all."

"I think it will be well for you to take your warm cloak; for sometimes a cold wind called a 'norther' swoops down on the city, and then the beautiful palm trees and the flowers suffer, and for a few days the children hurry to school bundled up in the warmest clothes they can find. We who see so much snow and ice for several months at a time would look upon such a cold snap as fine, bracing weather; but those southern people do not enjoy it at all."

"I wish Wilhelmina lived in San Antonio."

"So do I, little one. You would have great times together, though I really do not know what you would do in a house with seven boys. They are just about the liveliest little crowd I have ever met, and Wilhelmina is equal to any one of them."