Dick and Dolly. Wells Carolyn
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was a big table in the middle, and smaller tables and chairs about. There was a pleasant little writing-desk for each, well furnished with pretty writing materials. Low bookshelves ran round two sides of the room, and the other side showed a jolly big fireplace, and pleasant windows with deep seats.
A roomy, comfortable old sofa and a chest of drawers completed the furnishing.
“It isn’t finished,” said Miss Abbie, “because we don’t yet know your tastes.”
“It’s lovely, Aunties!” cried Dolly, flinging her arms round the neck of one after the other, and finally embracing Dick in her enthusiasm.
“Oh, it’s just gay!” Dick cried. “I’ve always wanted a big playroom, and now we’ve got one. Can I whittle and jigsaw up here?”
“Yes, you may do just exactly as you please. You may bring your young friends up here, and entertain them whenever you choose.”
“That is, after we get the friends,” supplemented Dolly.
“Yes, but you’ll soon get acquainted. There are many nice children in Heatherton. Do you play dolls, Dolly?”
“Yes, I do, when I have any little girls to play with. But, you see, I play with Dick so much, I get out of the habit of dolls. But I do love ’em. When our big box of things comes, I’ve lots of dolls in it, and Dick’s tool-chest and jigsaw – oh, it will be splendid to fix them all up here!”
“Yes, Michael will help you. He’ll fix a good workbench, for you, Dick, if you’re fond of fussing with tools. Do you cut your fingers much?”
“Sometimes, Aunt Rachel, but not always. Say, you’re awful good to us. We’re ever so much obliged.”
Dick was more awkward at expressing his appreciation than Dolly, but the honest joy on the boy’s face showed his admiration of the room, and Aunt Rachel’s heart warmed toward him, for she too was sometimes unable to express herself aptly.
“Now we’ll skiddoo,” said Dolly, as she patted Miss Abbie’s hand by way of farewell. “We want to see Pat feed the chickens.”
“Yes, dearie, run along, but, – would you mind if I ask you not to use those – those unusual words?”
“Skiddoo? Oh, that’s an awful useful word, Aunt Abbie. I don’t see how I could get along without it, but I’ll try if you say so.”
“Yes, do try, Dolly; I want my niece to be a refined, ladylike little girl, not a slangy one.”
“Yes’m.” Dolly drew a little sigh. “I want to do what you want me to do. But I’m pretty forgetful, Aunt Abbie, so don’t be ’scouraged, will you, if I don’t get good all at once?”
Dolly had a childish trick of omitting the first syllable of a word, but Aunt Abbie kissed the earnest little face, and assured her that she wouldn’t get ’scouraged.
So away the twins scampered, down the stairs, and out into the sweet, clear morning air.
Dana Dene stood high on an elevation that looked down on the small town of Heatherton. The view from the terrace in front of the house was beautiful, and as Dick and Dolly looked down at the clustered buildings they tried to guess what they were.
“That’s the church,” said Dick, triumphantly pointing to an unmistakable spire.
“One of ’em,” corrected Dolly; “there’s another, and I wonder what that big stone building is; prob’ly the school where we’ll go.”
“P’raps. Is it, Patrick?”
“Well, no, Master Dick; that isn’t exactly the school fer ye children. That’s the jail, – the county jail, so it is.”
“Oh,” cried Dolly, in dismay; “I don’t want to go to school to a jail! Where is the school-house, Patrick?”
“There’s three of ’em, Miss Dolly. But the grandest is that white house ferninst, an’ I’m thinkin’ ye’ll go there.”
“Are my aunts very grand, Patrick?”
“Oh, yes, miss. We’re the quality of the hull place. There’s nobody like the Danas.”
“That’s nice,” said Dolly, with a little air of satisfaction.
“Huh,” said Dick; “what sort of a country do you think this is, Dolly? Everybody is as good as everybody else. Why do you talk that way, Pat?”
“Well, sor, it may be. But everybody in Heatherton, they thinks Miss Rachel and Miss Abbie is top o’ the heap, you see.”
“All right,” returned Dick. “I don’t mind if we are. But what about the Middletons? Aren’t they nice people?”
Pat’s face clouded. “Don’t be askin’ me about the Middletons,” he said; “I’ve nothin’ to say for or agin ’em. Now, if so be’s you want to see them chickens, come ahead.”
They went ahead or, rather, they followed Pat to the chicken yard, and spent a blissful half-hour among the feathered wonders.
They learned the names of the various kinds of chickens, and Dolly declared she should never tire of watching the little yellow fledglings patter around and peep.
“They’re not still a minute,” she said. “Can I try to catch one?”
Pat showed her how to lift one gently, without hurting the little soft ball of down, and as it was such a pretty little yellow one, Dolly named it Buttercup, and Pat said it should always be her own chicken.
Then Dick picked one out for his very own, and he chose a black one, and called it Cherry, because, he said, some cherries are black.
This made Pat laugh, and then he told the twins to run away and play by themselves, as he had to go to work in earnest.
“What’s your work, Pat?” asked Dolly, who liked to stay with the good-natured Irishman.
“I have to do the gardens, Miss Dolly. An’ it’s rale work, it is, not play. So do ye run away, now.”
“Oh, Pat, let us see you garden,” begged Dolly.
“Please do,” said Dick. “We never saw anybody garden in our life.”
“Ye didn’t! Fer the love of green corn, where was ye brung up?”
“In the city; and summers we had to go to hotels, and we never even saw a garden dug.”
“Come on, then; but ye mustn’t bother.”
“No, we won’t bother,” and with a hop, skip, and jump, they followed Pat to the toolhouse. There was such an array of spades, hoes, rakes, and other implements, that Dick cried out: “Oh, let us garden, too! Pat, can’t we each have a little garden, – just a square patch, you know, and plant things in it?”
“Arrah, a garden, is it? An’ who’d be afther weedin’ it, an’ keepin’ it in order fer ye?”
“Why, we’d do it ourselves,” declared Dolly, fixing her eyes on Pat with her most coaxing smile. “Do let us, Pat, dear.”
“Well, ye must ask yer aunties. I cudden’t give no such permission of myself.”
Away flew the twins to the house, in search of the aunties, and when the twins ran, it was a swift performance indeed. They held hands, and their feet flew up and down so fast that they looked like some queer sort of windmill rolling along.
Bang! in at the front door they went, and almost upset Miss Rachel, who was serenely crossing the hall.
“Oh, Auntie, may we have a garden?” shouted Dick, seizing his aunt’s hand, and leaning up against her to steady himself after his exhausting run.
“Oh, Auntie, may we? Do say yes,” cried Dolly, who had flung her arms round Miss Rachel’s waist, and who was dancing up and down to the imminent danger of the good lady’s toes.
“What? Oh, my, how you do fluster me! What is it?”
Miss