MABEL’S MISHAP

BY Amy E. Blanchard

Author of “Kittyboy’s Christmas,” “Taking a Stand,” “A Dear Little Girl,” etc.

Philadelphia George W. Jacobs & Co. 103-105 So. Fifteenth Street

Copyright, 1900 By GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

“THE TWO CHILDREN, WITH LITTLE LOUIE, WERE PLAYING IN THE LAUNDRY.”

“O, HAROLD, HERE IT IS!”

“SHE OCCUPIED HERSELF WITH TRYING TO PLAY MARBLES.”

CHAPTER I.

IT was raining dismally. Mabel, leaning her arms on the broad window-sill, watched the drops trickling down the panes. Before her was an array of paper dolls in gay tissue dresses. They sat perched upon pasteboard chairs in front of a circle of queer creatures with flat heads, and no feet; hand in hand these stood, rather flimsy in appearance. Mabel had cut them all in one from a bit of newspaper.

Presently she gave the whole company a sweep off on the floor.

“I’m tired of you,” she said. “And it’s raining, and I don’t know what to do. I wish I were twins, so I could have someone to play with.”

[8]“Why, Mabel,” said her mother, “suppose I had two discontented little Mabels to be fretting around on a rainy day, what should I do?”

“You wouldn’t have to have two Mabels,” returned the little girl, “you could call one something else: Maude, or—oh, mamma, you could call one May and one Belle. I think I’d like to be May, myself. That’s what I’ll do next time I play by myself: I’ll pretend I have a twin sister named Belle.”

“Suppose you pick up that company of people, lying there by the window, now, and play with your twin awhile.”

Mabel looked up mischievously. “I think I’ll let Belle pick them up,” she said.

“Well, let me see her do it. There is a looking glass in which I can watch her.”

[9]“Oh, like ‘Alice in the Looking Glass Country’. You watch and see Belle pick them up.” And she set to work, glancing over her shoulder once in a while to see if her mother took in the performance. “There!” she said, after a time, “Belle has picked them up, but we are both tired of paper dolls. Mamma, there is a red flag hanging out by a door across the street; in that house where the little boy lives. What is it for? Do you suppose he has scarlet fever?”

Her mother laughed. “No, there is an auction—a sale going on.”

“What for?”

“Why, I don’t know, dear. For some reason they are selling off their household goods and furniture.”

“Oh, I wonder if the little boy likes to do that. Who is selling the things—his papa?”

[10]“No, an auctioneer.”

“Does he say, ‘Going, going, gone,’ like Uncle Lewis does when he pretends to sell me?”

“Yes.”

“Can anybody go to a—a nauction?”

“Why, yes. How many questions a little girl can ask.”

“Well, mamma, I think if you’ll ’scuse me, I’ll go down stairs and find something else to do.”

“I’ll excuse you, certainly. Don’t get into mischief.”

But Mabel was out of the door and on her way down the steps by this time. She stopped at the parlor, peeped in, and then went over to the piano which she opened and began to drum softly upon it, but she knew her mamma did not allow this, so she went across the hall to the library. This was a favorite room, especially on a[11] rainy day, and, when her father was not busy there, Mabel was often allowed to curl herself up in one of the big chairs with a book. To-day, however, she did not feel inclined to settle down and looked around to find something to invite her attention. A box of water-colors stood open upon the desk where her father had been working. He had been coloring some drawings to use in his class at the university.

Mabel stood gazing at the colors longingly; they did look so bright and pretty. She took up one of the brushes and wet it in the glass of water her father had been using; then she dipped it in the brightest vermillion in the box.

“I wish I had something to paint,” she said to herself. Looking through a pile of newspapers, she found nothing that would do, and her eyes next sought[12] the books nearest her. She opened one; it was fresh and new. “Oh, I couldn’t take that,” she said. “But this old one, I don’t believe he cares much for this. It has pictures in it, but they are very queer, and so yellow, I’m sure the book isn’t of any account at all. I think it would look much better if I were to paint it up a little.” And, the action being suited to the word, the brush was soon making dabs at the colors on the box, and the figures in the engravings were given startling costumes of red, or blue, or yellow, as Mabel’s fancy dictated.

She could not help feeling a little guilty, though all the time telling herself that it was a worthless old book, and that her mamma often gave her old magazines to try her own paints upon.

Yet, when she heard a step on the[13] stairs, she started guiltily, and shut the book with a snap, then put down her brush, unaware that she had upset the glass of water in her haste, and that it was running across the table and soaking through the book.

She hurried out of the door leading to the porch. Here she could listen to the voice of the auctioneer, as it came to her ears quite distinctly from across the street. It had stopped raining, though little puddles still lay among the bricks of the walk.

“Any one can go,” thought Mabel; “mamma said so. I should love to see a nauction. And that little boy, I wonder if he is there.”

It was mild spring weather, and Mabel thought she could dispense with a hat. She would rather not go in the house again just then; “I’ll go to the nauction,”[14] she said. “It’s no more than going to a store; mamma said so.”

So, running across the street, she stood for a moment before the gate of the little boy’s home, then slipped in; another moment found her in a room full of people. She turned to run away, as several turned to look at her, but she caught sight of the forlorn figure of a little boy huddled up in one corner, hugging a large dog, and towards these two she made her way.

The little boy looked up with a faint smile as Mabel approached, then made room for her on the box on which he was sitting.

“Isn’t it funny?” whispered Mabel, while the auctioneer went on rapidly: “A dollar an’ a half an’ a half.”

But the little boy didn’t look as if he thought it very funny, for he turned his[15] head away, and Mabel thought she saw two tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Is your father here?” she asked.

The little fellow shook his head, and just then, the articles in that room being disposed of, the crowd went into the next, and the two children were left alone.

“Are you going to move?” asked Mabel. “I live across the street, you know, and I saw the red flag hanging out, so I just came over.”

The boy nodded.

“I’m Mabel Ford. My sister told me your name; it’s Harold, isn’t it? What a dear dog that is. What’s his name?” Mabel was not to be daunted by Harold’s silence.

“Don.” This time he answered her.

“I wish you were not going away. Do you want to?” Mabel’s questions continued.

[16]“No,” returned Harold, “but you know father has to go with his regiment to Cuba, and so I have to go.”

“Oh, are you going to Cuba? What will you do when they are fighting? When are you going?”

“I don’t know when I am going, but I am not going to Cuba.”

“Oh, I should think you would be glad not to. Will they take all the things out of the house?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I expected to go to my aunt’s to-day, but Drake hasn’t heard from her; neither have I.”

“And your papa went and left you all alone?”

“He had to, for he had to join his troops, and he thought my aunt would be here before this.”

Mabel thought this a dreadful state of affairs, and looked her sympathy.

[17]“You see,” Harold went on, “these aren’t our things; not many of them. Father rented the house furnished, and only brought a few of our own things here.”

“Oh!” That was better, Mabel thought, but her curiosity was still unsatisfied. “Where shall you go to-night?”

“Oh, I’ll go home with Drake, I suppose.”

“Who is he?”

“The coachman. Well, not the coachman, exactly. He does all sorts of things, and his wife has kept house for us all winter.”

“Oh, yes; but I should think it would be much nicer with your aunt.”

“Perhaps it will be when I can go to her, but I can’t yet. You see, she is probably away from home, and if I started[18] without knowing all about it, I might get to her house and find no one there, and then what should I do in a strange place?” Harold was fast growing more communicative.

“That would be dreadful,” agreed his companion, overcome by his lonely condition. “I tell you what I wish you’d do,” she hastened to say: “I wish you’d come over with me. We haven’t any boys at our house, and I’ve always wanted awfully to be a boy. You see it would be fine if I were, for now I’m just nothing. Alice is the oldest, so she’s some importance, and Louie is the baby, so she’s the pet, and I’m in the middle where I can’t be anything, and I don’t have anyone to play with, for Alice is fourteen and Louis is only two.”

“Your mother wouldn’t want me,[19] maybe,” said Harold, though his eyes looked wistful.

“Oh, yes she would,” returned Mabel, confidently; “I’m sure she would. She lets me have my school friends come, and sometimes they stay all night.”

“But I’m a boy.”

“Well, never mind, we can’t help that. You can pretend you are a girl, if you want to, and I’ll lend you one of my frocks.”

This brought the first approach to a laugh which Harold had shown, and he consented to go and hunt up Drake, and Mabel went with him.

Drake, himself, was not to be found, but his wife was, and to her Mabel made known her request.

“Well, I just wish he would go,” declared Mrs. Drake. “He’s been moping around ever since his father went[20] away, and we two old people can’t cheer him up like you could. Go along, Harold, if you like, and stay as long as you want to.”

So Harold followed his new friend across the street, and when the situation was explained, true enough, he was given a warm welcome by Mrs. Ford. An hour later the two children, with little Louie, were playing in the laundry, having great times, with a tub of water and some very primitive fishing lines.

“I don’t usually like babies tagging after me,” Mabel confided to her friend, fearing he might think her less like a boy than she had given him reason to suppose, “but Louie’s nurse has gone out,” she explained.

“Oh, I don’t mind her. I think she is a dear little girl,” Harold returned, and Mabel was relieved when his heart[21] seemed entirely won by Louie’s overtures to “Boy,” as she called him.

All went merrily enough till supper time; then Mabel, intent only upon making Harold at home, brought him smilingly into the dining-room. She had forgotten the affair of the book, but it came back to her in a very unpleasant manner, when her father, with one of his most severe looks, greeted her with: “Mabel, was it you who was in the library this afternoon, meddling with my box of colors?”

Mabel turned as red as a beet, hung her head, tried to speak, and at last, faltered out: “I—I—yes, papa.”

“I might have expected it from a baby like Louie, but a girl as big as you must certainly have known better. You have ruined one of my most valuable and rare books,” Mr. Ford went on to say. All[22] this before Harold. Poor Mabel felt as though she would sink through the floor. She wondered what punishment would be meted out to her, and she looked with pleading eyes at her mother.

CHAPTER II.

“THIS is Harold Evans,” Mrs. Ford said, tactfully drawing her husband’s attention from Mabel. “Harold’s father is in the army, and has gone to Cuba, so we are trying to make our little neighbor feel less lonely.”

“Mr. Evans? oh, yes,” said Mr. Ford, looking up; “I know him. That’s right, Alice, make the boy feel at home. Come here, son, and sit by me.” And the cloud blew over, much to Mabel’s relief. But the hurt of her remorse and shame still lingered. She did like to appear well before her friends, and to be shown up as a naughty, meddlesome little girl, was very hard. Besides, she really was greatly distressed at having spoiled the[24] book, for she knew how her father loved his library, and treasured his rare books and papers.

“Papa,” she faltered, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I thought it was just an old book you didn’t care for; and—yes, I knew it wasn’t right to touch it. Is it one of your very preciousest books?”

“Yes,” replied her father; “I am afraid it is. See, Mabel; not only is this old print marred by those dreadful glaring colors, but you upset the glass of water I left here, and it has soaked through the book and carried the stain of the fresh paint with it. Then, where you were painting the pages are stuck together; and, well, you can see that destruction has followed your meddling. I must forbid you coming into this room again until your mother or I have given you permission.”

[25]“Oh!” Mabel stood the picture of distress. “I am so sorry, papa,” she repeated. “I’ll never do so again. What can I do to myself?”

A little smile flickered around her father’s mouth. “I’m afraid nothing you could do would restore my book. Another copy would be almost impossible to find.”

“Where did you get this one?”

“I came across it at an auction. It was in a lot of books which were lumped together, and went very cheap.”

“Was it an auction like that at Harold’s house this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“How much is very cheap?”

“Oh, five dollars for the lot, I think I paid.”

Mabel was very thoughtful for a few moments. Several plans were at work in her mind. Finally, seeing that her[26] father wanted to return to his work, she said: “I came to tell you how sorry I am, papa, and to say good-night. I think maybe, if you don’t kiss me I’d feel worse.”

“Do you want to feel worse?”

“I don’t want to, but I suppose it would do me good, and make me remember.”

“Well, my small philosopher, you completely disarm me. I confess I was very angry at first, and still feel annoyed, but if I can help your memory by withholding my usual good-night kiss, go to bed without it. Good-night, daughter.”

Mabel lingered wistfully. It was very hard to make her up mind to go without that good-night kiss, and her lips quivered as she turned away, seeing that her father meant to follow out her suggestion. But on the spot she formed a resolution to try[27] to replace the book if ever she could. Five dollars! that was a lot of money; more than she ever had at once, but she would save up every penny. She wondered if there were any books sold at Harold’s house that afternoon. She would ask him.

The next morning, while the family were at breakfast, Drake appeared with rather a perturbed countenance. “I’d like your advice, Mr. Ford,” he began, “So long as your lady was so good as to invite little Harold to come over here, sir, I thought, perhaps you wouldn’t mind helping me out in getting him fixed. You see, sir, when the Captain went away he said the boy was to go to his aunt, and that I was to take him as soon as I heard from her. Now she writes, or rather a nurse does, and says she’s laid up to a hospital, sannytorum, they call it, and[28] it’ll be weeks before she’s out again, and will I look after the boy till she’s well. She seems to think I’m some sort of kin-folks to him. But you see, sir, me and my wife has a chance to go to the country to a good place, and how’ll we take the boys, we being hired help like?”

“Humph!” Mr. Ford glanced up at his wife.

Mabel slipped down from her chair and went close to her mother.

“Mamma, let him come here,” she whispered. “He hasn’t any mamma nor any sisters and brothers, nor anything. I’ll give up my room if Alice will let me sleep with her.”

“Mabel proposes that we invite Harold here,” said Mrs. Ford. “She will give up her room to him, Phillip.”

“Well, but how about you? It is something[29] of a charge to take a boy into the family where there are only girls.”

“I’ll take the charge willingly.”

Mr. Ford nodded with a satisfied air. “It’s settled then, Drake. We’ll take care of the lad. Captain Evans and I are acquaintances, and I do not think he would object to the arrangement.”

“He’d be that thankful, sir,” said the old man feelingly, but he looked at Mabel, who at once understood.

“There’s the dear doggie, too. Do you mind him, mamma? He is such a darling, and Harold loves him so.”

“Let’s have the whole combination,” laughed Mr. Ford, who loved animals. “He’s a collie, isn’t he? I’ve seen him on the street and he seemed a fine fellow.”

And so it was settled that Harold and Don should enter the family for the[30] time being, and Mabel proceeded, forthwith, to lay her plans and to get her room ready for this newcomer. She took her dolls, her specially girly books, and certain little knicknacks into her sister’s room.

“What do boys like in their rooms?” she asked Alice.

“Oh, all sorts of funny things. Bows and arrows, and guns, and swords, and oars and fishing tackle and such things.”

“Oh!” Mabel opened her eyes at the idea of such queer taste, and she went out of the room wondering how she could supply these things.

Then she remembered that there was in the garret a hammock, which had fallen into disuse; it was something like a net, she reflected, and she dragged it forth. After many efforts, and finally resorting to a chair placed on top of a[31] table, she managed to climb up high enough to drape the hammock in some sort of fashion over the door, viewing the result of her labors with much satisfaction. But she thought the room needed some further decoration, and she returned to the garret. After fumbling around, she discovered a pair of old boxing gloves, and a pair of foils, and at last found leaning against the wall, a dust-covered picture representing a hunting scene.

“There!” she exclaimed, “that is exactly what I want. I wonder if papa will let me have these.”

Down stairs she trudged again, and reported to her sister, who good-naturedly went to the library, since Mabel was forbidden there, and came back with her father’s consent to use the things for decoration.

[32]Mabel was repaid for all her work when Harold, upon being ushered into the room, exclaimed: “Why this doesn’t look like a girl’s room. See those foils and those boxing gloves. It looks like some of the officer’s rooms. This is great!”

“And where is Don going to sleep?” asked Alice.

Harold’s countenance fell. “He always sleeps at the foot of my bed,” he replied, fondling his dog, who looked up wistfully, not understanding all these changes.

Mrs. Ford looked a little dubious.

“He’s very good and quiet,” said Harold, eagerly. “He never makes any noise or gives a bit of trouble. He minds every word I say to him.”

“Well, we will let him try it for a night;” agreed Mrs. Ford, “and if he behaves well there is no reason why he shouldn’t do as he has been in the habit[33] of doing.” And Harold’s heart was completely won.

Indeed, a few days after this, Don proved himself entirely worthy of the confidence placed in him; for Mrs. Ford, hearing Alice cry out: “Oh, mother, come quick!” ran to the nursery, where she found her eldest daughter sitting on the floor, one arm around little Louie, and the other around Don, while she alternately kissed Louie’s golden head and Don’s black one, murmuring in an agitated voice: “Oh, dear little sister! Oh, Don! oh, Don!”

“Why, Alice, what in the world is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs. Ford.