Arabella, an
“Patty at yer service.”
Mrs. Kendall thought of this letter and of Tom as she stood waiting for the long train from New York to come to a standstill; then she looked down at the sweet-faced daintily-gowned little maid at her side, and shuddered—it is one thing to carry beef-tea and wheel-chairs to our unfortunate fellow men, and quite another to invite those same fellow men to a seat at our own table or by our own fireside.
Margaret and her mother had not long to wait. Tom Whalen, in spite of the conductor’s restraining hand, was on the platform before the wheels had ceased to turn. Behind him tumbled Peter, Mary, and Clarabella, while Patty, carefully guiding Arabella’s twisted feet, brought up the rear. There was an instant’s pause; then Tom spied Margaret, and with a triumphant “Come on—here she is!” to those behind, he dashed down the platform.
“My, but ain’t you slick!” he cried admiringly, stopping short before Margaret, who had unconsciously shrunk close to her mother’s side. “Hi, thar, Patty,” he called, hailing the gleeful children behind him, “what would the Alley say if they could see her now?”
There was a moment’s pause. Eagerly as the children had followed Tom’s lead, they stood abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and the pretty little girl they had once known as “Mag of the Alley.” Almost instantly Margaret saw and understood; and with all the strength of her hospitable little soul she strove to put her guests at their ease. With a glad little cry she gave one after another a bear-like hug; then she stood back with a flourish and prepared for the introductions. Unconsciously her words and manner aped those of her mother in sundry other introductions that had figured in her own experience during the last four weeks; and before Mrs. Kendall knew what was happening she found herself being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, late of the Alley, New York.
“Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long ago,” said Margaret. “Mother, dear, can’t you shake hands with Tom?”
Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and the freckles shone luridly through the glow.
“Proud ter know ye, ma’am,” he stammered, clutching frantically at the daintily-gloved, outstretched hand.
Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how to behave, after all. She had feared he would not.
“And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter,” she went on, as Mrs. Kendall clasped in turn two limp hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a frightened boy. “And here’s Patty and the twins, Clarabella and Arabella; and now you know ’em all,” finished Margaret, beaming joyously upon her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over the little lame Arabella.
“My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are,” Mrs. Kendall was saying.
“Yes, she is kind o’ peaked,” volunteered Patty. “Miss Murdock says as how her food don’t ‘similate. Ye see she ain’t over strong, anyhow, on account o’ dem,” pointing to the little twisted feet and legs. “Mebbe Maggie told ye, ma’am, how Arabella wa’n’t finished up right, an’ how her legs didn’t go straight like ours,” added Patty, giving her usual explanation of her sister’s misfortune.
“Yes,” choked Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. “She told me that the little girl was lame. Now, my dears, we—we’ll go home.” Mrs. Kendall hesitated and looked about her. “You—you haven’t any bags or—or anything?” she asked them.
“Gee!” cried Tom, turning sharply toward the track where had stood a moment before the train that brought them. “An’ if ’tain’t gone so soon!”
“Gone—the bag?” chorused five shrill voices.
“Sure!” nodded Tom. Then, with a resigned air, he thrust both hands into his trousers pockets. “Gone she is, bag and baggage.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” murmured Mrs. Kendall.
“Pooh! ’tain’t a mite o’ matter,” assured Patty, quickly. “Ye see, dar wa’n’t nothin’ in it, anyhow, only a extry ribb’n fur Arabella’s hair.” Then, at Mrs. Kendall’s blank look of amazement, she explained: “We only took it ’cause Katy Sovrensky said folks allers took ’em when they went trav’lin’. So we fished dis out o’ de ash barrel an’ fixed it up wid strings an’ tacks. We didn’t have nothin’ ter put in it, ‘course. All our clo’s is on us.”
“We didn’t need nothin’ else, anyhow,” piped up Arabella, “for all our things is span clean. We went ter bed ‘most all day yisterday so’s Patty could wash ’em.”
“Yes, yes, of course, certainly,” agreed Mrs. Kendall, faintly, as she turned and led the way to the big four-seated carryall waiting for them. “Then we’ll go home right away.”
To Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clarabella, it was all so wonderful that they fairly pinched themselves to make sure they were awake. The drive through the elm-bordered streets with everywhere flowers, vine-covered houses, and velvety lawns—it was all quite unbelievable.
“It’s more like Mont-Lawn than anythin’ I ever see,” murmured Arabella. “Seems ‘most as though ’twas heaven.” And Mrs. Kendall, who heard the words, reproached herself because for four long weeks she had stood jealous guard over this “heaven” and refused to “divvy up” its enjoyment. The next moment she shuddered and unconsciously drew Margaret close to her side. Patty had said:
“Gee whiz, Mag, ain’t you lucky? Wis’t I was a lost an’ founded!”
The house with its great stone lions was hailed with an awed “oh-h!” of delight, as were the wide lawns and brilliant flower-beds. Inside the house the children blinked in amazement at the lace-hung windows, and gold-framed pictures; and Clarabella, balancing herself on her toes, looked fearfully at the woven pinks and roses at her feet and demanded: “Don’t walkin’ on ’em hurt ’em?
“Seems so ‘twould,” she added, her eyes distrustfully bent on Margaret who had laughed, and by way of proving the carpet’s durability, was dancing up and down upon it.
The matter of choosing beds in the wide, airy chambers was a momentous one. In the boys’ room, to be sure, it was a simple matter, for there were only two beds, and Tom settled the question at once by unceremoniously throwing Peter on to one of them, and pommeling him with the pillow until he howled for mercy.
The girls had two rooms opening out of each other, and in each room were two dainty white beds. Here the matter of choosing was only settled amicably at last by a rigid system of “counting out” by “Eeny, meany, miny, mo”; and even this was not accomplished without much shouting and laughter, and not a few angry words.
Margaret was distressed. For a time she was silent; then she threw herself into the discussion with all the ardor of one who would bring peace at any cost; and it was by her suggestion that the “Eeny, meany, miny, mo,” finally won the day. In her own room that night, as she went to bed, she apologized to her mother.
“I’m sorry they was so rude, mother. I had forgot they was quite so noisy,” she confessed anxiously. “But I’ll tell ’em to-morrow to be more quiet. Maybe they didn’t know that little ladies and little gentlemen don’t act like that.”
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