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Sweet Little Maid, A

<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2><h3>Down Town</h3> "Don't you want to go down town for me, girls?" said Mrs. Dallas, one pleasant morning. "I can't send Bubbles very well." "Oh, yes," said Dimple. "What are we to get?" "Several things," replied her mother. "Go and get ready and I will tell you." "May we take Celestine and Rubina?" asked Florence. "I don't think I would, for you will have packages, and they will be in the way." "Don't let's take them anyhow, Florence," said Dimple. "I was thinking this morning that their frocks are too thick for summer." So they ran off to get ready. "Now," said Mrs. Dallas, as they came back, "I want you to go to Fink's and get me four yards of trimming like this sample; if they haven't exactly like it, the nearest will do. Then I want you to get me four lemons. You may go to old Mrs. Wills for those, and if she has any fresh eggs you may get a dozen, and—oh, yes, a bottle of vanilla extract. Now don't be too long, for I shall want to use some of the things this morning." They promised, and went off without delay. It was a pleasant July morning, and they started gaily down the street, which was shaded by trees and bordered on each side by pretty cottages, with gardens in front. "There is Mrs. Brown," said Dimple; "let's cross over, Florence, she will be sure to stop us if we don't." "Who is Mrs. Brown?" asked Florence. "Oh, she's a woman," returned Dimple. "I suppose she is very nice, but she is so solemn, and is always telling me that she hopes I will grow up to be a comfort to my mother and not a care and burden; and she always says it as if there wasn't the least doubt but that I would be a care and a burden, and I don't like her. Do you know mamma and Mrs. Hardy have been friends for over twenty years, and mamma is Rock's godmother?" "How do you know?" "Mamma told me. I asked her how she came to know Rock's mother, and she said she used to know her when she was a little girl like me—and when they were young ladies they were great friends. Then mamma was married and came here, and Rock's mother was married and went to California. When her husband died she came back to Baltimore to live. Here is Fink's; we have to go in here." This was the largest dry goods shop in the town, and the clerks all knew Dimple. "What can we do for you this morning, Miss Dallas?" said one of them, leaning over the counter. "Mamma wants four yards of this trimming," said Dimple, holding out her sample. The man took it, turned it over to examine both sides, and took down a box. "Four yards, did you say?" "Yes," said Dimple. He measured it off, saying, "Don't you want some cards? We have some just in with a lot of goods." "I would rather have a box," said Dimple; "for I have a new doll, and I want it to put her sashes in." "You don't object to having both, do you?" said he. "Suppose I put the cards in the box. How would that do?" "Oh, that would be very nice," said Dimple; "you are very kind." As he went off, she turned to Florence and said in a low tone, "I didn't like to ask him for two boxes, but I will give you the cards." "No matter," said Florence. "I don't care very much for a box." However, when the man returned he had two boxes with four pretty cards in each. "Thank you so much," said the girls, highly pleased. "He is a real nice man," said Florence, when they were in the street. "I didn't believe he would think of me." "Yes, I think he is nice," said Dimple; "besides he has known me ever since I was a baby; he mightn't be so nice to a stranger." They next came to a little low brown building with one window. As they went in at the door, a small bell over it tinkled and a voice said, "In a minute." While they waited they looked about the shop, which was quite a curiosity to Florence. In the window were jars of candy, red and white, gingerbread horses, shoestrings, oranges, lemons, and dolls strung along in a line, the largest in the middle and the smallest at each end; besides these there were tops, whistles, writing paper, pencils, scrap pictures, and a variety of other things, all jumbled up together. Inside, the glass case and the shelves were full, and from the ceiling hung rolls of cotton in tissue paper, toy wagons, jumping-jacks and hoops. "What a funny place," whispered Florence; but just then a funnier old woman came in. Her face looked like a withered apple, it was so wrinkled and rosy; her eyes were bright and her grey hair was combed back under a high white cap. As she came behind the counter, Florence saw that one of her hands was very much scarred, and the fingers bent. She wondered what had happened to it. "Well, little Dallas girl, it's you, is it? And how is my pretty with her dimples and curls? Hm! Hm! Hm! The little Dallas girl," said the old woman. "Mamma wants four lemons, Mrs. Wills," said Dimple. "Four lemons; four—four—" said the old woman, going to a box and taking them out. "And she wants to know if you have any fresh eggs?" "Fresh eggs. Hm! Hm! Fresh eggs. How many? I'll see." "A dozen if you have them." "Well, we'll have to go and find them, little girls. Who is the other little girl?" "My cousin," said Dimple. "A Dallas?" "No; her name is Florence Graham." "Graham, Graham. A Dallas and a Graham. Come you two, then, and we'll see if we can find any eggs." They followed Mrs. Wills through the back room into the yard. The room they passed through was very clean, and held a stove with a little tin kettle on it, a bed with a patchwork quilt, a shining little table and several chairs with flowers painted on them. The yard was quite a curiosity, and seemed to be given up entirely to pigeons and chickens, who made a great fuss, flying up on the old woman's shoulder and pecking at her; while an old duck waddled solemnly after, giving a quack once in a while to let them know she was there. Mrs. Wills took them to the hen-house, and told them where to look for eggs. As Dimple had been there before, she knew where to look, and they soon made up the dozen. The old duck followed them into the house, and was waddling after them into the shop, when Mrs. Wills with a "Shoo! Shoo!" drove her out. "Now, Dallas girl, and Graham girl," said Mrs. Wills, "does the mother need anything else to-day?" "There was something else," said Dimple, "but I can't think what. Can you, Florence?" "There were four things, I know," said Florence. "But I don't remember the fourth." "A—apples, B—brooms, C—crackers, D—dust-pans," went on Mrs. Wills, rapidly, and then paused. "No; not any of those," said Dimple. "E—extract," said Mrs. Wills. "Yes, that's it. You have guessed, Mrs. Wills, vanilla, please." "E—extract, E—extract," said the old woman, as she hunted in a dark corner. "And C—cocoanut cakes. Red or white?" she asked, opening the case. "White," said Dimple. "But Mrs. Wills——" "Tut! Tut! Don't you say it; don't you say it, or I'll take back my eggs," she said, as she handed each of the children a cake. "Thank you, Mrs. Wills. When I'm grown-up I'll make you a great big cake and send it to you," said Dimple. That pleased the old woman mightily, and she nodded good-bye to them, saying, "Lemons, eggs and extract," over and over to herself. "What a ridiculous old woman!" said Florence. "Is she crazy?" "No," said Dimple. "But she is queer. She is good, though, and mamma always buys everything from her that she can, and she feels so bad if I don't take the things she offers me that I have to accept them." "What is the matter with her hand?" "She burned it trying to save her child from burning." "Did she save it?" "No; and that is what makes her so queer. She has never been the same since." "My! how warm it is getting," said Florence. "I am glad we have broad brimmed hats. Let's hurry home. There is your Mrs. Brown again." "Oh, dear!" said Dimple. "Let us turn up this street; it is just as near to go home this way." So they turned the corner and reached home before Mrs. Brown knew which way they had gone. "Suppose we watch Sylvy make cake," said Dimple, when they had delivered their packages. "She always lets me watch her. And then we can scrape the bowl. Don't you like to?" "I never do at home," said Florence. "Our cook is so cross and mamma does not like me to go into the kitchen." "My mamma doesn't care; she lets me go whenever I please, and sometimes I help Bubbles clean knives and do such things, so she can get through, and play with me sooner." "Sylvy, we are coming to watch you make cake; may we?" "I'm not a carin'!" said Sylvy. "Git 'round on the other side of the table." "See her break the eggs," said Florence. "Could you do it, Dimple? I'd be sure to get the yolks all mixed with the whites, and she just turns one half into the other as easily." "I'd be afraid to try," said Dimple; "but when I am a little bigger, I mean to make a cake myself. I believe I could now if I had some one to tell me." "I wouldn't try just yet," said Sylvy, briskly beating the whites of the eggs to a froth. "Could you, Sylvy, when you were a little girl?" asked Florence. "Laws, no. I was nigh as big as I am now, and then I made a poor fist at it," said Sylvy, laughing at the recollection. "What was the matter?" asked Dimple. "Too much butter and sugar, and not enough flour; it rose up beautiful at first and then down it went; when I took it out of the oven it was like taffy. I felt plum bad, I tell you; but I did better next time;" so saying, she turned her cake into the pans and giving each of the children a spoon, bade them take the bowl between them out on the steps, and "lick" to their hearts' content. "You aren't going to make another cake right away, are you, Sylvy?" asked Dimple, looking up from her bowl. "And—oh, Florence, see all those turnovers. Are you really going to make another cake, Sylvy?" "Yass, miss, some suveral of 'em." "What for?" "Yo' ma done tole me to," replied Sylvy, with a smile. "I'm going to ask her about it. I know she doesn't intend we shall eat them all. Perhaps there is going to be a church supper, or a strawberry festival, or something. Come on, Florence, let's go and see about it." And throwing down their spoons, they went to hunt up Mrs. Dallas. They found her in the dining-room, making salad dressing, and upon the table was a newly-boiled ham, and a quantity of chopped chicken. "There, now, mamma is doing something about eating, too," exclaimed Dimple. "I'd just like to know what it is all for. Won't you tell us, mamma? Are you going to have a tea or anything like that?" "Not exactly like that; but we are going on a picnic." "Oh! oh! a picnic! Tell us, mamma. Who is going? Are we children to go?" "Yes. You children, Mrs. Hardy and Rock, the Spears, the Neals, and the Jacksons. Mr. Atkinson, too, I think." "Which Jacksons?" "Mr. David Jackson's family. Mr. Atkinson is not sure of being here, but he hopes to be able to get off." "Oh, good! Tell us some more, mamma." "We are going to start early to-morrow afternoon, if it is pleasant. We will take supper with us. We are going up the river to the island, and have our meal there." "Fine! fine! Oh, Florence, you have never been to the island, and it is just lovely there. I think you are very good to let us go, mamma, after our running away in a boat." "Who ever heard of any one's running away in a boat?" laughed Mrs. Dallas. "Now be good children, and keep out of the way, for Sylvy and I have a lot to do." "We'll be good as possible, mamma, but just one more question: are you going to take Bubbles?" "I hadn't thought of it." "Oh, do, please; she'd be a lot of help, and she'd simply jump out of her skin if she thought she would be allowed to go." "Then we'd better let her stay in her skin. She would be very uncomfortable without it, even in this warm weather." "Please, mamma." Mrs. Dallas considered for a moment, and then said: "Well, yes, upon the whole, I think it would be rather a good plan, but she must not neglect her work to-day. If she gets through all that she has to do by the time we start she may go, but not otherwise. She will have extra work to-day, because Sylvy is more than usually busy." "May we help her a little bit? We could clean the knives, and shell the peas." "I think that would be very kind if you did." "And may we tell her?" "If you like." The two little girls ran off to where Bubbles was washing out dish towels by the kitchen door. "Bubbles! Bubbles! You are going on a picnic," cried Dimple. Bubbles dropped the dish towel she was dousing up and down in the water. "Me, Miss Dimple? Me? Who say so?" "Mamma. There is to be a picnic to-morrow, and you are to go along with us. Aren't you glad?" "Hm! Hm! I reckon I is. All dem cakes an' pies an' good eatin's, an' I gwine have some fo' dey gits mashed up an' soft, an' I gwine wait on de ladies and gent'mans. Ain't dat fine?" She gave a twist to her towel and shook it out with a snap. Then she was overtaken by a sudden fear. "Yuh ain't a-foolin' me, is yuh?" "No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a thing. But mamma says you mustn't dawdle to-day. So hurry up and get those towels done. Sylvy is going to be awfully busy, so you'll have to help her, but we're going to clean the knives for you, and shell the peas. Bring them down to the little house; we're going down there. We might set the table, too, Florence." "Thanky, ma'am, Miss Dimple. Thanky, Miss Flo'ence." Bubbles' face was beaming, and her slim, black legs went scudding into the house with more than their usual agility. "I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence," said Dimple; "then he can help us to shell the peas, so we can have some time to play. Rock will want to talk over the picnic, and he will want to see how the garden is coming on. I think the pumpkin vine is coming up. I can't tell whether it is that or a weed, but Rock will know." "Rock always thinks of such nice plays; I hope he will come," returned Florence; and, indeed, they had hardly established themselves on the porch of the little house before the boy's cheery whistle was heard, and the three children, after faithfully fulfilling the promise to Bubbles to relieve her of some of her tasks, determined to invent a new play. "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Rock. "We'll dig a cave over here, and we'll pretend a company of bandits live in it, and they will capture one of your dolls. Then we will go to the rescue." "Who'll be the bandits?" "Why, let me see. We'll take sticks of wood; little branches with two prongs, like this; they make the legs, you see; and then we'll stick on something round for the heads, turnips or onions or something like that." "There aren't any turnips this time of year," returned Dimple, "and onions smell so strong. We can get potatoes, though, and they have eyes, so I should think they would make very good heads." Rock laughed. "So they will." "I'll go and see if mamma will let me have—how many?" "Oh, half a dozen or so." Dimple started for the house; then suddenly remembered that she had promised not to bother her mother, and she stood still for a moment. But the idea of the bandits was too alluring, and so she proceeded to the house, putting her head timidly in at the dining-room door, where her mother was still busy. "Mamma," she said, "are potatoes very expensive?" "No, not very. What a funny question. Did you come all the way in here to ask that?" "No, mamma, not exactly; but do they cost too much for you to give us half a dozen for our bandits?" "For your bandits! What do you mean?" "Why, we are going to have a lovely play—Rock made it up—and we can't have any bandits unless we have heads for them, and I said potatoes would do, because they have eyes. May we have half a dozen?" Mrs. Dallas smiled. "Yes, but you must not ask Sylvy or Bubbles to get them for you." "I'll get them if you will tell me where they are." "They are down in the cellar. Please, Dimple, don't bother me again. Try to play without coming up after things all the time." "Yes, mamma," Dimple replied, very meekly. "I wouldn't have come this time if it had been for anything but the bandits." Mrs. Dallas let her go, and then called her back, for she had seen a little wistful look in the child's face when her mother spoke shortly. "Come, kiss me, dear," she said. "I want you to know that you are quite welcome to the potatoes. They will make very inexpensive and harmless playthings, and I hope your bandits will turn out just as you want them to." Dimple gave her a grateful hug. "You may stop in the kitchen and get a turnover apiece for you three children. Tell Sylvy I said you might." "Oh, mamma, how dear you are," and the happy little face disappeared. The six potato-headed bandits proved most venturesome creatures, and kept their captive safe from her would-be rescuers, till she was redeemed by the payment of a hundred pieces of gold, represented by buttercup petals, and the morning passed so quickly that the children could scarcely believe it, when Bubbles came—as they had told her to do—to tell them it was time to set the dinner-table. "Shall I fill up the cave?" Rock asked. "Oh no, we might want to use it again," Dimple decided. "That was such a lovely, exciting play, Rock." "Then we'd better cover up the cave. Some one might step in it, and get hurt." After hunting around, an old battered tin pan was found, which was laid over the entrance, but, alas! it was not proof against Bubbles' unfairy-like tread, for she stepped on it that very evening, and down she went, but, as luck had it, she did nothing worse than scratch her toes upon the very rough body of the bandit chief; although, be it confessed, he fared worse by the encounter than she did, for he had both legs broken beyond hope of saving. The next morning he was carefully carried away to a hospital and devotedly nursed by one of Dimple's dolls; but he never recovered, though he lingered for several days. His funeral was quite a magnificent affair, and he was buried with proper ceremonies under the very tree upon which he originally grew. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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