A Sweet Little Maid by Amy Ella Blanchard (free e reader TXT) 📕

good-byes they took their leave.

All this time the girls had not once remembered Bubbles. They were having such a good time, and it was not till they were on their way home, when Mr. Dallas questioned them, that they thought of how they had left her on the roof.

"Mrs. Hardy is just lovely, mamma," said Dimple, when they reached home. "I hope she liked me, for I liked her, and, oh mamma! I am so sorry about Bubbles."

"I am glad you like Mrs. Hardy," said her mother, "but the next time Bubbles does wrong, I hope you will tell me, and not punish her yourself. You must remember that she is only a little ignorant, colored girl, and that it is no wonder she wants what you have, for you have played with her, and been with her so much. Of course it was wrong for her to take anything without leave. Were you and Florence good girls?"

"Yes, I think so. Mamma, what did Rock mean when he said he was more likely to be my cousin than my brother?"

"Did he say that?" said Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "Well, so you are."

"Mamma, I don't understand."

"No. I know you don't. You will in a few days. Now go to bed."

"Florence," said Dimple, after they were in bed. "There is another secret somewhere, and I cannot puzzle it out. Mamma wants Mrs. Hardy to be fond of me, and Rock is likely to be my cousin, and all that."

"I can't imagine," answered Florence, sleepily.

"I don't see into it," said Dimple, after thinking a while. "Florence, are you asleep?"

But Florence made no answer, having by that time arrived in dreamland, and Dimple soon followed her, dreaming that she was feeding the little wrens on croquettes, and was taking her doll to drive in California, when a big tree came up to her, and insisted on shaking hands, because it said it was her cousin. She laughed right out in her sleep, and frightened a little mouse back into its hole.

* * * * *


When the two little girls ran down to breakfast the next morning, they wore very happy faces, for Dimple had just discovered that her birthday was only a week off, and she and Florence had been planning for it.

"Papa always does something very specially nice for me," Dimple had just announced, "and I always have a lovely birthday-cake with icing and candles. Mamma makes it herself, because I always think it tastes better when she does. And she lets me choose what we are to have for dinner. You tell what you like best, Florence, and we'll have that."

"I like fried chicken better than anything, except, of course, ice cream and cake."

"So do I. I'm so glad you like what I do, and I'm very glad my birthday is in June, for it is such a rosy month, and we can have strawberries with the ice cream. There are so many good things to eat in June; strawberries, and peas, and asparagus and--oh, I don't know what all." This conversation took place before breakfast, and Dimple was sitting on the floor hugging her knees, and looking as contented as it was possible to be.

They were still talking on the important subject when they entered the dining-room.

"What's all this about birthdays?" asked Mr. Dallas, looking up from his morning paper.

"Why, papa, don't you know my birthday will be next week?" returned Dimple, as she went up to give him his morning kiss. "Aren't you glad?" she added.

"Is it an occasion for great joyfulness? I'm not so sure of that. Don't you know it makes mamma feel very serious to have a daughter eight--or is it nine--years old? And as for myself, I begin to feel the grey hairs popping out all over my head at the very thought of it."

"I shall be nine years old. But, papa, you are always making out that you are old and that makes me feel sorry. I don't see a single grey hair. People are not very old till they are forty, at least, are they?"

"Well, no, but they are rather decrepit when they reach such extreme old age as that--Uncle Heath is forty you know, and see what a tottering old man he is."

"Now, papa, you are laughing at me. I don't believe you'll have grey hairs for years and years."

"They are starting, I am sure. However, we'll change the subject, if you wish. What do you expect me to give you on that festal day? Not another doll, surely?"

"No--I don't know--perhaps."

"Oh, you are insatiable as to dolls. I believe if any one were to give you a dozen at Christmas you would be glad to have a dozen more on New Years. I don't believe Florence is so doll-crazy."

"Yes, she is. Aren't you, Florence?"

Florence nodded.

"Nevertheless," continued Mr. Dallas, "I'll promise no doll this time. Shall it be books? Perhaps we'd better consult mamma. Come to think of it, I had an idea about this same birthday. It seems to me I thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide some amusement for rainy days."

The two little girls looked at each other, and Dimple hung her head.

"What do you think?" Mr. Dallas asked, quizzically. "It seems to me that I have heard that the rain produces a singularly bad effect upon two little girls I know."

"Yes, papa, we were horrid, especially one time. We didn't know what to do, and so--and so----"


"'Satan found some mischief still
For idle hands to do;'


was that the way of it?"

Dimple glanced at Florence shamefacedly. "Yes, papa, I'm afraid it was just that way," she replied, meekly.

"Well, as I said before, I think it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide against such trouble. Perhaps that birthday will show you a way out of future difficulty."

And so it proved, for on her birthday morning the secret of the little house was revealed.

"You must wait till after breakfast to see your birthday gifts, daughter," Mrs. Dallas said, as Dimple came bounding into the room to receive her nine kisses.

"Oh, mamma, why? I always have them the first thing. Do tell me where they are. Downstairs or up here?"

"Downstairs, in one sense, but they are not in the house at all."

Dimple's eyes opened wide. "Not in the house? Florence, just listen. There is a great secret. Oh, dear, how can I wait?"

"Well, dearie," returned her mother, "the sooner you are dressed the sooner the secret will come. See, I am nearly ready to go down."

"Please help me, just this morning, mamma. It will make it so much easier, and it's my birthday, you know."

"Very well, since you are the person of importance to-day, I will help you."

"Hurry up, Florence," cried Dimple. "Come in here and I'll fasten your buttons while mamma does mine; then we'll get through all the sooner."

Although Dimple, the day before, had carefully selected the day's bill of fare, the breakfast was scarcely tasted, her favorite waffles offering no inducement for her to linger over them, so great was her excitement, and she watched eagerly till her father pushed back his chair, and declared himself ready for orders. It seemed to Dimple that he had never had such an appetite before, and she watched with anxious interest as he helped himself to waffles from each plateful that Bubbles brought in. There was a twinkle in his eyes as Dimple at last heaved a long sigh, and he immediately arose and led the way through the garden to the little new house between the house and the stable.

"We'll look in here," he remarked, as he unlocked the door.

Although Dimple had been quite curious to see the inside of the "house for little chicks," she was rather disappointed at the delay, for she thought, perhaps, her papa had something for her in the stable, a fox terrier, or maybe a goat, since she had expressed a wish for both. But when the door of the little house was opened her surprise was so great that she gave expression to one long-drawn "Oh-h!" and looked from one to the other half bewildered.

For, instead of a brooder and an "inkybator," she saw before her the dearest little room with white curtains at the window, a rug upon the floor, a small cooking stove in one corner, a table, chairs, and all to suit a little girl. Upon the shelves were ranged plates, cups, saucers and dishes, and a cupboard in the corner looked as if it might hold other necessary things for housekeeping. Moreover, her family of dolls sat along in a row on the window-seat, looking as expectant as is the nature of dolls to look.

"Well, Dot, how do you like it?" asked Mr. Dallas, smiling down at the child whose color came and went in her fair little face.

"Oh, papa! Oh, papa! is it truly my house?" she asked, clasping him closely.

"Yes, it is truly yours. I thought a rainy day house might help to keep our little chicks out of mischief, because here they can peep as loud as they choose and it will not disturb any one."

"You said it was for little chicks, and I never once thought you meant us. Did you, Florence? It is lovely, lovely. Oh, papa, you are too good."

"I think it is a matter of self-defence, for if you and Florence are so ambitious as to take violent possession of your neighbors' houses, it seemed to me there would be no end of complaints, and the best way to prevent further housebreaking was to give you a house where you could cook and sweep and exercise your domestic tastes to your hearts' content."

Dimple understood all this banter, and she laughingly said, "Florence, we are like the birds that try to take the wrens' houses to live in. But now we have a nest of our own we won't do it any more, papa. Thank you so much. It is the most lovely surprise I ever had in all my life."

"I'm glad you like your house, Mistress Eleanor Dallas; but, dear me, I can't stand here chattering. I must be off."

Dimple gave him an ecstatic parting hug, and returned to a survey of her house.

"Papa gives you the house, and I the furniture," her mother told her. "You must try to keep the place neat and clean. Of course, Bubbles can help you, sometimes, but I want you to learn to take care of it yourself and to be a good housekeeper."

"Like Jenny Wren. Oh, yes, mamma, I will try. Florence, we'll put up boxes for the wrens, up there by the door, and maybe they will come and build. Mamma, may we have our ice cream and cake out here this afternoon?"

"Yes, if you like, and you may go over and ask Rock Hardy to come, and Leila and Eugene Clark too, if you like to have them. That will make quite a nice little party. You can use your own dishes, and have all the fun you choose."

"Won't that be fine!" cried Dimple,