HALF-A-DOZEN HOUSEKEEPERS

A Story For Girls In Half-A-Dozen Chapters

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

Illustrated by Mills Thompson

Philadelphia Henry Altemus Company

1903

CONTENTS

HALF-A-DOZEN HOUSEKEEPERS

CHAPTER I—BELL WINSHIP's EXPERIMENT

CHAPTER II—IN THE FIRELIGHT

CHAPTER III—AN EMERGENCY CASE

CHAPTER IV—A WINTER PICNIC

CHAPTER V—OLD MAIDS AND YOUNG

CHAPTER VI—“THE END OF THE PLAY”

HALF-A-DOZEN HOUSEKEEPERS

CHAPTER I—BELL WINSHIP's EXPERIMENT

MARCH had come in like a lion, and showed no sign of going out like a lamb. The pussy willows knew that it was, or ought to be, spring, but although it takes a deal to discourage a New England pussy willow, they shivered in their brown skins and despaired of making their annual appearance even by April Fool's Hay. The swallows still lingered in the South, having received private advices from the snow-birds that State o' Maine weather, in the present season, was only fitted for Arctic explorers. The air was keen and nipping and the wind blew steadily from the north and howled about the chimneys until one hardly knew whether to hug the warmth of the open fire or to go out and battle with the elements.

Little did the rosy girls of the Wareham Female Seminary (girls were still “young females” when all this happened)—little did they care about snow and sleet and ice. Studies went on all the better with the afternoon skating and sliding to look forward to. What joy to perch in the window-seat with your volume of Virgil, and translate “Hoc opus hic labor est” with half an eye on the gleaming ice of the pond, or the glittering crust of the hillsides! What fun to slip on your rubber boots, muffle yourself in your warm coat (made out of mother's old mink cape), and run across the way to the Academy for recitations in mathematics or philosophy!

These joys, however, with their attendant responsibilities, duties, and cares, were to be suspended for a while at the Wareham Seminary, and the “young females” who graced that institution of learning were not inconsolable.

Bell Winship, an uncommonly nice girl herself and a born leader of other nice girls, had sent out five mysteriously worded notes that morning, five little notes to as many little maids, requesting the honor of their presence at ten a. m. precisely, in Number 27, Second floor.

Where Bell Winship wished girls to be, there they always were, and on the minute, too, lest they should miss something; so there is nothing remarkable in this statement of the fact, that at ten o'clock in the morning, Number 27, Second floor, of the Wareham Female Seminary seemed to be overflowing with girls, although in reality there were but six, all told.

The wildest curiosity prevailed, and it was very imperfectly controlled, but, at length, the hostess, mounting a shoebox, spoke with great dignity in these words:

“Fellow-countrywomen: Whereas, our recitation-hall has been burned to the ground, thereby giving us a well-earned vacation of two weeks, I wish to impart to you a plan by which we can better resign ourselves to the afflicting and mysterious dispensation. You are aware,” she continued, still impressively, “that my highly respected parents are both away for the winter, thus leaving our humble cottage closed, and it occurred to me as a brilliant, if somewhat daring, idea, that we six girls should go over and keep house in it for a fortnight, alone and untrammeled.” Here the tidal wave of her eloquence was impeded by the overmastering enthusiasm of the audience. Cheers and applause greeted her. Everybody pounded with whatever she chanced to have in her hand, on any article of furniture that chanced to be near.

“Oh, Bell, Bell! what a lovely plan!” cried Lilia Porter; “a more than usually lovely plan; but will your mother ever allow it, do you suppose?”

“That's the point,” answered Bell, gleefully. “Here is the letter I have just received from my father; he is a good parent, wholly worthy of his daughter:”

“Isn't he a perfect darling!” cried the enraptured quintette.

“I think,” said demure Patty Weld, “that before we permit ourselves to feel too happy, we had better consult our 'powers that be,' and see if we can accept Bell's invitation.”

“I refuse to hear 'No' from one of you,” Bell answered, firmly. “I have thought it all over; spent the night upon it, in fact. You, Alice, and Josie Fenton, are too far from home to go there anyway, so I shall lead you off as helpless captives. Your mother is in town, Lilia, so that you can ask her immediately, and hear the worst; you and Edith, Patty, are only a half-day's journey away, and can find out easily. I know you can get permission, for it's going to be perfectly proper and safe. Grandmamma lives nearby, the Sawyer spinsters are the village duennas, and Uncle Harry can protect us from any rampaging burglars and midnight marauders that may happen in to pay their respects.”

So the “Jolly Six,” as they were called by their schoolmates, separated, to build many castles in the air. Bell, it was decided, was to go on to her country home in advance, and, with the help of a neighboring farmer's daughter, prepare and provision the house for an unusual siege.

The girls had determined to have no servant, and their many ingenious plans for managing and dividing the work were the source of great amusement to the teachers, some of whom had been admitted to their confidence. Josie Fenton and Bell were to do the cooking, Jo claiming the sternly practical department best suited to her—meat, vegetables, and bread—while Bell was to concoct puddings, cakes, and the various little indigestible dainties toward which schoolgirl hearts are so tender. Alice Forsaith, the oldest of the party and the beauty of the school, with Edith Lambert, as an aid, was to manage the making of the beds, tidying of rooms, and setting of tables, while Lilia Porter and Patty Weld, with noble heroism and selfsacrifice, offered to shoulder that cross of an old-fashioned girl's life—the washing and wiping of dishes.

On a Wednesday morning the two maiden ladies living nearly opposite the Winship cottage were transfixed with wonder by the appearance of Bell, who asked for the house-key left in safe keeping with them.

“Du tell, Isabel!—I didn't expect to see you this mornin',—air your folks comin' home or hev you been turned out o' school?” asked Miss Miranda.

“Oh, no,” laughed Bell; “I'm going to housekeeping myself!”

“Good land! You haven't run off and got married, have you?” cried Miss Jane.

“Not quite so bad as that; but I'm going to bring five of my schoolmates over to-morrow, and we intend to stay here two weeks all alone, as housekeepers and householders.”

“Land o' mercy,” moaned the nervous Miss Miranda. “That Pa o' yourn would let you tread on him and not notice it. How any sensible man could do sech a crazy thing as to let a pack of girls tear his house to pieces, I don't see. You'll burn us all up before a week's out; I declare I sha'n't sleep a wink for worrying the whole time.”

“You needn't be afraid, Miss Sawyer,” said Bell, with some spirit. “If six girls, none of them younger than fourteen, can't take care of a few stoves and fireplaces, I should think it was a pity. Everybody seems to think nowadays that young people have no common sense. The world's growing wiser all the time, and I don't see why we shouldn't be as bright as those detestable pattern-girls of fifty years ago.”

“Well, well, don't get huffy, Isabel; you mean well, but all girls are unstiddy at your age. Anyhow, I'll try to keep an eye on ye. Here's your key, and we can spare you a quart of milk a day and risin's for your bread, if you're going to try riz bread, though I don't s'pose one of ye knows anything about flour food.”

“Thank you; that'll be very nice, and now I'm going over to begin work, for I have heaps to do. Emma Jane Perkins has come to help me, and Grandma's Betty will come down every afternoon. By the way, can I have Topsycat while I am here?”

“Yes, I s'pose so,” said Miss Jane, “though it's been an awful sight of work gettin' her used to our ways, and I'd never have done it if Mis' Winship hadn't set such store by her. She pretty near pined away the first week, and I've baked ginger cake for her and buttered her fritters every mornin'.”

“I won't borrow her if you think she will be more troublesome afterward,” Bell answered, “but you know it's almost impossible to keep house without a cat and a dog. Bobs came over from Uncle Harry's the moment I arrived, and is waiting at the gate now.”

“I don't agree with you,” said Miss Miranda. “'Blessed be nothin', I say, when it comes to live stock. We disposed of our horse, the pig went next, and the cow's turn's comin'. Even a cat is dreadful confinin'. If you have a cat and two hens you're as much tied down as if you had a barn full of critters.”

The day was very cold, and both Bell and Emma Jane shivered as they unlocked one frost-bitten door after another.

“We shall freeze as stiff as pokers,” said Bell, with chattering teeth; “but we can't help it; let's build a fire in every stove in the honse and thaw things out.” This was done, and in an hour they were moderately comfortable. The weather being so cold, Bell decided upon using only three rooms, all on the first floor—the large, handsome family sitting-room, the kitchen, and Mrs. Win-ship's chamber. This being very capacious, she moved a couple of bedsteads from other rooms, and placing the three side by side, filled up the intervening spaces with bolsters, thus making one immensely wide bed.

“There, Emma Jane, isn't that a bright idea! We can all sleep in a row, and then there'll be no quarreling about bedfellows or rooms. I certainly am a good contriver,” cried Bell, with a triumphant little laugh.

“It looks awful like a hospital, and the bolsters will keep fallin' down in between and it'll be dreadful hard mak-in' 'em up of a mornin',” rejoined Emma Jane, who was no flatterer, being New England born and bred.

The sitting-room coal stove had accommodations, on top and back, for cooking, so Bell thought that their suppers, with perhaps an occasional breakfast, might be prepared there. The large bay-window, with its bright drugget, would serve as a sort of tiny diningroom, so the mahogany extension-table, with its carved legs, pretty red cover, and silver service, was carried there. This accomplished, and every room made graceful and attractive by Bell (who was a born homemaker, and placed photographs, lamps, sofa-pillows, fir-boughs, and bowls of red apples just where they were needed in the picture), she went over to her Grandmother's, where four loaves of bread were baking and pies being filled, in order that the young housekeepers might begin with a full pantry.

“Oh, Grandma,” she exclaimed breathlessly, tearing off her cloud and bringing down with it a sunshiny mass of bronze hair, “it does look lovely, if I do say it; and as for setting that house on fire, there's no danger, for it will take a week to thaw it into a state in which it would burn. I have made up my mind that I sha'n't be the one to build the fires every morning, even if I am hostess. I don't want to freeze myself daily for the cause of politeness. Has the provision man come yet!”

“Yes,” said Uncle Harry, “and brought eatables enough for an army—more than you girls can devour in a month.”

“You'll see,” said Bell, laughingly.

“You don't know the capacity of the 'Jolly Six' yet. Now, Betty, please take the eggs and potatoes and fish and put them in our store room. I've just time to make my cake and custard before I drive to the station for the girls. Do you know, Uncle Harry, I am going to do the most astounding thing! I've borrowed Farmer Allen's one-seated old pung,—the one he takes to town filled with vegetables,—and I am going to keep it for our sleigh-rides. It will hold all six of us, and what do we care for public opinion!” said she, with a disdainful gesture.

CHAPTER II—IN THE FIRELIGHT

TWO hours later you might have seen the old pung drawn by Mr. Allen's Jerry, with Bell and Alice Forsaith on the seat, and four laughing, rosy-cheeked girls warmly tucked in buffalo robes on the bottom. Even the sober old sun, who had been under a cloud that day, poked his head out to see the fun, and became so interested that, in spite of himself, he forgot his determination not to shine, and did his duty all the afternoon.

When the girls opened the door and saw Bell's preparations,—the cozy sitting-room, with dining-table in the bay-window, three sofas in a row, so that on snowy days they might extend their lazy lengths thereon, and finally a fir-covered barrel of Nodhead and Baldwin apples in one corner,—there arose bursts of happy laughter and ecstatic cheers loud enough to shock the neighbors, who seldom laughed and never cheered.

“I know it's an original idea to have an apple-barrel in your parlor corner,” said Bell; “but the common-sense of it will be seen by every thoughtful mind. Our forces will consume a peck a day, and life is too short to spend it in galloping up and down cellar constantly for apples.”

“Bell Winship, you are an inhospitable creature,” exclaimed Lilia Porter. “Here I am, calmly seated on a coal-hod with my hat on, while you are talking so fast that you can't get time to show us our apartments. Shelter before food, say I!”

“Apartments!” sniffed Bell, in mock dudgeon. “You are very grand in your ideas! Behold your camp, your wigwam, your tent, your quarters!” and she threw open the door of the large chamber and waved the party dramatically in that direction.

“Bell, you will yet be Presidentess of these United States,” cried Edith Lambert. “Any girl who can devise two such happy combinations as an apple-barrel in a parlor corner and three beds in a row, ought to be given a chair of state.”

“Might a poor worm inquire, Bell,” asked Patty, “why those croquet mallets and balls are laid out in file round the beds?”

“Why, those are for protection, you goose, supposing anybody should come in the piazza window at night, and we had nothing to kill him with!”

“Yes, and supposing he should take one of the mallets and pound us all to a jelly to begin with?” Patty retorted, being of a practical mind.

“That would be rather embarrassing,” answered Bell, with a reflective shudder; “I hadn't thought of it.”

“What could one poor man do against five girls banging him with croquet mallets, while the sixth was running to alarm the neighbors?” asked Alice, “and to put an end to the discussion I suggest that the cooks start supper;” whereupon she threw herself into an arm-chair, and put up a pair of small, stout boots on the fender.

The unfortunate couple referred to exchanged looks of unmitigated discouragement.

“I have my opinion of a girl who will mention supper before she has been in the house an hour,” said the head cook.

“Josie, I foresee that they are going to make galley-slaves of us if they can. However,” turning again to Alice, “it isn't to be supper, but dinner. The meals at this house are to be thus and so: Breakfast at 9 a.m., luncheon at 12 m., dinner at 5 p.m., refreshments at various times betwixt and between, and all affairs pertaining to eatables are to be completely under the control of the chefs, Mesdemoiselles Winship and Fenton. We cannot have you 'suggesting' dinner at all hours, Miss Forsaith. If time hangs heavy on your hands, occupy it in your own branches of housework.”

“If we are to be ruled over in this way, life will not be worth living,” cried Patty Weld, in comical despair. “I dare say we shall be half starved as the days go on, but do give us something good to begin on, Bluebell!”

Judging from the scene at the table an hour later, it would not have made much difference whether the repast was sumptuous or not, so formidable were the appetites, and such the merriment.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Bell, dismally, to the assistant cook, “I will throw off all disguise and say that this family is a surprise and a disappointment to me. When a person cooks twenty-seven potatoes, with the reasonable expectation of having half left to fry, and sees a solitary one left in the dish, with all its lovely companions both faded and gone, she is naturally disheartened. Any way, we have finished for to-night, so the Dish Brigade can marshal its forces. We will take our one potato into the kitchen, Jo, and see if we can make it enough for breakfast. Look in the corner bookcase; bring Mrs. Whitney's 'Just How,' Marion Harland's 'Cook Book,' 'The Young Housekeeper's Friend,' and 'The Bride's Manual.'”

At nine o'clock that evening Uncle Harry passed through the garden, and noticing a pair of open shutters, peeped in at the back window of the sitting-room, thinking he had never seen a more charming or attractive picture. Pretty Edith Lambert was curled up in an armchair near the astral lamp, her face resting on her two rosy palms, and her eyes bent over “Little Women.” Bluebell, her bright hair bobbed in a funny sort of twist, from which two or three venturesome and rebellious curls were straying out, and her high-necked blue apron still on over her dark dress, was humming soft little songs at the piano. Roguish Jo was sitting flat on the hearth, her bright cheeks flushed rosier under the warm occupation of corn popping, and her dark hair falling loosely round her face, while Patty Weld with her shy, demure face, was beside her on a hassock, knitting a “fascinator” out of white wool. These two, so thoroughly unlike, were never to be seen apart; indeed, they were so inseparable as to be dubbed the “Scissors” or “Tongs” by their friends. Alice and Lilia were quarreling briskly over a game of cribbage, Lilia's animated expression and ringing laugh contrasting forcibly with the calm face of her antagonist. Alice was never known to be excited over anything. It was she who carried off all the dignity and took the part of presiding goddess of the party. The girls all adored her for her beauty and superior age; for she had attained the enviable pinnacle of “sweet sixteen.”

“Come,” said Jo, breaking the silence, “let us have refreshments, then a good quiet talk together, then muster the Hair-Brushing Brigade, and go to bed. I think I have corn enough; I've popped and popped and popped as no one ever popped before, and till popping has ceased to be fun.”

“Pop on, pop ever; the more you give us, Jo, the more popular you'll be,” laughed Bell.

“She is a veritable 'pop-in-J,' isn't she?” cried Lilia.

“Now Lilia,” said Edith, “let us get the apples and nuts, and we'll sit in a ring on the floor, and eat. I shan't crack the almonds; the girl that hath her teeth, I say, is no girl, if with her teeth she cannot crack an almond. Lilia, you're not a bit of assistance; you've tied up the end of the nut-bag in a hard knot, upset the apple-dish, put the tablecloth on crooked, and—oh, dear—now you've stepped in the pop-corn,” as Lilia, trying desperately to cross the room without knocking something over, as usual, had hit the corn-pan in her airy flight. “You have such a genius for stepping into half-a-dozen things at once, I think you must be web-footed.”

“Well, that's possible,” retorted the unfortunate Lilia; “I've often been told I was a duck of a girl, and this proves it.”

“Do you realize, girls,” said Edith, after a while, “that we shall all be visited by ghosts and visions to-night, if we don't terminate this repast? I'll put away the dishes, Bell, if you'll move the sofas up to the fire, so that we can have our good-night chat.”

So, speedily, six warm dressing-sacques were slipped on, and then, the lamps being turned out, in the ruddy glow of the firelight, the brown, the yellow, and the dark hair was taken down, and the housekeepers, braiding it up for the night, talked and dreamed and built their castles in the air, as all young things are wont to do.

“Girls, dear old girls,” said Alice, softly, breaking an unusual silence of two minutes; “isn't this cosy and sweet and friendly beyond anything? How thankful we ought to be for the happy lives God gives us! We have been put into this beautiful world and taken care of so wisely and kindly every day; yet we don't often speak, or even think, about it.”

“It is trouble, sometimes, more than happiness, that leads us into thinking about God's care and goodness,” said Edith, “although it's very strange that it should. Before my mother's death I was just a little baby playing with letter-blocks, and all at once, after that, I began to make the letters into words and spell out things for myself.”

“What a perfect heathen I am,” burst out Jo. “I can't feel any of these things any more than if I were a Chinaman. Or, perhaps, it is as Edith says, I am still playing with blocks, although I cannot even see the letters on them. I wonder if I shall ever be wide awake enough for that!”

“Look out of the window, Jo,” said