like the elephants best, and I'd give anything to go on a hunt like that!” cried Molly Loo, who rode cows, drove any horse she could get, had nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog that ever barked.
“I fancy 'The Dancing Lesson;' it is so sort of splendid, with the great windows, gold chairs, and fine folks. Oh, I would like to live in a castle with a father and mother like that,” said Merry, who was romantic, and found the old farmhouse on the hill a sad trial to her high-flown ideas of elegance.
“Now, that ship, setting out for some far-away place, is more to my mind. I weary for home now and then, and mean to see it again some day;” and Mrs. Pecq looked longingly at the English ship, though it was evidently outward bound. Then, as if reproaching herself for discontent, she added: “It looks like those I used to see going off to India with a load of missionaries. I came near going myself once, with a lady bound for Siam; but I went to Canada with her sister, and here I am.”
“I'd like to be a missionary and go where folks throw their babies to the crocodiles. I'd watch and fish them out, and have a school, and bring them up, and convert all the people till they knew better,” said warm-hearted Molly Loo, who befriended every abused animal and forlorn child she met.
“We needn't go to Africa to be missionaries; they have 'em nearer home and need 'em, too. In all the big cities there are a many, and they have their hands full with the poor, the wicked, and the helpless. One can find that sort of work anywhere, if one has a mind,” said Mrs. Pecq.
“I wish we had some to do here. I'd so like to go round with baskets of tea and rice, and give out tracts and talk to people. Wouldn't you, girls?” asked Molly, much taken with the new idea.
“It would be rather nice to have a society all to ourselves, and have meetings and resolutions and things,” answered Merry, who was fond of little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing circle with her mother.
“We wouldn't let the boys come in. We'd have it a secret society, as they do their temperance lodge, and we'd have badges and pass-words and grips. It would be fun if we can only get some heathen to work at!” cried Jill, ready for fresh enterprises of every sort.
“I can tell you someone to begin on right away,” said her mother, nodding at her. “As wild a little savage as I'd wish to see. Take her in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her. Begin at home, my lass, and you'll find missionary work enough for a while.”
“Now, Mammy, you mean me! Well, I will begin; and I'll be so good, folks won't know me. Being sick makes naughty children behave in story-books, I'll see if live ones can't;” and Jill put on such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and asked for their missions also, thinking they would be the same.
“You, Merry, might do a deal at home helping mother, and setting the big brothers a good example. One little girl in a house can do pretty much as she will, especially if she has a mind to make plain things nice and comfortable, and not long for castles before she knows how to do her own tasks well,” was the first unexpected reply.
Merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly, resolving to do what she could, and surprised to find how many ways seemed open to her after a few minutes' thought.
“Where shall I begin? I'm not afraid of a dozen crocodiles after Miss Bat;” and Molly Loo looked about her with a fierce air, having had practice in battles with the old lady who kept her father's house.
“Well, dear, you haven't far to look for as nice a little heathen as you'd wish;” and Mrs. Pecq glanced at Boo, who sat on the floor staring hard at them, attracted by the dread word “crocodile.” He had a cold and no handkerchief, his little hands were red with chilblains, his clothes shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of his stockings, and a head of tight curls that evidently had not been combed for some time.
“Yes, I know he is, and I try to keep him decent, but I forget, and he hates to be fixed, and Miss Bat doesn't care, and father laughs when I talk about it.”
Poor Molly Loo looked much ashamed as she made excuses, trying at the same time to mend matters by seizing Boo and dusting him all over with her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as if ringing bells, and then dumping him down again with the despairing exclamation: “Yes, we're a pair of heathens, and there's no one to save us if I don't.”
That was true enough; for Molly's father was a busy man, careless of everything but his mills, Miss Bat was old and lazy, and felt as if she might take life easy after serving the motherless children for many years as well as she knew how. Molly was beginning to see how much amiss things were at home, and old enough to feel mortified, though, as yet, she had done nothing to mend the matter except be kind to the little boy.
“You will, my dear,” answered Mrs. Pecq, encouragingly, for she knew all about it. “Now you've each got a mission, let us see how well you will get on. Keep it secret, if you like, and report once a week. I'll be a member, and we'll do great things yet.”
“We won't begin till after Christmas; there is so much to do, we never shall have time for any more. Don't tell, and we'll start fair at New Year's, if not before,” said Jill, taking the lead as usual. Then they went on with the gay ladies, who certainly were heathen enough in dress to be in sad need of conversion,—to common-sense at least.
“I feel as if I was at a party,” said Jill, after a pause occupied in surveying her gallery with great satisfaction, for dress was her delight, and here she had every conceivable style and color.
“Talking of parties, isn't it too bad that we must give up our Christmas fun? Can't get on without you and Jack, so we are not going to do a thing, but just have our presents,” said Merry, sadly, as they began to fit different heads and bodies together, to try droll effects.
“I shall be all well in a fortnight, I know; but Jack won't, for it will take more than a month to mend his poor leg. May be they will have a dance in the boys' big room, and he can look on,” suggested Jill, with a glance at the dancing damsel on the wall, for she dearly loved it, and never guessed how long it would be before her light feet would keep time to music again.
“You'd better give Jack a hint about the party. Send over some smart ladies, and say they have come to his Christmas ball,” proposed audacious Molly Loo, always ready for fun.
So they put a preposterous green bonnet, top-heavy with plumes, on a little lady in yellow, who sat in a carriage; the lady beside her, in winter costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted to a bride's head with its orange flowers and veil, and these works of art were sent over to Jack, labelled “Miss Laura and Lotty Burton going to the Minots' Christmas ball,”—a piece of naughtiness on Jill's part, for she knew Jack liked the pretty sisters, whose gentle manners made her own wild ways seem all the more blamable.
No answer came for a long time, and the girls had almost forgotten their joke in a game of Letters, when “Tingle, tangle!” went the bell, and the basket came in heavily laden. A roll of colored papers was tied outside, and within was a box that rattled, a green and silver horn, a roll of narrow ribbons, a spool of strong thread, some large needles, and a note from Mrs. Minot:—
“Dear Jill,—I think of having a Christmas tree so that our invalids can enjoy it, and all your elegant friends are cordially invited. Knowing that you would like to help, I send some paper for sugar-plum horns and some beads for necklaces. They will brighten the tree and please the girls for themselves or their dolls. Jack sends you a horn for a pattern, and will you make a ladder-necklace to show him how? Let me know if you need anything.
“Yours
