Half a Dozen Girls Part 38

"True," said Katharine thoughtfully; "and I don't know what we should have done this summer, Jessie, if we hadn't had those lessons in cooking. I had no idea then that we shouldn't always have servants, and if we'd stayed here, we never should have known anything about housekeeping. And the worst of it is, I like it. I always knew I had plebeian tastes and, now I am used to it, I fairly revel in was.h.i.+ng dishes."

"I'm not half so homesick for the old house as I thought I should be," said Jessie, while she meditatively folded a series of tucks in her gingham ap.r.o.n. "It was dreadful at first, having to leave the old place and the servants and the furniture; but, after all, we haven't had such a bad time. I don't know as I want to do housework for a living, I prefer medicine; but I don't mind it a bit, for a while. If I'm to keep old maid's hall, I want to know how to do it."

"Yes; but we can't go on like this much longer, Jessie," her sister replied. "I was talking about it to mamma, only a few days ago. We must try to get a young girl to help about the house, for it is settled that you are to go back into school after Christmas."

"' Sufficient unto the day,'" said Jessie, laughing. "You know I'd much rather stay at home and help you than go back to school. Why must I go, any more than you?"

"I was supposed to be finished last year, ready to come out,"

answered Katharine; "and so I ought to be finished enough to stay in. But when we get settled down for the winter, I mean to go on and do a little studying by myself, history or something. I don't know yet just what it will be. You've had a hard summer and fall, Jessie," she added, surveying her sister with a motherly air; "but you've gone through it splendidly, and I'm proud of you."

"It's no harder for me than for you," responded Jessie st.u.r.dily; "and it hasn't made half the difference in my plans. But there are times, Kit, when I do feel as if I must see papa again."

"I don't dare let myself think about him much," said Katharine slowly. "It is one of the things we can't undo, and must take as they come." She was silent for a few moments, then added, with an evident effort to turn the conversation, "Here comes the postman.

I don't suppose he has anything for us, though."

"Maybe he has," answered Jessie hopefully. "It is ever and ever so long since we heard from any of the girls."

The sisters sat watching the man as he came slowly down the street, stopping here and there to leave a part of his precious burden.

"Don't you ever wish you could know just what is in all those letters?" asked Jessie, as she rested her chin in her hands.

"No, I don't know as I do," replied Katharine. "If it were all funny or interesting, it would be well enough; but think of all the letters that have sad or ugly things to tell. I do wish he would bring us one, though."

"Perhaps he will. Yes, he's going to!" And Jessie sprang down the steps to meet the man, who paused long enough to hand her a thick envelope, and then went on out of sight, quite disregarded by the girls who were all-absorbed in their mail.

"It's yours," said Jessie, as she deliberately mounted the steps once more; "but I can't make out whose writing it is. Part of it looks like Alan's, and part like Polly's. It's from some of them, anyway. Do see if you can make it out." And she tossed the envelope into her sister's lap.

No true woman ever opens a letter to find out from whom it comes.

Katharine carefully and minutely studied the one in her hand, without attempting to resort to the most natural method of obtaining an answer to the question. At length she raised her head with a laugh.

"It's from them all," she said. "Polly wrote my name, Molly the city, and Alan the state. This is one of that boy's pranks."

"Do hurry to open it," said Jessie impatiently.

Katharine recklessly tore it open and' drew out four separate sheets.

"I told you so," she said triumphantly. "And one from Mrs. Adams, too! Which shall I take first? None of them are very long."

"Begin with Molly," said Jessie, settling herself comfortably to listen while her sister read,-

"DEAR KATHARINE AND JESSIE,--I haven't any idea who owes the other a letter, but I am getting so homesick for you that I shall write to you anyway. It isn't that I have much to say, for it does seem as if nothing had happened since you left here. I wrote you, didn't I, that the Langs have all gone abroad for a year? Only half of us left here, now! I miss Florence, and I rather envy her; but, after all, my first journey is going to be to Omaha. Jean and Polly and I are here, just the same as ever, only Jean is getting dignified and doesn't walk fences, any longer. But you have no idea how proud we are of Polly. She had the dearest little poem in the school paper last month; and this month she is to be editor, the first time a girl has ever done it. She and Alan are writing, too. They came in and found out what I was doing, so they said they were each going to put in a note. I don't think it is quite fair, for I know they will tell you all the news.

"You ought to have seen the new clothes Florence had, before she went away. I went there once to see them, and it was like a whole dry-goods store. She sent for Bridget, one day, and gave her ever so many of her old things, to be made over for the children; and Bridget went off hugging the great bundle and crying because she was 'afraid Miss Florence would get drownded on the way.'

"Polly has just showed me what she has been writing about Aunt Jane. I do wish you could be here for the wedding. I think Job almost ought to march in the bridal party, for he helped Mr.

Baxter to get ready for a second marriage.

"Mrs. Adams has just come in, and wants my pen to write a little note while she waits for mamma to get ready to go out with her, so I'm not going to write another single word till I hear from you.

Answer this soon, like dear girls. Mamma would send love, if she knew I was writing.

"Your loving cousin,

"MOLLY HAPGOOD."

"That's short enough, I should think," said Jessie ungratefully.

"My last letter to her was two whole sheets long."

"Nevermind," answered Katharine; "let's see what Mrs. Adams says.

Isn't it good of her to write?"

"My DEAR GIRLS,--This is only a little note to tuck inside Molly's letter; but I did just want to say how glad I am to hear of the way my two girls are doing the work that has come to them. I am proud of them and happy in them, for they both seem almost like my own daughters.

"And this brings me to my new plan. It occurred to me, the other day, that we shall be a very lonely, forlorn pair of old people, when Polly goes off to college. Why wouldn't it be a good idea for Jessie to plan to come back to us then, and take Polly's place for the four years, bring a little young life into the home, and study medicine with the doctor while she does it. It is too soon, of course, to decide; but I want you both to be thinking about it, for it seems to me an excellent idea.

"And now I must run away and make a call with Aunt Ruth.

"With a great deal of love from

"'AUNT ISABEL.'"

"Oh-h-h!" And Jessie gave a sigh of rapture.

"Yes, it is lovely of her, and just like her," said Katharine; "and I don't see why you can't go. But now let's take Alan's letter. It will be sure to be a good one, even if it is short.

Listen I"

"DEAR KIT,--Is it six months or six years since you went home? We are all in the dumps without you, and don't have anybody to pull us out. How comes on your housekeeping? Molly made some biscuits, last night, that were so hard we had to get hammers to crack them open, before we could put on any b.u.t.ter. I told her she'd better send one to you girls, for a curiosity, but she said they were so heavy that she couldn't afford to pay postage on them.

"Did you know Poll and I are taking Latin lessons together of Professor Smythe? We go to him twice a week, and have been at it a month, now. We're racing each other as hard as we can. First she asks for a longer lesson, just to tease me, then I return the compliment, and neither of us will give in, so it keeps us studying all the time, mostly. We don't care much, for nothing seems to be happening, this year. We must have used up all the fun, last winter. You and Jessie are gone, Florence is gone, Bridget is gone, Aunt Jane is going, and the rest of us will follow her pretty soon, unless Molly gives up trying to cook.

"By the way, Miss Bean--Polly says I shan't tell, but I'm going to--asked Mrs. Adams, the other day, how she made that oyster broth she had for first course, the day Polly gave her dinner. She thought the lumps were oysters.

"That's all for this time.

"ALAN O. HAPGOOD."

"P.S. I entirely forgot to send my love to Jessie."

"Saucy boy!" exclaimed Jessie, laughing.

"Isn't he an imp?" said Katharine, as she folded the letter. "He made up all that about Miss Bean, I know, for she didn't take any soup that day. I remember her refusing it. Do you remember--"

"Do you remember?" echoed Jessie mockingly. "I wonder how many times we have said that, Kit. As if we didn't both of us remember every single thing that happened through all the year we were East! What does Polly say?"

"Hers is longer," said Katharine, as she opened it. "She is the best of them all to write, and her letters sound just like her funny, topsy-turvy self."

"DEAR GIRLS,--First of all, I must tell you the one grand item of news. Aunt Jane is going to be married on Thanksgiving Day. The Baxter children have all been exposed to chicken-pox, and Aunt Jane has made up her mind to be married at once, so she can take care of them when they come down with it. Isn't it good of her, really? I don't think she minds much, though, for she acts fond of them. _Uncle Sol_, as I call him behind his back, brought the youngest here, one day early in the fall; and when I went into the room, there,--fancy it!--there sat Aunt Jane with the baby in her lap, playing pat-a-cake with it, just as nice as could be. I was so surprised that I almost dropped down on the floor. But she insists on being married in black silk, she says it will be so serviceable. I think it will look just as if she were in mourning for the first Mrs. Baxter. Alan says that if the children all have chicken-pox, they won't need to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving.

"Papa wants me to tell you that Bridget keeps just as well and strong as can be. He drove up there to see her, two or three weeks ago, and she asked all about yon both. I go to the hospital once in a while, to see the small boys, and I make Alan go with me whenever I can. He has cut me all out with d.i.c.ky, and the child won't have anything to say to me, when he can get Alan. You would hardly know Alan, he has grown so tall; and we think he is getting quite good-looking, too. Of course, he is always a duck.