Half a Dozen Girls Part 13

The pudding was mixed, poured into a baking dish and set into the oven.

"There," said Molly, with an air of relief, "that's done, all but watching to see that it doesn't burn."

"And clearing up the table," sighed Polly. "It doesn't seem as if we could have used so many dishes, just for one little pudding; does it, Molly?"

"Never mind," said Molly consolingly; "when it's done, we shall feel paid for it all. I don't mind was.h.i.+ng dishes. You put the sugar and stuff away, while I do them. I wish I felt sure about this other starch," she added, taking up the paper and glancing at it.

Polly's back was turned, when she heard an exclamation of horror.

Looking around, she saw Molly who, with the package still in her hand, had dropped into a chair.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously.

"See here!" And Molly pointed solemnly to the label, then burst into another fit of merriment, as she watched Polly's face grow blank while she road aloud,--

"'Elastic Starch: Prepared for Laundry Purposes, only.'"

"Whatever do you suppose it will do to us?" asked Molly, struggling to regain her self-control, and then laughing harder than ever.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Polly. "It can't kill us, but it may stiffen us up some. I wonder if we'd better try to eat it, Molly." "I'm not going to have all my work wasted," said Molly decidedly, as she opened the oven door and peeped in. "It's browning just beautifully, and looks all right. We won't say or think anything about it, and I don't believe it will hurt us any.

Even if it does, we have a doctor right in the house."

"Unless it kills him, first of all," added Polly gloomily. "But I'm tired now, Molly; we'll have lunch while that is baking, and then we can rest till time to get dinner. I never supposed it was so much work to keep house."

"What are you going to have for dinner?" asked Molly, ignoring the last remark.

"Beefsteak and potatoes and pudding," said Polly. "That's enough.

We don't want to begin better than we can keep up."

Their lunch was over, and the dishes piled up, to be washed later, when they should feel more like it; the girls had made themselves presentable again after their labors, and were sunning themselves like two young turtles, on the front steps, when they saw Alan coming towards the house.

"Now, Molly," Polly cautioned her; "remember we aren't going to tell that we are housekeeping."

"What have you been doing with yourselves?" inquired Alan, as he sat down on the step below them and pulled his soft hat forward, to keep the dazzling sun out of his eyes. "I came here just before noon, but I couldn't start up anybody. Where were you?"

"How strange we didn't hear you!" said Molly innocently. "We were here all the morning. Are you sure the bell rang?"

"I should say it did," said Alan. "I pulled it till I was tired.

You must have been deaf, or asleep."

"We weren't either; we were only just busy," answered Polly, with, an air of importance which would have roused Alan's suspicions, had not Molly come to the rescue by asking about her cousins.

"They're off driving, this afternoon," answered Alan. "They tried to make me go, but I told them flatly I didn't want to, so they took Florence instead. I had to play casino with Kit all last evening, and that was all I could stand. I say, I'm going to stay to dinner over here, if you ask me to." The girls exchanged glances of consternation which, happily, pa.s.sed over the top of Alan's head, and were unseen.

"Well," a.s.sented Polly, with some reluctance; "you can stay, I suppose, but you won't get much to be thankful for, I warn you."

"As long as you tease so hard," responded Alan, disregarding the coolness of her tone; "I'll stay, then. I told mother I knew you'd be in a fight, by this time, and need me to make peace, so she'd better not expect me till I came. Now, honestly, aren't you glad to see me?" And he beamed up at the girls with such goodwill that they relaxed their severity, and took the lad into their confidence.

"Now, Alan," Molly began solemnly; "if you stay here, you mustn't ever tell the other girls, but Mary has gone, and Polly and I are doing the cooking ourselves."

Alan whistled; but not even his whistle was as disrespectful as was his following remark,--

"Anything left over from yesterday that I can have?"

"You must behave, if you stay, Alan," said Polly firmly. "You can go home, or else you can go to work with us, when it's time. I've told you before now that we won't have any lazy people around this house."

"All right; what shall I do first?" And Alan pulled off his cuffs and folded back the bottoms of his sleeves. "Hullo! who's this coming?" he exclaimed, as a figure turned in at the gate.

"Why, it's Mr. Solomon Baxter," said Polly, in some surprise. "How queer! He never comes here." "Perhaps he's after your father,"

suggested Molly, in an undertone.

"He must be," answered Polly, as she rose to meet him; "but I should think he would know that papa's at his office, not here."

Mr. Baxter was a widower of fifty, whose wife had recently died, leaving him with six children under ten years old. Whatever may have been the motives leading to the match, surely Mrs. Baxter could never have married her husband either for his personal beauty or for his repose of manner; for Mr. Baxter's bald head was covered with a smooth yellow wig, and his figure presented every appearance of having its joints so tightly wired together that they could not play freely in their places, while it was a matter of common report that his nervous, excitable manner had worried his wife until she was glad to be at rest.

"How do you do? Is your aunt at home?" he answered Polly's greeting.

This was unexpected, but Polly reflected that they might be on some committee together.

"I am sorry, but she and mamma were sent for to go to New York,"

she explained courteously. "Their brother is ill. Won't you come in, sir?"

"Just for a little while, perhaps," said Mr. Baxter, following her into the parlor. "If they're away, who's keeping house?"

"We are, Molly Hapgood and I," answered Polly, a little surprised at the question.

"A good girl?"

Polly looked up in astonishment, thinking that he had taken that way of praising her. On the contrary, she discovered that this was intended as a question.

"What was it you said," she asked.

"Have you a good girl?"

"We haven't any," replied Polly meekly; "ours went away this morning."

"Just like them! They're the greatest plague in the world!" said Mr. Baxter explosively, and so rapidly that his words appeared to be tumbling over each other, in their haste to escape from his lips. "They haven't any honor; mine went off yesterday, and I haven't any to-day. She was a splendid girl with a great trunk full of real nice clothes, and such refined tastes, she always drank English breakfast tea. But she wouldn't stay, because I would not let her have all the soap she wanted. Extravagant things!" Mr. Baxter suddenly reined in his tongue; then added abruptly, "Who's housekeeper generally, your mother or your aunt?"

"Mamma is," replied Polly.

"Oh!" Mr. Baxter's tone was rather annoyed. There was a prolonged pause, while Polly watched the clock and reflected that it was time to put on the potatoes.

"Are your children well?" inquired Molly politely, feeling that it was her duty to say something.

"Quite well, only the baby has the croup almost every night. They have a great many colds, but I tell them that it's good enough for them, and perhaps it may teach them to be a little more careful,"

answered their fond parent sympathetically.

"I had a cold last winter," remarked Alan, launching himself into the conversation with this bit of personal reminiscence.

"Oh," said Mr. Baxter again.