CHAPTER IV--A Picture and a Party
Lydia's good times began every morning when she opened her eyes andleaned over the edge of the bed to see how Lucy Locket had spent thenight in her new white cradle.
And all day long Lydia was so busy that at night she had been known tofall asleep on Father's lap upstairs, and not remember a single thingabout going to bed at all. After breakfast she dried the dishes for hermother, and no one could dust a room any better than could Lydia Blake.Then out to market with Mother, and home again to wheel the dollcarriage up and down the sunshiny street.
And who do you think rode in the carriage? It really belonged to LucyLocket. But when day after day Miss Puss Whitetoes snuggled down on thecushions and held up her paws so that Lydia could fasten the carriagestrap, Lydia couldn't resist giving sly Miss Puss a ride. And LucyLocket didn't mind at all. She was a great sleepy-head, and likednothing better than to lie in her cradle. Sometimes, too, Lydia wouldprop her up in the front window and wave to the smiling Lucy every timeshe wheeled the carriage past the house. At first Miss Puss would sit upstraight like a baby, with her paws folded in front of her, but littleby little her eyes would close and she would slip down until all youcould see was one gray ear. And by that time Lydia herself was ready togo into the house.
And her afternoons were busy too. For one day Mr. Blake said,
"Lydia, would you like to give a present to Friend Morris?"
Yes, indeed, Lydia would.
"I can make nice horse-reins on a spool, Father," said she, proud of heraccomplishment.
"I know you can," said Mr. Blake. "But I was wondering if Friend Morriswouldn't like a picture of you dressed like a little Quaker girl. Motherwill make the dress, just like the one Friend Morris wore when she was alittle girl. I will paint the picture, and you shall give it to her. Ibelieve Friend Morris would like that present."
"I think she would too," said Lydia, who herself liked the idea ofdressing up. "It's much nicer than horse-reins."
So Mother made a little gray dress, with a white kerchief, and a whitecap. And over the cap Lydia wore a little gray Quaker bonnet.
Then every afternoon, she stood very still while Mr. Blake painted thepicture, looking from Lydia to the canvas and back again at Lydia.
"Couldn't Miss Puss be in the picture, too?" asked Lydia. "She is allgray and white, just like me."
So Miss Puss was put in the picture, sitting as still as could be atLydia's feet. Mr. Blake worked quickly, and so the picture was soonfinished, and it happened that the very next day Lydia had a party. MaryEllen and Sammy and Polly and little Tom were coming with Miss Martin tospend the afternoon.
When Lydia saw the children walking up the street, their friendly facesshining with soap and water and happy smiles, she hopped up and down inthe window and waved both hands in greeting. If she had been a boy shewould have turned a somersault, I know.
"Is this our quiet little Lydia?" Miss Martin asked Mrs. Blake, with alaugh. "What have you done to her?"
For Lydia was dragging the children into her bedroom, and telling themof Mother and Father and Miss Puss, and bidding them look at LucyLocket's cradle, and the doll carriage, and the picture-books, all inone breath, and before they even had time to take off their hats andcoats. From the noise, and the confusion, and the rushing about, and thesound of many voices all talking at once, as Lydia took them from oneend to the other of that little house, you might have thought that alltwenty children from the Children's Home had come visiting instead offour!
But after a little they quieted down, and when Mrs. Blake and MissMartin peeped in at them, this peaceful scene met their eyes. Sammy waslying flat on the floor, lost in a picture-book of cowboys and Indiansgalloping madly over the Western plains. Polly was wheeling lazy MissPuss up and down the hall. Over in a corner, sure that no one waslooking at him, little Tom had turned his back upon the world, and wascomfortably rocking Lucy Locket to sleep as he swayed to and fro in thelittle rocking-chair. In the closet, Lydia was proudly showing herQuaker dress to the admiring Mary Ellen. When she spied her mother--
"May I put it on?" she asked. "Mary Ellen thinks it's almost as good asa Red Cross nurse."
"Would you like to dress up as a nurse yourself this afternoon, MaryEllen?" asked Mrs. Blake, who read a longing in Mary Ellen's eye.
And in a twinkling you wouldn't have known happy Mary Ellen. For a bigcooking-apron covered her from neck to heels, and, with a Red Cross capon her head, you couldn't have found a better nurse if you had searchedthe whole world over. Polly was turned into a fine lady, in a silkdress, a lace cap, and three strings of beads about her neck. Suchflauntings and preenings, such bowing and curtsying as the three littlepeacocks indulged in, what time they weren't admiring themselves in themirror! They looked up to see Mr. Blake laughing at them in the doorway.He made a low bow and shook them by the hand as if they had been realgrown-up people.
"Aren't you going to do anything for the boys?" he asked, for Sammy andTom were looking on with envious eyes. "Come upstairs with me, boys.I've a trunkful of things to wear." And so he had, to use when he waspainting pictures.
Such shouting and laughing as now floated down from the studio! Thelittle girls sat at the foot of the stairs, and every now and then theywould creep a step higher. At last the door opened and they started upwith a rush, but it was only Father speaking to Miss Martin.
"Do you mind if I put paint on their faces?" he asked.
"Not a bit," said Miss Martin, who was used to all kinds of antics onthe part of her brood, and who never said "no" when she could possiblyanswer "yes."
"But not on their mouths, Father," called Mother. "We haven't had thereal party yet."
Then the door closed again, for hours and hours it seemed to Lydia andPolly and Mary Ellen, though Mother said it was only ten minutes by theclock.
But when Mr. Blake called "All aboard!" and they trooped up into thestudio, they forgot their long wait in admiration at what they saw. Forthere stood an Indian, wearing a real deerskin over his shoulders, andwith real deerskin leggings that ended in gay beaded moccasins. On hishead was a gorgeous feather head-dress, and in his hands he carried abow and arrow. His face was ornamented with spots and stripes andsplashes of red and yellow and blue paint. He was not a veryfierce-looking warrior, for he was grinning from ear to ear, and whenthe girls saw that smile, they knew.
"Sammy!" said Lydia and Polly and Mary Ellen in a breath.
As for Tom, there he stood in a black velvet cloak, and a big black hat,with green plumes drooping off the edge. He had a big black curlingmustache that almost covered his face, but the pride of his heart was apair of high, shiny, black boots, so big for him that he couldn't take astep without holding on to them with both hands for fear of losing themoff. He wore a short wooden sword thrust in his belt, and I really don'tknow what the fine lady and the Quakeress would have done without thatsword. For they immediately set sail down Studio River in a boat made oftwo chairs and a stool. Tom's sword kept the alligators and crocodilesfrom climbing into the boat after them. But alas! they were attacked byan Indian brave, skulking in the woods. They were all but killed by him,but were speedily brought back to health by a Red Cross nurse, whohappened to be taking a stroll that afternoon in those selfsame woods.
This was such a good game that they played it over and over again, untilMrs. Blake called them to come to the "real party," and that they werequite ready to do. Sandwiches, little cakes, cups of milk disappearedlike magic. They ate and ate and ate until even Sammy could eat no more.
Then there came a knock at the door, and who should it be but FriendMorris! She stared in surprise at all of them, but at Lydia most of all.And when Mr. Blake whispered in Lydia's ear, and she led Friend Morrisover to the picture Father had painted for her, it was a long timebefore Friend Morris had a word to say. She looked and looked at thepicture, and she looked and looked at Lydia. Lydia couldn't tell whetherFriend Morris was going to laugh or cry.
"Don't you like t
he present?" asked Lydia. "I wanted to make youhorse-reins, but Father said you would like this better."
"Like it, Friend Lydia?" said Mrs. Morris at last. "There isn't anotherpresent in the whole world that I would like so well as this."
Lydia and Father and Mother nodded and smiled at one another. They wereso glad that Friend Morris was pleased, and that their present was asuccess.
Then, cozily, they all gathered round the open fire, and each of thechildren hung up an apple on a string to roast before the blaze. Theyturned and turned the string to cook the apples through and through, andwhen at last they were done, a grown person might have thought themburned in spots and raw in others, but the children ate them with thegreatest relish.
And while they watched the apples twist and turn, and the flames riseand fall--
"Would thee like me to tell a story?" asked Friend Morris, with a handon Lydia's Quaker cap,--"a story my grandmother used to tell me, of alittle Quaker girl who lived a long time ago?"
"Are there Indians in it?" demanded Sammy, admiring, with head on oneside, his deerskin leggings stretched before him.
Friend Morris nodded, and every one settled back comfortably to hear thestory she had to tell.