A Dear Little Girl at School Part 9

"Oh, but you can sleep upstairs," returned Nettie. "There is plenty of room."

"Good! Then upstairs be it. What was that about hens and eggs and things, Ande?"

"Oh, we can't get out to the hen-house, you know. We tried to make a path but it was too hard work for us so we gave it up."

"I should remark. Well, that will be done first thing in the morning, and I'll go see what I can find. Eggsactly, as it were. What about the fires? Any coal up here?"

"A little," Nettie told him. "We have carried up all we could at a time, but we couldn't bring enough for the fires to-night. We are going down to get more."

"You are going to do no such thing. Got a candle? Where are the coal scuttles? One of you hold the light and show me your coal bin and up comes your coal." Cousin Ben was already making for the cellar door.

Of course no one was going to be left out of this expedition and all three descended to the cellar, from which they presently came forth all laughing. It was certainly a cheering thing to have someone so willing to come to their aid. Next the basket was unpacked and it goes without saying that there were neither eggs nor rice for supper that night.

Moreover, Tippy had such a feast of milk as well as other things as he had not seen for several days. Ben kept the little girls in such a state of giggle that they could scarcely do the dishes, but what with the labors of the day and the later excitement they were ready for bed early, and went up leaving Cousin Ben with a book before him. Later his light half wakened Edna, but as he closed the door between the rooms and she realized that he was there, she turned over with a sigh of content, feeling very safe and sleepy.

CHAPTER VII

DISTURBANCES

Sunday morning was bright and clear. It was so dazzlingly bright when the little girls arose that they thought it must be much later than it was. Cousin Ben, however, was already up and dressed and had been down some time when the two finally descended to the lower floor. This was made known by reason of the fires burning brightly and of there being a path cleared to the hen-house, while as many as a dozen eggs were in a bowl on the kitchen table.

"Oh, Cousin Ben," cried Edna, "what a lot you have done. It is so cosey and warm down here, and we won't have to wait at all for breakfast."

"I hope not," he returned, "for I'm hungry, for one. What are you going to have?"

Edna turned to Nettie who considered the question. It was a great occasion when there were two guests to be provided for. "As long as there are so many eggs," she said, "we can have m.u.f.fins or something and some eggs. I could have some kind of breakfast food, too, I believe there's some oat-meal."

"Never mind the oat-meal," said Ben. "You get me out the flour and stuff and I'll make the m.u.f.fins. There is a royal fire and I'll get them ready in three shakes of a sheep's tail."

"You?" Nettie looked amazed.

"Of course. Did you never hear of a man cook? I've served my apprentices.h.i.+p, I can a.s.sure you. I'll make the coffee, too, if you have any."

"Oh, there is some already ground, in the basket mother sent," Edna a.s.sured him. "We don't drink it, but we can have cambric tea."

"All right, you go along and set the table, and I'll do the rest."

Nettie was rather glad to have the responsibility taken off her hands in this summary manner, though she said to Edna, "Do you think it is polite to let him do it all?"

"Why, certainly," replied Edna. "He does those things at home for his mother sometimes, for he has no sisters, and the boys have to pitch in and help when the servant goes out. He has told me all about it. And as for its being polite, I remember mother said it was always more polite to let your company do the thing which made them comfortable than to insist upon doing something for them that would make them uncomfortable."

Nettie considered this for some time before she quite took in the sense of it. She was a thin, demure little girl, not at all pretty, but with a kind face, big blue eyes and sandy hair. She was dressed very plainly, but her clothes were neat and simply made. She was not the kind of child Edna might have expected to find in such a little house.

The m.u.f.fins turned out a great success, and Ben said his coffee just suited him. "I never saw fresher eggs than your hens lay," he said, looking at Nettie with a serious face.

"Of course, they are fresh," she returned, "when they were only laid yesterday."

"That's what I said," returned Ben, with gravity.

Edna laughed. She was used to Cousin Ben's ways, but Nettie was a little puzzled.

The breakfast was as merry an affair as the supper had been, and after it was cleared away there was a consultation upon what should be done next. "There's no use in thinking of church," said Ben. "We couldn't get there if we tried."

"And there are so few trains I don't suppose I can expect mother this morning," said Nettie.

"Better not expect her at all," replied Ben, "that is, not while the roads are so snowy. There is scarcely any use in even a sleigh while these drifts are so high. Ande, what is the use of a sleigh, anyhow?" he asked, turning to his cousin who saw a joke.

"You tell," she answered.

"Snow use" he replied. "Now, I'll go out and feed the hens, and then I'll put on my boots and start on the road again. I'll see what's going on at the house, and then I'll come back again." They watched him ploughing through the snow, but because he had been there and was coming back it seemed not lonely at all, though Nettie said, wistfully, she did hope her mother could come that day, and Edna hoped she could find a way of getting home.

Toward noon they saw a queer box-sleigh coming from the main road. They watched it interestedly from the window as it approached nearer and nearer. "I do believe it is mother," exclaimed Nettie, joyfully. And sure enough the sleigh did stop before the door, a man got out, and then helped a slight woman in black to alight. "It is mother," cried Nettie, running to the door, and presently she was in her mother's arms.

Then there were great explanations. Like the little girls, Mrs. Black had been snowed in, for her sister lived quite a distance from the station, but she had at last been able to get some one of the neighbors to bring her across, as he had to go to the doctor's, and was willing to take her the short distance further.

"If I had known how well cared for you would be," she told her daughter, "and that you were not alone at all, I should have been much less anxious. Certainly, we have a great deal to be thankful for."

Edna felt that she certainly had a great deal to be thankful for when a little later she saw a big black sleigh stop before the door. She recognized it as Mrs. MacDonald's, for it was driven by her coach-man, though in it sat Cousin Ben. He had come back as he promised, but in great state. And because Nettie's mother had returned he bore Edna off alone, after many good-bys and promises to see her new friend as often as she could.

"How did you happen to come in Mrs. MacDonald's sleigh?" she asked her cousin.

"Well, I will tell you. When I reached the house I found that Mrs.

MacDonald had telephoned over to ask about all of you, and to see how Celia was. When she heard where you were and all about it, she said she would send over her sleigh and I could go for you and Nettie in it, and so as that seemed a good arrangement I was going to put it into execution. We had decided to leave a note for Mrs. Black in case she should get back to-day, so she wouldn't be worried."

"It's really much better this way," returned Edna, "for now she has her mother, and I will have mine."

It seemed a delightful home coming, and because the snow was still so deep there was the extra holiday on Monday, but by Tuesday all started off to school again. Mrs. MacDonald knew all about Mrs. Black, and said she was a very good woman, who had taken this little house in the country because she could live there more cheaply, and because in such a place as she could afford in the city her little daughter would not be surrounded by pleasant influences. Nettie went to the district school, and was such a little girl as Edna's parents would select as a companion for their daughter. So, Edna felt she had made quite a discovery, and planned all sorts of times with Nettie when the winter was over.

Matters went on at school uninterruptedly, until just before Christmas, when it was suddenly made known that Miss Ashurst was to be married, and that another teacher would take her place after the holidays. The G. R.'s got up a linen shower for the departing teacher, but the Neighborhood Club did nothing. Its numbers were dwindling, for when it was learned what good times the rivals had at their meetings, there was more than one deserter. For some reason, Clara Adams had picked out Edna as the prime cause of all this. She had never forgiven her for winning the doll at the fair the year before, and was likewise furiously jealous of her friends.h.i.+p for Jennie Ramsey. If Edna had been a less generous and sweet-tempered child, matters might have been much worse, but even as it was they were made bad enough.

No sooner had the new teacher appeared than Clara set to work to do everything in her power to make Edna appear to disadvantage, by all sorts of mean innuendoes, by sly hints, by even open charges, till the child was almost in tears over the state of affairs.

"I would just tell Miss Newman, so I would," said Dorothy indignantly, when a specially mean speech of Clara's came to her ears.

"Oh, but I couldn't be a tattle-tale," declared Edna.

"She'd better not say anything about you to me," returned Dorothy. "She knows better than that. I'd tell her a thing or two."

"If Uncle Justus knew, he would believe me and not Clara," said Edna. "I don't cheat in my lessons, and he knows I don't, whatever Clara may say, and I'm not the one who sets the girls up to mischief, you know I'm not."

"I know mighty well who it is," declared Dorothy, "and if this keeps up I shall tell, so I shall."

It did keep up till one morning the climax was reached when Miss Newman came into her school-room to find on the board a very good caricature of herself, with under it written: "Ugly, old Miss New," in scrawling letters. Clara came into the school-room late, and slipped into her seat after the exercises had begun. Miss Newman left the drawing on the board and made no reference to it, using a smaller board for what was necessary. She was far less attractive than Miss Ashurst, and had a dry little way with her, which many of the girls thought oldmaidish, but she was a good teacher, if not a very beautiful one. When the girls returned from recess, in place of Miss Newman at the desk stood Mr. Horner, his eyes fairly snapping with indignation, and his eyebrows looking fiercer than ever.

"Oh," whispered Dorothy, as she sank down into her seat by Edna's side.

The rest of the girls looked pale and awe-stricken. Never before had they any recollection of Mr. Horner's coming into the room. Offenders were sometimes sent to him in the larger room, but this was a new experience.