Adele Doring of the Sunnyside Club

There’s many a high-chair put away
For the baby that came, but could not stay.
There’s many a mother-heart yearning still,
And arms that a motherless babe might fill.
There’s many a home that’s sad and drear,
That a prattling child might bless and cheer.

It was Sunday, the day after the eventful Saturday which would be so long remembered by the Sunny Seven, as well as by the twelve orphans who had been made so happy.

Adele, dressed in pretty white muslin and wearing her daisy-wreathed hat, tripped down the road toward the orphan asylum. She was so deep in thought that she did not notice some one standing on the corner and evidently waiting for her, until a pleasant voice called, “May I go with you, my pretty maid?”

“Oh, Gertrude Willis!” Adele exclaimed. “I was thinking of you that very moment and wishing that you were going with me, and here you are.”

These two friends were especially dear to each other. They walked on together, and Gertrude said, “Adele, I think it so nice of you to go every Sunday afternoon to tell stories to the little children at the Orphans’ Home. I have often wanted to go with you, but usually father has a young people’s meeting at the church and he likes me to be there, but to-day he himself suggested that I go with you.”

“I’m so glad!” Adele replied, giving her friend’s arm a loving squeeze. Then they talked of Eva Dearman, and decided that they would try to be like sisters to the little girl who had no home-people of her own in all the world.

“I just can’t imagine what that would be like,” Gertrude remarked, as she thought of the parsonage in which there were five merry children, watched over by a loving, if dignified, father, and the dearest mother in all the world.

Mrs. Friend, the matron of the Home, greeted them pleasantly, and led them to the large, barren room where, on little red chairs, twenty small children were seated.

Their round, eager eyes were watching the door, and when they saw Adele, their faces brightened, and it seemed as though sunshine had suddenly entered the rather gloomy room.

The children, ranging from five years to eight, arose, and, standing beside their chairs, made funny little bobbing curtsies, and they piped out, like so many chirping birds, “Good afternoon, Miss Adele.”

“Good afternoon, little sunbeams,” Adele replied. “I have brought a friend with me to-day. Miss Gertrude is her name.”

Then the tiny tots bobbed another curtsy, and with solemn faces they piped, “Good afternoon, Miss Gertrude.”

“The little darlings!” Gertrude exclaimed softly, and tears rushed to her eyes. It made her heart ache to think of all those babies and not a mother to cuddle them, and then she thought of the childless homes to which these very little ones might bring so much joy and happiness.

Meanwhile they were seated, and Adele was holding her little audience spellbound with the simple tales that all children love. Tucked away in each one of them was a thought that would help the little listener to be a better boy or girl during the following week.

When the story-hour was over, Adele arose, and that was a signal for the tiny tots to rise and chirp all together, “Thank you, Miss Adele.” Then, to the surprise of Gertrude Willis, the twenty, without ceremony, rushed at Adele, and that loving girl caught as many of the children as her arms would hold.

On their way out they stopped for a moment in the matron’s office.

“Oh, Mrs. Friend,” Adele exclaimed impulsively, “how I do wish there was a sunnier spot for the nursery! That north room seems so bleak and chilly.”

“I have often wished that we had money enough to fit out a cheery nursery for our little ones,” Mrs. Friend replied with her kindly smile, as she walked outdoors with the girls. “As it is,” she continued, “we have all that we can do to feed and clothe the children entrusted to our care.”

As they sauntered toward the gardens Mrs. Friend said, “Yonder is a little house that used to be occupied by a gardener. It is quite empty now, and there is a sunny front room in it, and I have often wished that I had some way of making it into a play-house for the very little children.”

“Oh, Mrs. Friend!” Adele exclaimed eagerly. “If we can find the way, may we do it?”

“Indeed you may!” Mrs. Friend replied, smiling at the girl’s enthusiasm, and then she bade them good-bye.

On Monday morning Adele started to school hippety-skipping and singing a merry little song to herself. There were berry-bushes abloom in the field over which she was taking a short cut, and from one of these just ahead of her there arose a clear, whistling note.

“A bobolink!” Adele thought, as she stole nearer to catch a glimpse, if she could, of the feathered songster, but, to her surprise, the notes changed to “Bob White!” Adele stood still, puzzled, when from the blossoming bush, sweet and clear, arose a robin’s morning-song.

“How strange!” the girl thought. “It must be a birds’ convention!” She tiptoed nearer, when up from behind the bushes sprang a bevy of laughing girls, and joyously they cried, “The top of the morning to you, Adele.”

“But where are the birds?” asked the mystified girl.

“Here in my hand,” Peggy Pierce replied, as she displayed a silver whistle. “It’s a musical instrument belonging to my small brother. I borrowed it because I wanted you all to hear the sweet bird notes.”

“Truly, I thought there were birds in the bush,” Adele said. Then, turning to Gertrude Willis, she asked, “Trudie, have you told the girls about our plan?”

“Of course not, Della,” that maiden replied. “The president of the Sunnyside Club should make all announcements.”

“Oh, what is it? Do tell us!” Peggy Pierce and Betty Burd exclaimed eagerly.

“It isn’t a party this time,” Adele replied, smiling at little Betty’s enthusiasm, “but it is another opportunity for our Sunnyside Club to do a kind deed.” And then she told them about the gloomy room which was the nursery for the very little children at the orphanage; about the toys, many of them old and broken; and about the cheery cottage in the garden, and how Mrs. Friend had said that they might fit it up as a play-house if only they could find the way.

“Oh, girls!” Betty Burd cried with shining eyes. “We surely can find the way; that is, if mumsie is willing. I had the darlingest play-house in the South. Papa was an architect and he planned it himself. There were three rooms in it, and one of them was the home of Mother Goose. I wasn’t very old then, but I shall never forget the joy in my heart when I first beheld that room. It was like stepping into a Mother Goose picture-book and being able to skip about in it. Then, when papa died and we came North to keep house for Uncle George, I just couldn’t bear to part with those Mother Goose things, so mumsie packed them in a big box and brought them along, and ever since they have been up in the attic.

“Of course I am too old to play with those things now, but wouldn’t I just love to fit up a play-house with them for those poor little orphans! We’ll do it, too, if mumsie is willing.”

Betty’s mother gladly gave her consent, and the following Saturday found the Sunny Seven in the orphanage garden. The little cottage had been thoroughly cleaned, much to the delight of Rosamond Wright, who did not care to attend another scrubbing-party.

The two orphans, Eva Dearman and Amanda Brown, at Adele’s invitation, came out to help, and how happy they were to be included!

“I do wish that the Mother Goose box would come, so that we might begin to unpack it,” Betty Burd declared impatiently.

“Bob said that he would bring it over just as soon as his morning work was done,” Bertha explained.

“Here he comes now, and Jack Doring is with him!” Doris Drexel called. The girls crowded to the sunny window and looked out at the driveway; then Adele threw open the door as Bob leaped to the ground. Pretending to be a cartman, the boy exclaimed in a rather poor imitation of Irish brogue, “Good day to yez. And where will yez be afther havin’ the baggage put?”

“Oh, Bob!” Betty Burd cried. “Weren’t you an angel to bring it over for us!”

“Of course he’s an angel, and so am I, too, for that matter!” Bertha exclaimed.

“Oh, I quite forgot that ‘Angel’ is his name,” Betty gayly replied. “But do please bring the box right in and set it in the middle of the floor.”

When this was done, she laughingly inquired, “And now, Mr. Cartman, what might your charges be?”

“Hum-m!” said the mischievous Bob. “Since it’s fer ladies, we’ll make the charges light. I think one box of fudge would do nicely. What do you say, Jack?”

These boys well knew that wherever the girls were gathered together, there also was a batch of fudge.

“But we want some for ourselves,” Doris protested. “I think two squares for each of you would be good pay for delivering the box.” Then she added brightly, “Girls! I have a brilliant idea! We might give the boys four squares each if they will open the box and help us unpack; but if they refuse, they shall have nothing at all.”

“Of course we will open it for you,” Jack Doring replied amiably, as he took a hammer out of his coat-pocket. “Here, Bob,” he added, “proceed to show the ladies what an excellent box-opener you are.”

“Not a bit of it,” Bob replied. “Wouldn’t deprive you, old chap, of all that honor for worlds.” So indolent Jack, having the hammer, had to pry off the boards, and then merrily the unpacking began. There were four large squares of cotton cloth on which were colored prints of Mother Goose pictures.

“Boys,” Betty implored, “please find a stepladder and tack these up for us, and then we shall be through in short order.”

“I should call it a large order,” Bob Angel declared, but nevertheless he went out and soon returned with the needed stepladder. Then from a high seat on the top of it he announced, “Ladies, be it known that my charges for tacking are ten fudge squares with chopped walnuts in them.”

“I’ll tell you what!” Adele exclaimed. “If you boys will help us to-day, we girls will soon give a fudge party and you shall have just all the candy that you can eat.”

“Three cheers for Adele!” Bob exclaimed. And then so ably did the boys lend their assistance that the work of unpacking and decorating was soon completed, and with laughter and joking they remounted the wagon and rode away.

An hour later the twenty kiddies were admitted to their new play-house. Mrs. Friend was with them, and she was as pleased as they were with the Mother Goose room. There were cloth dolls dressed to represent the different characters, and woolly Mother Goose animals, and there were bright picture-books which babies could look at to their heart’s content and the pages wouldn’t tear.

Betty Burd, with her arm about Adele’s waist, stood looking on, and she was hoping that somehow her dear daddy might know of the wonderful happiness that his gift to her was giving to these baby orphans.

When the children were willing to sit down and be quiet, Adele told them the stories that went with the pictures on the walls. Then, when it was all over and the Sunny Seven were about to depart, the little ones scrambled to their feet and, making their funny little bobbing curtsies, piped out, “Thank you, Miss Betty.” This was so unexpected that tears rushed to Betty’s eyes and her voice trembled as she said, “You’re welcome, little darlings.”

On their way home Rosamond exclaimed, “And now, girls, let us plan that fudge party which we promised to give for the boys!”

“Not yet, Rosie,” Adele replied. “Final examinations are drawing near, and I think we would better plan to just study and study, but as soon as vacation arrives, we’ll have the nicest fudge party that ever was or could be.”

And with that promise Rosamond had to be content.