CHAPTER IV.
MARY'S PLAN.
During the following weeks, Mary was a very, very busy little girl. Shehad a wash day on the back porch when the suds flew in every direction,and Snowball fled upstairs to escape a bath not meant for her. Theironing was not so easy; but with help from the laundress on tucks andlace-trimmed ruffles, it was at last finished. The dolls themselves hadtheir smiling faces well scrubbed with the nail brush, and their curlscombed and brushed, after which they were dressed in their Sunday bestand carefully laid in the big oak box which had been made for thispurpose.
Next, Mary put her games in order and piled the boxes on the lowestshelf of her own little bookcase in her playroom; and then she sortedher books, putting all those which had only pictures and no readingmatter in them on the shelf above the games; the A, B, C books andnursery rhymes on the one above that; and the story books, which shethought the twins would not use for some time, on the top shelf.
She did not finish her task until the Saturday before school opened, forthere were many other things to be done every day. She could not neglecther pets nor her own little flower garden which she herself had dug andraked and hoed and planted with seeds, bulbs, and slips which Dan hadgiven her. Every day, she chose the fairest blossoms to place before hermother's beautiful statue of our Blessed Lady.
But by far the greater part of her time was spent with her mother andlittle sisters. Each morning found her laying out the fresh clothingneeded for the twins after their bath. Then she made ready their littlebeds, and Aunt Mandy always let her hold first one baby and then theother for a few minutes before tucking them in for their nap. It seemedto Mary a very strange hour to go to sleep. She thought every one oughtto be quite wide awake by that time of the morning; but she had learnedon the first day of her little sisters' lives that there is a greatdifference between babies and big girls of seven, just as there isbetween seven-year-olds and grown-ups.
The first of September came all too quickly. The thought of leaving thedarling babies for five hours which she must spend at school every daymade her wish that her mother would teach her at home as she had donethe winter before. Not that Mary disliked school. The few months in thespring, which she had spent at a convent day school, had been such happyones that she had been really sorry when school closed, and, until thebabies came, had longed for September so that she might again sit at herlittle desk with Sister Florian smiling down at her and ever so manyclassmates with whom to romp at recess.
But now things were very different; and as she lay in her little brassbed the night before school opened, she wondered how her mother and AuntMandy could very well spare her during those long hours at the academy.Only that day, her mother had made her very happy by saying that she didnot know what they would do without her. Since that was the case, Maryfelt quite sure that it would be much better to have lessons with hermother.
She had done so well the winter before that, when she began to attendschool, she was put in a class which had finished the First Readerbefore Easter and was just beginning the Second. During the summer, shehad read all the lessons in that book, going to her mother for help withwords that she could not quite make out. She had a habit of readingaloud even when alone, so that Mrs. Selwyn, passing from room to room,was often able to correct words which the child did not pronounceproperly. The little girl laughed softly at the memory of one of hermistakes. She was reading a story of a little queen of England, and wascalling one man in it the "Duck of Cucumbers." Her mother entered theroom just in time to hear the dreadful mistake; and Mary soon saw thather duck was a duke--the Duke of Cumberland. From that time, she wasmore careful, for she knew that she would not like her father to becalled a duck if he were a duke.
Yes, she was quite sure that she could do just as well, or even better,with her lessons at home if--and this was the important point--hermother had time to teach her. This thought had kept her from talking thematter over with her mother as she was in the habit of doing. She knewthat the care of two babies takes a great deal of time and that hermother needed rest, too, when they were asleep. But what of her fatherand uncle? They could help her in the evenings. The Doctor often askedher to read to him after dinner, and why could she not read the lessonsin the Third Reader?--for Mary had quite made up her mind that theSecond Reader was much too easy for a school book. Sometimes, too, heteased her about the "tootums table." Yes, her uncle would surely helpher with reading and number work, and her father with Catechism andspelling. She would slip down stairs to ask them before she went tosleep, and then surprise her mother with the plan in the morning.
Waiting only long enough to put on her pretty blue kimono and slippers,she crept from her room and down the stairs to the library, where thetwo men sat smoking.
"Why, pet, what is the matter? are you ill?" her father asked anxiouslyas he took her on his knee.
"Oh, no, Father! It would never do for me to get sick now when Motherand Aunt Mandy are so busy with the babies. Something popped into myhead a little while ago, and I couldn't go to sleep until I had askedyou about it."
"It would not keep until morning, I suppose," laughed the Doctor.
"Of course it would keep, Uncle; but you know there is never very muchtime to talk things over in the morning."
"Very true; and beginning with to-morrow, you will be almost too busy tospeak to anyone in the morning."
"Oh, I shall find time to say a few things at breakfast; but Mother willbe there, too, and this is something that she must not hear a word aboutuntil it is all settled."
"Out with it then! You should be sound asleep by this time."
"Yes, pet, Uncle is right; so let us hear your plan quickly."
"I have been thinking for ever so long that Mother and Aunt Mandy needme so much to help with the twins that I ought to stay home to do it.Mother says she doesn't see how they are going to get along without me.I can save them a great many steps, you know, and do ever so many littlethings while they are doing the big ones; and if I go to school, Ishall be away at the very busiest time."
It was well that Mary did not see the twinkle in the eyes of bothgentlemen.
"But I thought you so much enjoyed going to school that you were sorrywhen vacation began."
"Yes, Father, I liked it ever so much in the spring, and I s'pose itwould be the same now; but when Mother needs me, I think I ought to stayat home to help her; don't you?"
Mr. Selwyn looked very thoughtful indeed.
"Of course, dear, Mother must have all the help she needs; but it seemsto me that it would be too bad to keep you home from school. Youreducation is a very important thing, you know. Would it not be better toengage another maid to help about the house and let Liza assist Motherand Aunt Mandy?"
"But I don't mean that I would stop studying my lessons every day.Sister Florian said that Mother must be a fine teacher when I could skipKindergarten and Primer and First Reader; but she has no time to help menow. The thing that popped into my head is that I would ask you andUncle Frank to teach me in the evenings if you wouldn't mind doing it."
"Rather young to attend night school, eh, Rob? I, for one, should enjoyteaching you, Goldilocks; but for little girls of your age, I objectstrongly to night study. The morning and early afternoon are the propertimes for you to study and recite, and the evening is the time to petyour old uncle."
"I, too, would gladly help you with your studies, but I agree with Uncleabout the proper time for such things. If there were no good schools foryou to attend, we should engage a governess for you; but such anarrangement is not always best, either. In a schoolroom, a child learnsmuch from hearing the others recite, and is taught many, many things notin books. At school, too, she has playmates of her own age. So be readyto keep me company in the morning. I have missed by little companionvery much during these weeks of vacation. The walk to school and backwill do you good. I fear that you have been in the house entirely toomuch of late."
"O Father, I was just going to ask you to have Tom drive y
ou to youroffice and drop me off at the convent. Then I wouldn't have to be awayfrom the darling babies _quite_ so long, you know."
"But what of us, I should like to know? Your father and I leave thehouse as early as you do, and do not return until six or after in theevening. He cannot even come home to luncheon. How about that, eh?"
"That _is_ so, Uncle, isn't it? From half-past eight to six--how manyhours is that?"
"Nine and one-half hours."
"Oh, dear, _me_! Well, if you and Father can stand it all that time, Iought to be able to stay away during school hours."
"In wet weather, of course, Tom will drive you to and from school, buton fine days you must be out of doors as much as possible. Then yourappetite will improve, and you will grow strong, and those rosy cheekswhich you brought from the seashore, but have since lost, will return. Ifear that you are taking the babies too seriously. Remember, dear, youare not much more than a baby yourself."
"Why, _Father_! I am seven whole years and three whole months old!"
"Add three or four days and you will have it exactly. But in spite ofall these years, months, and days, you are our _little_ Mary and willstill be so when you are twice seven and even three times seven yearsold."
"Twice seven is the same as seven twos, and three times seven is seventhrees--_then_ I shall have to fast. Surely, by _that_ time, Father, youcan't call me _little_. No one could call you and Uncle little, and Is'pose you are about twenty-one."
"You will have to add many years to seven threes for my age. Make itbetween seven fives and sixes, and Uncle's something more than sevenfours."
"'M, 'm,--then how many sevens is Mr. Conway, Father? He _looks_ almostas old as Santa Claus."
"He was seven times eleven years old last month."
"I know! the elevens are easy up to ten times eleven. Mr. Conway isseventy-seven; but I shall have to think about you and Uncle."
"No fair peeping into your arithmetic, young lady!" laughed the Doctor.
"That just reminds me of something. Will you please see Sister Florianin the morning, Father, and ask her to give me a new reader?"
"Have you lost your book, or is it worn out?"
"Neither, Father. It is too easy. It is only the Second Reader, and Ican read all the lessons in it; so I think I had better have the Third;don't you?"
"Sister Florian will be the best judge of that, pet. Are you as well upin your other studies as you are in reading? How about number work?"
"That is the hardest thing of all, Father."
"Then it would be well to devote to that study the time when the otherchildren are preparing their reading; would it not?"
"Ye--es, Father, I s'pose it would."
"And remember what I have said, dear, about Berta and Beth. Just lookupon them as playmates, and Liza will attend to the many, many thingsthat you have been doing to help Mother. Your studies will be dutiesenough for you until you are quite a little older; and all the daylighthours when you are not in school must be spent outdoors playing withRosemary and those other little girls whom Mother said you might bringhome from school with you last spring. Their parents are friends ofours."
"But can't I be with Mother and the babies at _all_, Father?"
"Indeed, yes! Mother or Aunt Mandy will walk down to the convent withthe babies in their carriage to meet you every afternoon, and you maycome home the long way if you like. You will have the whole evening toenjoy yourself in the house; and as the days grow shorter, you will notbe able to stay outdoors until dinner time."
"Oh, goody! Will they soon begin to grow shorter, Father?"
"They began to do so two months ago," was the laughing reply.
"But if I eat more at meals, may I come in about five o'clock even if itis not getting dark?"
"Well, if you eat a _great deal_ more, I may relent a little. A child ofyour age should not have it to say that she is not hungry when meal timecomes."
"Why, I do believe I am hungry right now!"
"So am I! Come, let us play 'Old Mother Hubbard' and see if Susie putaway any necks or backbones of those chickens we had for dinner," andthe Doctor caught her up and carried her off to the kitchen.
"He is almost as much a child as she is," thought Mr. Selwyn. "Strangethat her little head should be filled with such grown-up ideas andchildish notions at the same time."
But it was not really so strange as Mr. Selwyn thought; for Mary's lifehad been spent for the most part among grown people, and the thoughtfulcare shown by her parents and uncle for one another had taught her manylessons of unselfishness and regard for the feelings of others. At thesame time, she loved her dolls and toys, and played wonderful games ofmake believe, when she peopled her playroom with the little girls andboys who sometimes visited her. So, if in one way, she showed a wisdombeyond her years and behaved in a very motherly manner toward the twins,in another, she was just a happy child of seven, quite ready to join inthe games and frolics of little children her own age, or of big childrenlike the Doctor.
"The cupboard will surely be bare, Uncle, for it is too warm to keepthings to eat in there now."
"We shall make believe that the icebox is the cupboard.... Oh, _my_!"
"Have you found something good? What is it?"
"Quite enough for a little spread for two. Hold this while I get theseother things," and the Doctor handed her a platter with the greater partof a chicken on it. Then, with a chuckle, he took lettuce, celery, andfruit from the icebox.
"We shall have our spread on the kitchen table. Now for the pantry! Thisreminds me of old times. I remember well the many times Aunt Mandycaught me at the jam jar in this same old pantry."
"But surely Aunt Mandy didn't say anything to _you_ for taking it."
"Didn't she, indeed! But it was not what she _said_, but what she _did_,that really counted. I was only a little shaver of five, though I am notexcusing myself on that account; for I grew worse with age, and treatedmy friends through the pantry window. Where _is_ that bread box!--Come,now, pull up a chair and begin. Your father does not know what he ismissing. He thinks late suppers do not agree with old folks like him;but for young people like us--"
He was interrupted by a merry laugh from the little girl, who sat facingthe open door, and turning, he saw his sister in the doorway.
"You two rogues! I came down to find Mary, for I was afraid she waswalking in her sleep. Beth has been so restless that I have not beenable to go to bed; and after she became quiet, I stole into Mary's roomand found it empty."
"Come and have a few bites with us. You look worn out. Goldilocks camedown to plan a surprise for you, which Rob and I nipped in the bud. Ifear that she is somewhat disappointed; but you would agree with us, Iam sure."
Many a time during the latter part of October did the two men regretthat they had not granted the little girl's wish--not that their ideason the subject had changed in the least, but because of an event whichplunged every member of the household into intense suffering and grief.