CHAPTER 18
A Hurried Retreat
The girls, of course, had been barred out while all these excitinglatest events were taking place in their dear cottage; but Marjory, wholived next door to it, had seen something of the Milligans' hasty exitand had guessed at part of the truth. Mrs. Knapp, who seemed a pleasant,likable little woman, in spite of her unwillingness to accommodate hernew landlord, unknowingly confirmed their suspicions when she told herfriend Mrs. Crane about it; for Mrs. Crane, in her turn, told the newsto the four little housekeepers the next morning as they sat homelessand forlorn on her doorstep. It was always Mrs. Crane to whom theDandelion Cottagers turned whenever they were in need of consolationand, as in this case, consolation was usually forthcoming.
The girls, in their excitement at hearing the news about their latepossession, did not notice that sympathetic Mrs. Crane looked tired andworried as she sat, in the big red rocking chair on her porch, peelingpotatoes.
"Oh!" squealed Mabel, from the broad arm of Mrs. Crane's chair, "I'mglad! I'm glad! I'm glad!"
"I can't help being a little bit glad, too," said fair-minded Jean. "Isuppose it wasn't very pleasant for the Milligans, but I guess theydeserved all they got."
"They deserved a great deal more," said Marjory, resentfully. "Think ofthese last awful days!"
"If they'd had _much_ more," said Mrs. Crane, "they'd have been drowned.Why, children! the place was just flooded."
"I'm ashamed to tell of it," said Bettie, "but I'm awfully afraid thatour boys took off part of the pieces of tin that they nailed on the rooflast spring. I heard them doing _something_ up there the night wemoved; but Bob only grinned when I asked him about it."
"Good for the boys!" cried Marjory, gleefully. "I wouldn't be unladylikeenough to set traps for the Milligans myself, but I can't help feelingglad that somebody else did."
"It was Bob's own tin," giggled delighted Mabel, almost tumbling intoMrs. Crane's potato pan in her joy. "I guess he had a right to take ithome if he wanted to."
"Anyway," said Jean, from her perch on the porch railing, "I'm gladthey're gone."
"But it doesn't do _us_ any good," sighed Bettie. "And the summer's justflying."
"Yes, it does," insisted Jean. "We _can_ stand having the cottageempty--we can pretend, you know, that it's an enchanted castle that canbe opened only by a certain magic key that--"
"Somebody's baby has swallowed," shrieked Mabel, the matter-of-fact.
"Mercy no, goosie," said Marjory. "She means a magic word that nobodycan remember."
"That's it," said Jean. "Of course we couldn't do even that with thecottage full of Milligans."
"No," assented Marjory, "the most active imagination would refuse toactivate--"
"To _what_?" gasped Mabel.
"To work," explained Marjory.
"I should say so," agreed Mabel, again threatening the potatoes. "It wasjust as much as I could do to come over here this morning to breathe thesame air with that cottage with those folks in it staring me in theface, but now--"
"After all," sighed Bettie, sorrowfully, from the other arm of Mrs.Crane's big chair, "having the Milligans out of the cottage doesn't make_much_ difference, as long as we're out, too. Oh, I _did_ love thatlittle house so. I just hated to think of cold weather coming to driveus out; but I never dreamed of anything so dreadful as having to leaveit right in this lovely warm weather."
"If Mr. Black had stayed in town," said Mabel, feelingly, "we'd bedusting that darling cottage this very minute."
Mrs. Crane sniffed in the odd way she always did whenever Mr. Black'sname was mentioned. This scornful sniff, accompanying Mrs. Crane'sevident disapproval of their dearest friend, was the only thing that thegirls disliked about Mrs. Crane.
"I _know_ you'd like Mr. Black if you only knew him," said Bettie,earnestly. "In some ways you're a good deal like him. You're both thesame color, your eyebrows turn up the same way at the outside corners,and you both like us. Mr. Black has a beautiful soul."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Crane. "And haven't I a beautiful soul too?"
"Why, of course," said Bettie, leaning down to rub her cheek againstMrs. Crane's. "I meant _both_ of you. We like you both just the same."
"Only it's different," explained Jean. "Mr. Black doesn't need us, andsometimes you do. We _like_ to do things for you."
"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Crane, "for I need you this very minute.But don't you be too sure about his not needing you as well. He mustlead a pretty lonely life, because it's years since his wife died. Inever heard of anybody else liking her, but I guess _he_ did. He's oneof the faithful kind, maybe, for he's lived all alone in that great bighouse ever since. I guess it does him good to have you little girls forfriends."
"What was his wife like?" asked Mabel, eagerly. "Did you use to knowher?"
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Crane, again giving the objectionable sniff."That is, not so very well--a little light-headed, useless thing, nomore fit to keep house--but there! there. It doesn't make any difference_now_, and I've learned that it isn't the best housekeepers that getmarried easiest. If it was, I wouldn't be so worried _now_."
"Is anything the matter?" asked Jean, quick to note the distress in Mrs.Crane's voice.
"Yes," returned the good woman, "there are two things the matter."
"Your poor foot?" queried Bettie, instantly all sympathy.
"No, the foot's all right. It's Mr. Barlow and my eyes. Mr. Barlow isgoing to be married to a young lady he's been writing to for a longtime, and I'm going to lose him because he wants to keep house. It won'tbe easy to find another lodger for that little, shabby, old-fashionedroom. I'm trying to make a new rag carpet for it, but I'm all at astandstill because I can't see to thread my needle. I declare, I don'tknow what is going to become of me."
"When I grow up," said Bettie, "you shall live with me."
"But what am I to do while I'm waiting for you to grow up?" asked Mrs.Crane, smiling at Bettie's protecting manner.
"Let us be your eyes," suggested Jean. "Couldn't we thread about amillion needles for you? Don't you think a million would last all day?"
"I should think it might," said Mrs. Crane, somewhat comforted. "Ihaven't quite a million, but if Marjory will get my cushion and a spoolof cotton I'll be very glad to have you thread all I have."
The girls worked in silence for fully five minutes. Then Mabel jabbedthe solitary needle she had threaded into the sawdust cushion and said:
"Don't you suppose Mr. Downing might let us have the cottage _now_, ifwe went to him? Nobody else seems to care about it. What do you think,Mrs. Crane?"
"Why, my dear, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to ask. You'd bettersee what your own people think about it."
"Let's go ask them now," cried impetuous Mabel, springing to her feet.Forgetting all about the needles and without waiting to say good-by toMrs. Crane, the eager girl made a diagonal rush for the corner nearesther own home.
The others remained long enough to thread all the needles. Then they,too, went home with the news about the cottage and about Mrs. Crane.They were realizing, for the first time, that their good friend mightbecome helpless long before they were ready to use her as a grandmotherfor their children, but they couldn't see just what was to be done aboutit. The idea of going to Mr. Downing, however, soon drove every otherthought away, for the parents and Aunty Jane, too, advised them to ask.They even encouraged them.
But when Jean and Bettie, hopefully dressed in their Sunday-best, andMarjory and Mabel, with their abundant locks elaborately curledbesides, presented themselves and their request at Mr. Downing's housethat evening, they were not at all encouraged by their reception.
Mr. Downing, a man of moods, had just come off second-best in anencounter with Mrs. Milligan, whom he had accidentally met on his wayhome to dinner, and, at the moment the girls appeared, the cottage wasjust about the last subject that the badgered man cared to discuss.Before Jean had fairly stated her errand, the enraged Mr. Downing roared"_No!_" so emphat
ically that his four alarmed visitors backed hurriedlyoff the Downing porch and fled as one girl. Mabel, to be sure, measuredher length in the canna bed near the gate, but she scrambled up,snorting with fright and indignation, and none of them paused again intheir flight until Jean's door, which seemed safest, had closed behindthem.