Six Girls Part 27

After having given them several days of uninterrupted talk, Mr. Congreve began to lay claims to more of their time. He said he was lonesome for Jean, and that he was not getting any better acquainted with Olive, than as if she had staid at home; and that he thought they might talk to him, five minutes a day, at least; so after that, Jean spent her usual time with him, and Olive brought bits of sewing, or a little sketch she might be working on, down to the library, and they spent hours together. It was a pleasing study, to see how this companions.h.i.+p with the girls, affected the crusty old gentleman. He would sit by the hour with Jean on his knee, listening to her quaint childish talk, and looking alternately at her and at Olive, sketching or sewing, in the window seat; and the dear knows, what all he might be thinking about; but it must have been much; for it sometimes got the better of him, in a way that made easy breathing difficult, and brought the red handkerchief into vigorous use; and then he would jump up, flurry about, as though he were scaring a whole brood of chickens from the room.

"There! clear out, clear out; G.o.d bless my soul! I want to read and be quiet awhile. Jeanie, hunt up my gla.s.ses, and get down my book, and then trot out, and be quick about it."

The first time he dismissed them in this abrupt fas.h.i.+on, Olive left with dignity, and told Jean that they would not trouble him again; then she thought it over, and changed her mind, and went back the next day as usual, to his evident surprise, for he had noticed her heightened color the day before, and little expected to see her back; so that when she came in, he gave vent to an astonished "humph!" and after a moment's pause, took one or two thoughtful turns around the room.

"So you are determined to put up with the crusty old uncle, are you?" he said, pausing beside her, and looking down at the little sketch that was growing under her busy fingers. "Well, my dear, I'll turn in and help you; but if I ever get too much like a bear to be called human, you must remember that I'm getting old, and rather on the cross-grain; and not mind me any more than you can help. Now I just enjoy seeing you sit here and sketch," he went on more briskly. "Robert used to sit here in this very window, and draw mountains and valleys, and all sorts of things, and he did 'em well, though not as quick and true as you. I suppose he would have been an artist, and a splendid good one, too; but then I didn't want him to, so he gave it up,--a good boy was Robert, a splendid good boy, and I hope the dear Lord will forgive me for ever forgetting what my duty was to him, and letting my thundering temper get the better of me;--there now, draw away; I'm going off for a little tramp in the garden, and I'll be back a great deal sooner than you'll want me, I expect;" and off he went, with a great racket, which he never failed to make, when at all excited.

One day, when he startled them with the usual abrupt dismissal, Olive did not go; instead, she laid down her work, and took his book, which was a ponderous volume of essays.

"Now, Uncle Ridley, don't you want me to read to you?"

"Read to me! G.o.d bless my soul! you read to me! Well, I never, I never did, to be sure; where's my snuff-box?--you read to me? No, I think not; you--you'll read too fast, and clatter your words up, and I'll have to work like a steam engine to keep up with you; no, on the whole, I guess not, I guess not."

Olive's first thought was to put the book down, and leave, but her second was the one she acted upon.

"I'll read slow," she said, "and as distinctly as I can; shall I try?"

"Well, humph! I guess you may; sit down there, and go slow," with which remark, he sat back in his chair, spread the red handkerchief over his face, and Olive began to read. She read well, slowly and distinctly, and in a little while, the clear voice attracted another listener, who came in quietly, and studied the young reader's thoughtful face, from his seat in a distant corner.

CHAPTER XVI.

UNDER THE SHADY GREEN-WOOD TREE.

"Why, Kat, what is the matter?"

"Nothing; not a blessed thing; I'm just trying to see how big a goose I can be. Where did you come from?"

"Down town. Why, child, you look as if you had been crying for hours.

What is the matter?"

"Nothing, I tell you; take my word, and get out of the way, for I'm going to jump;" and down she came from above, with a swinging leap that brought a shower of half-ripe apples with her, and filled the air with leaves. "I had the dumps a little, and I've been sitting here in the tree crying over this book, until my nose is so big that I cannot see over it, and my eyes ache terribly."

"I should think they would, and you look dreadfully frowzled," said Bea, smoothing down her own dress, with an air of self-approval. "Really, Kat--"

"Oh, come now, don't. I never was, and never will be a pink of propriety; and I would like to have a little peace and rest from lectures. You and Kittie are getting so orderly and band-boxy-fied, that there's no pleasure living. I'll be glad when Olive comes back, for she isn't quite so distressingly particular!" exclaimed Kat, who was evidently in anything but the best of humors.

"Well, don't get fussy about it, and I won't say any more," promised Bea, with a conciliatory smile. "Besides, I've got some good news. We are invited to Mrs. Raymond's picnic, next Wednesday!"

"You don't say so; hurrah!" cried Kat, in a sudden gale of delight, her eyes beginning to sparkle behind their still wet lashes.

"What oceans of bliss! Who did you see?"

"Clara and Lou; they were just coming out here to invite us, when I met them. It will be splendid; they are going ten miles out, and they supply carriages for all, and there will be boating and dancing, and games, and just everything delightful."

Kat spun around on her heel enthusiastically, and threw a handful of small apples into the air. "Of course there will," she cried. "Raymonds'

never do anything except in the most stylish way. That's the fun of being rich."

"I've just been down to call on Miss Barnett," said Bea, stooping to pick some imaginary burr from her dress. "They are invited, too."

"Ah, indeed," said Kat, with a mischievous chuckle, "I suppose of course, you are glad, for you want Miss Barnett to have a good time, don't you?"

"Of course," answered Bea, with much composure, and a little color. "She is a very pleasant young lady, and I would like to invite them here one evening before she goes home."

"Nothing to prevent that I can see," said Kat, "unless the doctor should object; but then, I don't think he will."

"I shall ask mama," continued Bea, without noticing the little sly remark. "I need not have many, about fifteen is enough; and we might have cake, you know."

"Yes, cake and water; cheap and original; she won't expect much, for I suppose the doctor has told her that we are poor as Job's turkey."

"I suppose he has not," corrected Bea, with some mild resentment. "He would have no occasion to mention us in connection with such a subject.

Besides, we're not as poor as that."

"Just go by it then," laughed Kat. "But you shall have a party, dear, if I have to paint the hole in the carpet and do all the work. We'll have a party or die."

Very much the same conclusion, only a little more mildly put, Mrs.

Dering came to, when Bea made her modest request, with a pretty color in her face.

"I know the parlor furniture is shabby, but it won't show so much at night," Bea explained. "And we might just have cake and coffee, you know, mama."

"Yes, dear, quite a nice little idea; and I think we can do it without any trouble," answered Mrs. Dering, with that degree of motherly interest that is always so encouraging, "How many would you like to have, and on what evening?"

"How good you are!" cried Bea, with a grateful hug, before she answered any questions. "Twelve is enough, don't you think so! Perhaps we'd like to dance, or if the moon should be very bright, we could play croquet and row on the pond."

"Quite delightful ideas. And what evening, dear?"

"Next--the picnic is on Wednesday. I guess on Friday evening would be the best; Miss Barnett goes home on the next Tuesday."

"On Friday evening next. Well, I will spend the meantime studying up my receipt-book, for its been a long time since I made a fancy cake,"

laughed Mrs. Dering. "As to the parlor, I think you had better go right in and see what is needed there."

"So we had. Come on girls;" and off fluttered Bea, with a blithe song on her lips, and followed by Kittie and Kat, who were consumed with excitement at the prospect of a picnic and party in one week.

The parlors were quite large double rooms that had never been fully furnished, but had received chairs and a table or two, by degrees; a lounge at one time, a couple of stools at another, and, lastly, a what-not, at which point contributions towards furnis.h.i.+ng them ceased.

The carpet was rather shabby, from long use, and in one or two places was worn perfectly white, which must be remedied in some way, as they looked alarmingly big. The girls opened the door, and Kat immediately said:

"Curtains must be washed."

"Sweeping the carpet with salt and tea-leaves brightens it up," added Kittie, throwing open the blinds, and letting the sunlight in.

"Goodness, how that makes everything look!" cried Bea, in sudden dismay.

"But it doesn't s.h.i.+ne at night," said Kat, consolingly. "Bless me! how the back of the big chair is worn! what shall we do?"

"Make a big tidy out of darning-cotton," answered Kittie. "That's pretty and cheap, and I know a lovely st.i.tch, and can put long fringe on."