CHAPTER 9
Changes and Plans
When the little dining-room was finished it was quite the prettiest roomin the house, for the friendly Blossoms had painted the batteredwoodwork a delicate green to match the leaves in the paper; and bymixing what was left of the green paint with the remaining color leftfrom the sideboard, clever Miss Blossom obtained a shade that wasexactly right for as much of the floor as the rug did not cover. Ofcourse all the neighbors and all the girls' relatives had to come inafterwards to see what Bettie called "the very dandelioniest room inDandelion Cottage."
It seemed to the girls that the time fairly galloped from Monday toThursday. They were heartily sorry when the moment came for them to losetheir pleasant lodger. They went to the train to see the last of her andto assure her for the thousandth time that they should never forget her.Mabel sobbed audibly at the moment of parting, and large tears wererolling down silent Bettie's cheeks. Even the seven dollars and fiftycents that the girls had handled with such delight that morning paledinto insignificance beside the fact that the train was actually whiskingtheir beloved Miss Blossom away from them. When she had paid for herlodging she advised her four landladies to deposit the money in the bankuntil time for the dinner party, and the girls did so, but even theimportance of owning a bank account failed to console them for theirloss. The train out of sight, the sober little procession wended its wayto Dandelion Cottage but the cozy little house seemed strangely silentand deserted when Bettie unlocked the door. Mabel, who had wept stormilyall the way home, sat down heavily on the doorstep and wept afresh.
Pinned to a pillow on the parlor couch, Jean discovered a little foldedsquare of paper addressed to Bettie, who was drumming a sad little tuneon the window pane.
"Why, Bettie," cried Jean, "this looks like a note for you from MissBlossom! Do read it and tell us what she says."
"It says," read Bettie: "'My dearest of Betties: Thank you for being sonice to me. There's a telephone message for you.'"
"I wonder what it means," said Marjory.
Bettie ran to the talkless telephone, slipped her hand inside the littledoor at the top, and found a small square parcel wrapped in tissuepaper, tied with a pink ribbon, and addressed to Miss Bettie Tucker,Dandelion Cottage. Bettie hastily undid the wrappings and squealed withdelight when she saw the lovely little handkerchief, bordered delicatelywith lace, that Miss Blossom herself had made for her. There was adaintily embroidered "B" in the corner to make it Bettie's very own.
Marjory happened upon Jean's note peeping out from under a book on theparlor table. It said: "Dear Jean: Don't you think it's time for you tolook at the kitchen clock?"
Of course everybody rushed to the kitchen to see Jean take from insidethe case of the tickless clock a lovely handkerchief just like Bettie'sexcept that it was marked with "J."
Marjory's note, which she presently found growing on the crimsonpetunia, sent her flying to the grindless coffee-mill, where she toofound a similar gift.
"Well," said Mabel, who was now fairly cheerful, "I wonder if she forgotall about _me_."
For several anxious moments the girls searched eagerly in Mabel's behalfbut no note was visible.
"I can't think where it could be," said housewifely Jean, stooping topick up a bit of string from the dining-room rug, and winding it into alittle ball. "I've looked in every room and--Why! what a long string! Iwonder where it's all coming from."
"Under the rug," said Marjory, making a dive for the bit of paper thatdangled from the end of the string. "Here's your note, Mabel."
"I think," Miss Blossom had written, "that there must be a mouse in thepantry mousetrap by this time."
"Yes!" shouted Mabel, a moment later. "A lovely lace-edged mouse with an'M' on it--no, it's 'M B'--a really truly monogram, the very firstmonogram I ever had."
"Why, so it is," said Marjory. "I suppose she did that so we could tellthem apart, because if she'd put M on both of them we wouldn't haveknown which was which."
"Why," cried Jean, "it's nearly an hour since the train left. Wasn't itsweet of her to think of keeping us interested so we shouldn't be quiteso lonesome?"
"Yes," said Bettie, "it was even nicer than our lovely presents, but itwas just like her."
"Oh, dear," said Mabel, again on the verge of tears, "I wish she mighthave stayed forever. What's the use of getting lovely new friends if youhave to go and lose them the very next minute? She was just the nicestgrown-up little girl there ever was, and I'll never see--see her any--"
"Look out, Mabel," warned Marjory, "if you cry on that handkerchiefyou'll spoil that monogram. Miss Blossom didn't intend these forcrying-handkerchiefs--one good-sized tear would soak them."
Miss Blossom was not the only friend the girls were fated to lose thatweek. Grandma Pike, as everybody called the pleasant little old lady,was their next-door neighbor on the west side, and the cottagers werevery fond of her. No one dreamed that Mrs. Pike would ever think ofgoing to another town to live; but about ten days before Miss Blossomdeparted, the cheery old lady had quite taken everybody's breath away byannouncing that she was going west, just as soon as she could get herthings packed, to live with her married daughter.
When the girls heard that Grandma Pike was going away they were verymuch surprised and not at all pleased at the idea of losing one of theirmost delightful neighbors. At Miss Blossom's suggestion, they had spentseveral evenings working on a parting gift for their elderly friend. Thegift, a wonderful linen traveling case with places in it to carryeverything a traveler would be likely to need, was finished atlast--with so many persons working on it, it was hard to keep all thepieces together--and the girls carried it to Grandma Pike, who seemedvery much pleased.
"Well, well," said the delighted old lady, unrolling the parcel, "if youhaven't gone and made me a grand slipper-bag! I'll think of you, now,every time I put on my slippers."
"No, no," protested Jean. "It's a traveling case with places in it for'most everything _but_ slippers."
"We all sewed on it," explained Mabel. "Those little bits of stitchesthat you can't see at all are Bettie's. Jean did all thisfeather-stitching, and Marjory hemmed all the binding. Miss Blossombasted it together so it wouldn't be crooked."
"What did _you_ do, Mabel?" asked Grandma Pike, smiling over herspectacles.
"I took out the basting threads and embroidered these letters on thepockets."
"What does this 'P' stand for?"
"Pins," said Mabel. "You see it was sort of an accident. I started toembroider the word soap on this little pocket, but when I got the S O Adone, there wasn't any room left for the P, so I just put it on the_next_ pocket. I knew that if I explained that it was the end of 'Soap'and the beginning of 'Pins' you'd remember not to get your pins and soapmixed up."
During the lonely days immediately following Miss Blossom's departure,Mrs. Bartholomew Crane proved a great solace. The girls had somewhatneglected her during the preceding busy weeks; but with Miss Blossomgone, the cottagers became conscious of an aching void that new wallpaper and lace handkerchiefs and a bank account could not quite fill; sopresently they resumed their former habit of trotting across the streetmany times a day to visit good-natured Mrs. Crane.
Mrs. Crane's house was very small and looked rather gloomy from theoutside because the paint had long ago peeled off and the weatherbeatenboards had grown black with age; but inside it was cheerfulnesspersonified. First, there was Mrs. Crane herself, fairly radiatingcomfort. Then there was a bright rag carpet on the floor, a glowing redcloth on the little table, a lively yellow canary named Dicksy in onewindow, and a gorgeous red-and-crimson but very bad-tempered parrot inthe other. There were only three rooms downstairs and two bed-chambersupstairs. Mrs. Crane's own room opened off the little parlor, andvisitors could see the high feather bed always as smooth and rounded ontop as one of Mrs. Crane's big loaves of light bread. The privilegedgirls were never tired of examining the good woman's patchwork quilts,made many years ago of minute, quaint, old-fashioned sc
raps of calico.
Even the garden seemed to differ from other gardens, for every inch ofit except the patch of green grass under the solitary cherry tree wasgiven over to flowers, many of them as quaint and old-fashioned as thebits of calico in the quilts, and to vegetables that ripened a weekearlier for Mrs. Crane than similar varieties did for anyone else. Yetthe garden was so little, and the variety so great, that Mrs. Cranenever had enough of any one thing to sell. She owned her little home,but very little else. The two upstairs rooms were rented to lodgers, andshe knitted stockings and mittens to sell because she could knit withoutusing her eyes, which, like so many soft, bright, black eyes, were farfrom strong; but the little income so gained was barely enough to keepstout, warm-hearted, overgenerous Mrs. Crane supplied with food andfuel. The neighbors often wondered what would become of the good, lonelywoman if she lost her lodgers, if her eyes failed completely, or if sheshould fall ill. Everybody agreed that Mrs. Crane should have been awealthy woman instead of a poor one, because she would undoubtedly havedone so much good with her money. Mabel had heard her father say thatthere was a good-sized mortgage on the place, and Dr. Bennett hadinstantly added: "Now, don't you say anything about that, Mabel." Butever after that, Mabel had kept her eyes open during her visits to Mrs.Crane, hoping to get a glimpse of the dreadful large-sized thing thatwas not to be mentioned.
On one occasion she thought she saw light. Mrs. Crane had expressed afear that a wandering polecat had made a home under her woodshed.
"Is mortgage another name for polecat?" Mabel had asked a little later.
"No," imaginative Jean had replied. "A mortgage is more like a great,lean, hungry, gray wolf waiting just around the corner to eat you up.Don't ever use the word before Mrs. Crane; she has one."
"Where does she keep it?" demanded Mabel, agog with interest.
"I promised not to talk about it," said Jean, "and I won't."
Miss Blossom had been gone only two days when something happened to Mrs.Crane. It was none of the things that the neighbors had expected tohappen, but for a little while it looked almost as serious. Bettie,running across the street right after breakfast one morning, with abunch of fresh chickweed for the yellow canary and a cracker for crossPolly, found Mrs. Crane, usually the most cheerful person imaginable,sitting in her kitchen with a swollen, crimson foot in a pail oflukewarm water, and groaning dismally.
"Oh, Mrs. Crane!" cried surprised Bettie. "What in the world is thematter? Are--are you coming down with anything?"
"I've already come," moaned Mrs. Crane, grimly. "I was out in my backyard in my thin old slippers early this morning putting hellebore on mycurrant bushes, and I stepped down hard on the teeth of the rake thatI'd dropped on the grass. There's two great holes in my foot. How I'mever going to do things I don't know, for 'twas all I could do to crawlinto the house on my hands and knees."
"Isn't there something I can do for you?" asked Bettie, sympathetically.
"Could you get a stick of wood from the shed and make me a cup of tea?Maybe I'd feel braver if I wasn't so empty."
"Of course I could," said Bettie, cheerily.
"I tell you what it is," confided Mrs. Crane. "It's real nice andindependent living all alone as long as you're strong and well, but justthe minute anything happens, there you are like a Robinson Crusoe, castaway on a desert isle. I began to think nobody would _ever_ come."
"Can't I do something more for you?" asked Bettie, poking scraps ofpaper under the kettle to bring it to a boil. "Don't you want Dr.Bennett to look at your foot? Hadn't I better get him?"
"Yes, do," said Mrs. Crane, "and then come back. I can't bear to thinkof staying here alone."
For the next four days there was a deep depression in the middle of Mrs.Crane's puffy feather bed, for the injured foot was badly swollen andMrs. Crane was far too heavy to go hopping about on the other one. Atfirst, her usually hopeful countenance wore a strained, anxiousexpression, quite pathetic to see.
"Now don't you worry one bit," said comforting little Bettie. "We'lltake turns staying with you; we'll feed Polly and Dicksy, and I believeevery friend you have is going to offer to make broth. Mother's makingsome this minute."
"But there's the lodgers," groaned Mrs. Crane, "both as particular as apair of old maids in a glass case. Mr. Barlow wants his bedclothestucked in all around so tight that a body'd think he was afraid ofrolling out of bed nights, and Mr. Bailey won't have his tucked in atall--says he likes 'em 'floating round loose and airy.' Do you supposeyou girls can make those two beds and not get those two lodgers mixedup? I declare, I'm so absent-minded myself that I've had to climb thosenarrow stairs many a day to make sure I'd done it right."
"Don't be afraid," said Jean, who had joined Bettie. "Marjory's AuntyJane has taught her to make beds beautifully, and I have a good memory.Between us we'll manage splendidly."
"But there's my garden," mourned the usually busy woman, who found ithard to lie still with folded hands in a world that seemed to beconstantly needing her. "Dear me! I don't see how I'm going to sparemyself for a whole week just when everything is growing so fast."
"We'll tend to the garden, too," promised Bettie.
"Yes, indeed we will," echoed Mabel. "We'll water everything and weed--"
"No, you won't," said Mrs. Crane, quickly. "You can do all the wateringyou like, but if I catch any of you weeding, there'll be trouble."
The young cottagers were even better than their promises, for they tookexcellent care of Mrs. Crane, the lodgers, the parrot, the canary, andthe garden, until the injured foot was well again; but while doing allthis they learned something that distressed them very much, indeed. Ofcourse they had always known in a general way that their friend was farfrom being wealthy, but they had not guessed how touchingly poor shereally was. But now they saw that her cupboard was very scantily filled,that her clothing was very much patched and mended, her shoesdistressingly worn out, and that even her dish-towels were neatlydarned.
"But we won't talk about it to people," said fine-minded Jean. "Perhapsshe wouldn't like to have everybody know."
Even Jean, however, did not guess what a comfort proud Mrs. Crane hadfound it to have her warm-hearted little friends stand between herpoverty and the sometimes-too-prying eyes of a grown-up world.
Unobservant though they had seemed, the girls did not forget about theMother-Hubbardlike state of Mrs. Crane's cupboard. After that one oftheir finest castles in Spain always had Mrs. Crane, who would have madesuch a delightful mother and who had never had any children, enthronedas its gracious mistress. When they had time to think about it at all,it always grieved them to think of their generous-natured,no-longer-young friend dreading a poverty-stricken, loveless, andperhaps homeless old age; for this, they had discovered, was preciselywhat Mrs. Crane was doing.
"If she were a little, thin, active old lady, with bobbing white curlslike Grandma Pike," said Jean, "lots of people would have a corner forher; but poor Mrs. Crane takes up so much room and is so heavy and slowthat she's going to be hard to take care of when she gets old. Oh, _why_couldn't she have had just one strong, kind son to take care of her?"
"When I'm married," offered Mabel, generously, "I'll take her to livewith me. I won't _have_ any husband if he doesn't promise to take Mrs.Crane, too."
"You shan't have her," declared Jean. "I want her myself."
"She's already promised to me," said Bettie, triumphantly. "We're goingto keep house together some place, and I'm going to be an old-maidkindergarten teacher."
"I don't think that's fair, Bettie Tucker," said Marjory, earnestly. "Idon't see how my children are to have any grandmother if she doesn'tlive with _me_. Imagine the poor little things with Aunty Jane for agrandmother!"