CHAPTER 5
Poverty in the Cottage
"There's no use talking," said Jean, one day, as the girls sat at theirdining-room table eating very smoky toast and drinking the weakest ofcocoa, "we'll have to get some provisions of our own before long ifwe're going to invite Mr. Black to dinner as we promised. The cupboard'sperfectly empty and Bridget says I can't take another scrap of bread orone more potato out of the house this week."
"Aunty Jane says there'll be trouble," said Marjory, "if I don't keepout of her ice box, so I guess I can't bring any more milk. When shesays there'll be trouble, there usually is, if I'm not pretty careful.But dear me, it _is_ such fun to cook our own meals on that dear littlebox-stove, even if most of the things do taste pretty awful."
"I wish," said Mabel, mournfully, "that somebody would give us a hen, sowe could make omelets."
"Who ever made omelets out of a hen?" asked Jean, laughing.
"I meant out of the eggs, of course," said Mabel, with dignity. "Henslay eggs, don't they? If we count on five or six eggs a day--"
"The goose that laid the golden egg laid only one a day," said Marjory."It seems to me that six is a good many."
"I wasn't talking about geese," said Mabel, "but about just plaineveryday hens."
"Six-every-day hens, you mean, don't you?" asked Marjory, teasingly."You'd better wish for a cow, too, while you're about it."
"Yes," said Bettie, "we certainly need one, for I'm not to ask forbutter more than twice a week. Mother says she'll be in the poorhousebefore summer's over if she has to provide butter for _two_ families."
"I just tell you what it is, girls," said Jean, nibbling her cinderycrust, "we'll just have to earn some money if we're to give Mr. Blackany kind of a dinner."
Mabel, who always accepted new ideas with enthusiasm, slipped quietlyinto the kitchen, took a solitary lemon from the cupboard, cut it inhalf, and squeezed the juice into a broken-nosed pitcher. This done, sheadded a little sugar and a great deal of water to the lemon juice,slipped quietly out of the back door, ran around the house and in at thefront door, taking a small table from the front room. This she carriedout of doors to the corner of the lot facing the street, where sheestablished her lemonade stand.
She was almost immediately successful, for the day was warm, and Mrs.Bartholomew Crane, who was entertaining two visitors on her front porch,was glad of an opportunity to offer her guests something in the way ofrefreshment. The cottage boasted only one glass that did not leak, butMabel cheerfully made three trips across the street with it--it did notoccur to any of them until too late it would have been easier to carrythe pitcher across in the first place. The lemonade was decidedly weak,but the visitors were too polite to say so. On her return, a thirstysmall boy offered Mabel a nickel for all that was left in the pitcher,and Mabel, after a moment's hesitation, accepted the offer.
"You're getting a bargain," said Mabel. "There's as much as a glass andthree quarters there, besides all the lemon."
"Did you get a whole pitcherful out of one lemon?" asked the boy. "You'dbe able to make circus lemonade all right."
Before the other girls had had time to discover what had become of her,the proprietor of the lemonade stand marched into the cottage andproudly displayed four shining nickels and the empty pitcher.
"Why, where in the world did you get all that?" cried Marjory. "Surelyyou never earned it by being on time for meals--you've been late threetimes a day ever since we got the cottage."
"Sold lemonade," said Mabel. "Our troubles are over, girls. I'm going tobuy _two_ lemons tomorrow and sell twice as much."
"Good!" cried Bettie, "I'll help. The boys have promised to bring me alot of arbutus tonight--they went to the woods this morning. I'll tie itin bunches and perhaps we can sell that, too."
"Wouldn't it be splendid if we could have Mr. Black here to dinner nextSaturday?" said Jean. "I'll never be satisfied until we've kept thatpromise, but I don't suppose we could possibly get enough thingstogether by that time."
"I have a sample can of baking powder," offered Marjory, hopefully."I'll bring it over next time I come."
"What's the good?" asked matter-of-fact Mabel. "We can't feed Mr. Blackon just plain baking powder, and we haven't any biscuits to raise withit."
"Dear me," said Jean, "I wish we hadn't been so extravagant at first. Ifwe hadn't had so many tea parties last week, we might get enough flourand things at home. Mother says it's too expensive having all hergroceries carried off."
"Never mind," consoled Mabel, confidently. "We'll be buying our owngroceries by this time tomorrow with the money we make selling lemonade.A boy said my lemonade was quite as good as you can buy at the circus."
Unfortunately, however, it rained the next day and the next, so lemonadewas out of the question. By the time it cleared, Bettie's neat littlebunches of arbutus were no longer fresh, and careless Mabel hadforgotten where she had put the money. She mentioned no fewer thantwenty-two places where the four precious nickels might be, but none ofthem happened to be the right one.
"Mercy me," said Bettie, "it's dreadful to be so poor! I'm afraid we'llhave to invite Mr. Black to one of our bread-and-sugar tea-parties,after all."
"No," said Jean, firmly. "We've just got to give him a regularseven-course dinner--he has 'em every day at home. We'll have to put itoff until we can do it in style."
"By and by," said Mabel, "we'll have beans and radishes and things inour own garden, and we can go to the woods for berries."
"Perhaps," said Bettie, hopefully, "one of the boys might catch afish--Rob _almost_ did, once."
"I suppose I could ask Aunty Jane for a potato once in a while," saidMarjory, "but I'll have to give her time to forget about last month'sgrocery bill--she says we never before used so many eggs in one monthand I guess Maggie _did_ give me a good many. Potatoes will keep, youknow. We can save 'em until we have enough for a meal."
"While we're about it," said Bettie, "I think we'd better have Mrs.Crane to dinner, too. She's such a nice old lady and she's been awfullygood to us."
"She's not very well off," agreed Mabel, "and probably a real,first-class dinner would taste good to her."
"But," pleaded Bettie, "don't let's ask her until we're sure of thedate. As it is, I can't sleep nights for thinking of how Mr. Black mustfeel. He'll think we don't want him."
"You'd better explain to him," suggested Jean, "that it isn't convenientto have him just yet, but that we're going to just as soon as ever wecan. We mustn't tell him why, because it would be just like him to sendthe provisions here himself, and then it wouldn't really be _our_party."
In spite of all the girls' plans, however, by the end of the week thecottage larder was still distressingly empty. Marjory had, indeed,industriously collected potatoes, only to have them carried off by anequally industrious rat; and Mabel's four nickels still remainedmissing. Things in the vegetable garden seemed singularly backward,possibly because the four eager gardeners kept digging them up to see ifthey were growing. Their parents and Marjory's Aunty Jane were firmerthan ever in their refusal to part with any more staple groceries.
Perhaps if the girls had explained why they wanted the things, theirrelatives would have been more generous; but girllike, the fourpoverty-stricken young housekeepers made a deep mystery of their dinnerplan. It was their most cherished secret, and when they met each morningthey always said, mysteriously, "Good morning--remember M. B. D.," whichmeant, of course, "Mr. Black's Dinner."
Mr. Black, indeed, never went by without referring to the girls'promise.
"When," he would ask, "is that dinner party coming off? It's a long timesince I've been invited to a first-class dinner, cooked by fouraccomplished young ladies, and I'm getting hungrier every minute. WhenI get up in the morning I always say: 'Now I won't eat much breakfastbecause I've got to save room for that dinner'--and then, after all, Idon't get invited."
The situation was growing really embarrassing. The girls began to feelthat keeping house, not to mention givin
g dinner parties, with no incomewhatever, was anything but a joke.