The Wide Awake Girls in Winsted Part 7

"He and Winifred are coming. They were going to bring a rug Win's mother said we could have, and two lamps."

"They will enjoy carrying them over this hot afternoon!" said Bess, deftly hemming a curtain. "But it can't be so bad as this morning.

Girls, we had a perfectly dreadful time. It was all on account of that terrible little Swinburne boy. You see, we thought we'd take the big Penfield boat, instead of the canoes, and just as we were pus.h.i.+ng off, that child stepped into the boat from the dock and announced serenely that he was going boating-ride. He did look dear, and quite clean, and we all knew that it was hard to make him change his mind, so we let him come. He sat very still and was as good as gold till we had got a long way from home, and then he began."

Catherine sighed appreciatively. "I can imagine, Bess dear. But do tell us."

"You can't imagine. n.o.body could. He talked a blue streak. And the things he said! He asked what he was made of, and how G.o.d got the eyes in. He told about somebody's having a tooth out and went into dreadful details. And then he got off on a worse tack, and asked Archie where his wife was, and when Archie said he wasn't married, he sighed and looked so sorry, and said: 'Wasn't you _ever_ marwied, Archie? Not even once?' He simply spoiled our morning. It wasn't so much what he did say, as what we thought he might be going to. We had to turn around and come home long before we wanted to, just on account of that child."

"If you had only thought to have Win sing to him," said Catherine. "He will drop off to sleep with the least a.s.sistance, even when he seems widest awake, and Win's lullabies are irresistible. There! that's the last curtain. And there come Archie and Win with a donkey-cart, and--why, what do you think they have? It can't be just a rug and two lamps."

Every one broke off work to go to meet the donkey-cart, a low, long, box affair, with Winifred and Archie on the seat, and a quant.i.ty of furniture and boxes in the back.

Algernon, still holding a brush, took the donkey by the bridle and backed him up.

"There, unload everything. It's all right. I sent these folks after them. Didn't have time to go myself. Yes, yes, they belong here. The Three R's sent the table."

With eager exclamations, the boys and girls unloaded six chairs, an oak table, a rocker, a box spilling over with stationery and colored cards, a miscellaneous lot of books, two neat rugs and half a dozen lamps of a variety of styles and shapes.

"The Three R's gave the table and chairs," explained Algernon, "and Mrs.

Kittredge said to call at her house for the rocker and some of those lamps. And these other things I bought. Miss Crockett over at Hampton told me what to order and they came to-day, and I opened them up at the house."

Catherine came up beside Algernon and watched him unpack the boxes of cards, pens, paper clips, mending tissue, paste, shears and other new and s.h.i.+ning articles. She was distinctly surprised. A large share of their little capital must have gone into these purchases. And Algernon had told no one, not even herself, that he was buying them.

Dorcas caught up a sheet of the paper.

"It seems to me it's rather fresh of you to spend the a.s.sociation's money for paper with your name on it, without knowing whether the permanent organization will want you or not."

The glow faded from Algernon's eyes. The consideration with which he had been treated these last few days had taught him to estimate properly the tolerance which had been all he had received before. Catherine, even, looked puzzled and not quite pleased.

"O, I say," he protested sadly. "You don't think I'd go and spend the public money, do you? I thought it would be fun to have these things all ready. I didn't know you'd rather have had me give the money and let the rest of you send in the order. I just did it for my share,--I'm awfully sorry."

Catherine lifted her head brightly.

"Indeed, you did exactly right. None of us would have known half so wisely how to use it. What did I tell you people? How many towns have librarians who work without pay, and furnish all their materials besides?"

Bert suddenly mounted the seat of the donkey-cart.

"What's the matter with the Boat Club?" he inquired hoa.r.s.ely.

"We're all right," modestly replied the Boat Club, boys and girls together.

"What's the matter with the Three R's?"

"They're all right."

"What's the matter with the library?"

"It's all right."

"And now three cheers and a tiger for A. Swinburne, librarian. Hip, hip, hooray!"

CHAPTER FIVE

A DAY OFF

"Not going over to the library to work to-day?"

"Not this morning. Mother Nature says I'd better not."

Dr. Helen put her hand on her daughter's forehead. "Too tired?" she queried, with a note of anxiety in her voice. It had been only in the last year or so that Catherine had been well enough to do the things other girls did, and she was always on the lookout for indications of over-exertion.

"No," answered Catherine, pulling her mother's firm strong hand down to her lips and kissing it. "And I don't intend to become so. Things can wait for a day, or the others can go on without me. I'm going to be a private citizen and stay at home and mend. Can't you sit and sew too, Mother?"

"Perhaps I can for half an hour," said Dr. Helen, "and you certainly need to give your clothes some attention. When you go up stairs to get your things, bring down that brown silk waist, and I'll make the collar over for you."

In a few minutes the two were cozily settled in the little alcove off the big book-lined living-room, a pleasant breeze bringing morning freshness in by way of an open window.

"Mother," said Catherine suddenly, "you and Father have brought me up very differently from most girls."

"How?"

"Why, about taking care of myself. Some of the really nice girls seem to think it's perfectly all right to be sick, even when it could have been avoided. And some of them think it's rather fine to be ailing."

"Do you mean they want to be petted? That's natural enough."

"Not just that. I don't mind that. But Dy-the Allen--"

"Stop a minute, Catherine. Once for all, what is her ridiculous name? I have wanted to know for nearly a year and never think to ask."

Catherine laughed. "She was christened Edith, but when she was in High School she had a silly streak and wrote it with a 'y' for the 'i' and an 'e' on the end, so her brother called her E-dy-the, the way it looks, you know, just to tease her, and it turned into Dy-the and stayed that, though she signs herself Edith. She is one of the very dearest girls I ever knew, and how we shall get along without her next year at Dexter is more than I can guess. All the little preps adore her. But that was the very thing that made me crossest about her carelessness. She would go out in the snow with little thin dancing slippers on and lace stockings, and then take a horrible cold and be ill for days, and shut herself up in her room and have everybody bringing her flowers and meals and writing her notes. And then all her little satellites did similar things and it made a lot of bother for everybody. Little Hilda went to see a measles child because she thought it was fine to be reckless the way Dy-the is, and then she gave it to her roommate and two other girls. I got quite angry once and let Dy-the know just how it looked to me. I told her she ought to be ashamed to disobey Nature and be sent to bed for it, and she only laughed and quoted things from Stevenson about people who live on tepid milk and wear tin shoes. I told her Stevenson certainly tried to look out for his own health, for all that, but I couldn't make her think it a serious matter at all. She just laughed.

She's such a dear, she doesn't know how to be angry, Dy-the doesn't,"

and Catherine smiled, in spite of her own earnestness, at the visions the name brought to her mind.

"Here comes somebody else of the dear variety," said Dr. Helen. "Go and let Polly in."

"She doesn't need to be let in," said that young person, appearing with the words. "She let her own self in. I'm on an errand, Catriona darling.

I want your mother's advice and yours. What do you think of a regular library opening, with refreshments and all that? And have people bring books for admission fees?"

"Do sit down, Polly, and rest for a minute. You look as though you expected to be called to the telephone."

Polly dropped, sighing, into a comfortable chair.

"It does feel good to let down for a minute," she admitted. "I get so into the habit of tearing through s.p.a.ce at college that I can't stop rus.h.i.+ng for a month after I get home, and this library business has kept me jumping. I suppose the public could get on a day or two longer without it, seeing they have so many years. I worked all day yesterday with Algernon, and then in the evening it was too hot to stay in the house, and the mosquitoes were so thick outside that it was harder work trying to keep comfortable than anything I had done all day."