Four girls of forty years ago

PAUL was correct in his prediction; he was not ill the next day, nor did he manifest any signs of approaching illness during the following week. His mother was very much surprised. Her sister Kate remarked sarcastically that she believed Julia was disappointed that none of her prognostications of evil came to pass, but when the ninth day was passed, even Mrs. Chester was forced to confess that for once in his life her boy had escaped unharmed. For the first day or two she kept Paul constantly with her, and he and the little girls met only at meals, but as time went on, this strict discipline began to relax, and by the end of the week the children were allowed to play together again. Grandma and Aunt Kate were very busy attending a series of missionary meetings, and had little time or thought to devote to anything else. Otherwise the children’s punishment might have been more prolonged. Paul’s father had written a letter to his wife, after reading which Mrs. Chester had talked long and seriously to her little boy, and had secured a solemn promise from that small delinquent to refrain from any further mischief. Paul was a truthful boy, and when he had once made a promise his mother knew she could trust him to keep it.

“But never, never again shall I allow Paul to go out with those children,” Mrs. Chester declared to her mother and sister. “Goodness only knows what mischief they might lead the dear child into.”

“They may get into plenty of mischief,” returned Grandma, with her grim smile, “but I will engage there won’t be any more attempts to find a stolen child.”

And Mrs. Winslow was correct. The very words “stolen child” were sufficient to cause Dulcie’s cheeks to burn with mortification, and bring the tears of humiliation to Molly’s eyes.

But children cannot go on thinking of unpleasant things for very long at a time, and by the end of the second week the events of that dreadful afternoon had ceased to be the foremost thought in any of their minds.

“You and Dulcie must stay down-stairs this evening,” Molly informed Paul, one afternoon just before dinner. “Daisy and Maud and I are going to be very busy.”

“What are you going to be busy about?” Paul inquired, with pardonable curiosity. He rather enjoyed the evenings in the nursery, with the little girls, for since the arrival of the Chesters, Grandma had not insisted on their remaining in the dining-room after dinner.

“To-morrow is Dulcie’s birthday,” explained Molly, “and we’ve got to do up the presents this evening.”

Paul looked interested.

“What presents is she going to have?” he asked.

“Well,” said Molly, not without some embarrassment, “you see, it isn’t very easy to arrange. If we had some money, we’d buy presents, of course, but we haven’t any of us got a penny. Papa sent us each five dollars for Christmas, but Grandma put it in the bank for us, and we can’t get it out again till we’re of age, and that won’t be for ever so many years. So we have to give something we have already. Daisy made a book-mark, but we couldn’t all do that, because Dulcie only reads one book at a time. Daisy and I both wanted to give her our Sunday hats, because hers got spotted in the rain, but we were afraid Grandma wouldn’t let us. I’m giving her some of my hair-ribbons; they’re not new, but they’re quite good yet, and Dulcie loves hair-ribbons. Maud wanted to give some of her paper dolls, but we think twelve is too old for dolls, so she’s decided to give her gold locket that Papa gave her before he went away. It’s very pretty, and there is some of Mamma’s hair in it. We’re going to tie the parcels up to-night, and write messages on them. Daisy does the writing, and we say things like ‘For Dulcie, from her loving sister Molly,’ or ‘With loving birthday wishes, from Maud.’ It’s really quite exciting doing up the presents.”

“I shouldn’t think it would be much fun, when you haven’t anything to do up but your own old things,” objected Paul. “What are Grandma and Aunt Kate going to give?”

“Grandma and Aunt Kate!” repeated Molly, in astonishment, “why, they never give presents except on Christmas, and then Grandma only gave us some woolen stockings, and Aunt Kate gave us each a cake of scented soap. Grandma says nobody ever gave her a birthday present in her life.”

“I got a lot of things on my birthday,” said Paul. “Father gave me a velocipede, and Mother a lot of books, and—I say, I’d like to give Dulcie a present, too. Father gave me five dollars to spend in New York. What do you think she’d like?”

“Oh, Paul, how kind you are!” cried Molly, her face beaming with pleasure. “I know a book she wants dreadfully, and she never can get it at the library, because it’s always out. It’s ‘Little Men,’ by Miss Alcott. We’ve all read ‘Little Women,’ and we loved it, but ‘Little Men’ has been out every time Dulcie asked for it.”

“All right,” said Paul, grandly, “she shall have it. I’ll get Mother to take me to a bookstore to-morrow. Do you always give each other your old things for birthday presents?”

“Yes, at least we have since Papa went away. Daisy’s birthday comes in May, and mine is in July. I suppose Dulcie will give the locket to Daisy, because it’s about the nicest thing we’ve got, and perhaps—I don’t know, of course—but Daisy may give it to me when my birthday comes. Maud’s birthday isn’t till September, and by that time I can give it back to her again.”

“Well, it’s the queerest way of giving presents that I ever heard of,” declared Paul. “I shouldn’t like it one bit, but I suppose you don’t mind so much if you’re used to it.”

“There isn’t any use minding what you can’t help,” said Molly, philosophically, and just then the dinner-bell rang, and the conversation came to an end.

Immediately after dinner the three younger girls left the dining-room, and Dulcie, looking quite happy and excited, sat down to spend a silent evening with her elders. Paul would have liked to follow the others, but was too proud to go where he had not been invited, so having nothing better to do, he consented with unusually good grace to his mother’s proposal that he should read a chapter or two of ancient history.

“To-morrow is your birthday, isn’t it?” Paul observed to Dulcie, as the two children went up-stairs together, at eight o’clock.

“Yes,” said Dulcie, smiling; “that’s why the others went up so early; they wanted to tie up the presents.”

“Have you any idea what you’re going to get?” Paul asked, curiously.

“Not the very least, and it’s so exciting wondering about it.” And Dulcie laughed, such a happy laugh, that Paul gazed at her in bewilderment.

“I hope she won’t be disappointed,” he said to himself. “I wish I’d known about that book before, so I could have bought it in time. I should be disappointed enough if I didn’t get anything but old junk for my birthday, and I guess most people would, too.”

But when Dulcie came down to breakfast the next morning, she did not look in the least disappointed. She was wearing a pink hair-ribbon, which Paul remembered to have noticed as a favorite color with Molly, and round her neck, attached to a piece of black velvet, was a tiny gold locket.

“Happy birthday,” remarked Paul, as Dulcie slipped into her seat at the table. “Did you like your presents?”

“I loved them,” answered Dulcie, heartily. “I woke up before six, and took all the packages into bed; I was so crazy to see what they were.”

At that moment Grandma looked up from the morning paper, to inquire sharply:

“What’s that round your neck, Dulcie?”

“It’s my locket,” said Dulcie, proudly, touching the trinket with loving fingers. “It was Maud’s, but she gave it to me for a birthday present. Papa gave it to her, and there’s a piece of Mamma’s hair in it.”

“Take it off the moment you go up-stairs,” commanded Mrs. Winslow. “Children don’t wear jewelry in the morning. I am surprised you didn’t know better than to put it on.”

Dulcie’s face fell, and she grew suddenly scarlet, but she said nothing, and no further allusions were made on the subject of birthdays.

The morning was taken up with lessons, as usual, and after luncheon the four little girls were sent out for their daily exercise in the Square. They were not allowed to go far from home by themselves, and as it was a cold, dark afternoon, with a strong wind blowing, they did not find the solemn walk round and round the Square particularly enjoyable. Dulcie left the others for a few minutes, while she made a call at the circulating library, whence she returned looking rather crestfallen.

“Did you get it this time?” Daisy inquired, eagerly.

Dulcie shook her head.

“Out as usual,” she said. “I got ‘Heartsease,’ by Charlotte Yonge, but I don believe it’s half as nice as ‘Little Men.’”

Molly heard both question and answer, and looked suddenly pleased and mysterious.

Paul had gone out with his mother, but on his return, at about four o’clock, he ran up-stairs to the nursery, two steps at a time. He was carrying a parcel under his arm. He found his four friends already returned from their walk, and somewhat to his surprise, three of them—including Dulcie herself—did not look very much pleased to see him.

“What are you all doing?” he inquired, with some curiosity, for it was evident that his entrance had interrupted something.

“Oh, just playing,” answered Daisy, blushing, and Dulcie added hastily: “It’s a very silly game; you wouldn’t care about it.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t?” demanded the visitor, who was standing in the doorway, with one hand behind him.

“Because I know you wouldn’t; it isn’t a boy’s game at all.”

“Well, I think you might tell me what it is, anyway,” said Paul, rather offended, and Molly, who had noticed the parcel in her friend’s hand, hastened to say soothingly:

“There isn’t any harm in telling him; I don’t believe he’ll laugh. We’re having a make-believe party, Paul.”

“What’s a make-believe party?”

“Why, you see,” Daisy explained, “this is Dulcie’s birthday, and we wanted to do something a little different from ordinary days. Of course Grandma wouldn’t let us have a real party, so we’re having an imaginary one, and all the people who come to it are make-believes.”

Paul laughed.

“That’s the funniest party I ever heard of,” he said. “I say, let me play, too.”

Dulcie and Daisy looked doubtful, but Molly pleaded, and in the end the others consented, after exacting a promise from Paul not to laugh, and never to let the grown-ups know how silly they had been.

“We pretend this is the parlor,” said Molly. “We are all dressed in party dresses. Mine is pink silk, with white dotted muslin over it. There’s an imaginary piano over there by the window, and a man is playing dance music on it. Dulcie stands here by the door, and shakes hands with people when they come in. I announce their names, and everybody brings her a present. I’ll show you how we do it.” And, turning her head in the direction of the open door, Molly announced in a good imitation of “Grandma’s company voice”:

“Miss Blanche Bud.”

Dulcie advanced and held out her hand.

“I’m very glad to see you, Blanche,” she said. “It was lovely of you to come to my party. Your dress is very pretty. Oh, are these flowers for me? How very sweet of you to bring them. Maud, please put these roses in water.”

“Isn’t it fun?” giggled Maud, seizing the imaginary bouquet from her sister’s outstretched hand. “If I shut my eyes tight, and pretend very hard, I can almost make myself believe it’s a real party.”

Paul was finding some difficulty in keeping his promise not to laugh.

“Let me come next,” he urged, and Molly, with another glance at the mysterious package in Paul’s hand, announced:

“Master Paul Chester.”

“How do you do, Paul?” said Dulcie, gravely. “I’m glad you could come. It’s rather a cloudy day, isn’t it?”

“Many happy returns of the day, and here’s a present for you,” said Paul, thrusting his parcel into Dulcie’s hand, and instantly retreating to the background.

“Why—why, it’s a real present!” cried Dulcie, quite forgetting the make-believe party in her surprise.

“Let me help untie the string,” pleaded Maud. “I love to open parcels. Oh, it’s a book. Dulcie likes books better than most any other presents, Paul.”

“It’s ‘Little Men,’” said Dulcie, with shining eyes; “the book I’ve been wanting for so long! How did you know I wanted it, Paul?”

“Molly told me,” said Paul, who was feeling much gratified at the excitement produced by his gift. “I bought it this afternoon when I was out with Mother. She said I ought to write something in it, but there wasn’t time. I’ll write it now.”

“All right,” said Dulcie, hugging her new treasure tight. “Oh, Paul, I do thank you so much. What would you like to write?”

“Well,” said Paul, reflectively, “Mother thought something French would be nice, but I hate French. I think ‘From Paul Chester to his affectionate friend Dulcie Winslow’ would be all right, don’t you? Or would you rather have some poetry? I know a lot of poetry.”

Dulcie said she liked Paul’s first suggestion best, and the little boy sat down at the desk to write the inscription.

“It’s the first really nice birthday present you’ve had, Dulcie,” said Daisy, joyfully; “I’m so glad you got it.”

“They were all nice,” declared Dulcie, giving her sister an affectionate squeeze. “I loved every single one. I’m awfully glad to have ‘Little Men,’ though. I’ll read it out loud this evening, if you like. Have you finished, Paul? Oh, how beautifully you write.”

Paul looked pleased.

“I like buying presents for people,” he said, grandly. “Mother said she was glad I was generous, but she didn’t think I need spend so much money. I told her I wanted to, because I liked Dulcie, and I thought it was real mean nobody gave her anything new for her birthday.”

“What did your mother say?” Dulcie asked, with pardonable curiosity.

“Oh, she said Grandma had a pretty hard time keeping you all here, and we mustn’t expect too much of her. Now let’s go on with that party. What do you do about things to eat?”

“I’m afraid they’ll have to be imaginary, like all the rest of it,” said Dulcie, laughing. “Grandma won’t let us bring food up here, and we’re not allowed to eat between meals, anyway. Why, here comes Mary. What is it, Mary? Does Grandma want us?”

“It’s a package for you, Miss Dulcie,” said Mary, rather breathless from the four long flights of stairs. “It came by express, and I thought you might like to have it right away. Mrs. Winslow’s out, and Miss Kate, too.”

“Why, what in the world can it be?” cried Dulcie, and all the others gathered about her eagerly, as she untied the string.

“It’s a wooden box,” announced Molly.

“Maybe it’s a birthday present from Papa,” suggested Maud.

“Or from Lizzie,” added Daisy.

“It’s from California,” said Paul; “I see California on the back. Do you know anybody there?”

“Yes, Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie,” said Dulcie; “it must be from one of them, but how did they know this was my birthday?”

“There’s a letter inside,” cried Molly. “Let’s read it before we open the box, then we’ll know who sent it.”

“Why not see what’s in the box first?” objected Paul, who was almost as much interested in the contents of the mysterious package as the little girls themselves.

“Because,” said Daisy, “it’s so exciting to anticipate, and as soon as we know what’s inside the box the excitement will be over. Do read the letter first, Dulcie.”

“It might be only soap, you know,” suggested Maud, with a recollection of Aunt Kate’s Christmas present.

“The letter is from Miss Leslie,” cried Dulcie, who, obedient to Daisy’s request, had already torn open the envelope. “Oh, isn’t it lovely? Listen to what she says.” And she read aloud:

Dulcie came to a sudden startled pause. All the little girls had grown very much embarrassed.

“What’s the matter? Why don’t you go on?” demanded Paul, in astonishment.

“I can’t,” said Dulcie, “it’s a secret. I ought to have stopped before, but I didn’t notice.”

Paul looked disappointed and a little offended.

“I can keep secrets just as well as anybody else,” he said, sulkily, “but of course if you don’t want me to hear, I won’t listen.” And he turned to leave the room, with an air of injured dignity.

It was an awkward moment. Nobody wanted to offend Paul, especially after his generosity in giving Dulcie a birthday present. And yet, could he be trusted with this precious secret? It was Daisy who finally settled the difficulty.

“I believe we can trust Paul,” she said, with sudden decision. “I’m sure a nice boy can keep a promise. Finish the letter first, Dulcie, and then let’s tell him all about Miss Polly.”

So Dulcie, after making sure that Mary had gone down-stairs again, and impressing upon Paul that what he was about to hear was “a very solemn secret indeed,” went on with her letter.

“What a beautiful letter!” exclaimed Daisy. “How do you suppose she found out about your birthday?”

“I suppose Uncle Stephen must have told her, but I didn’t think he knew. It was dear of her to write, and to send such a wonderful present.”

“I’ve looked inside the box,” Maud informed them, “and it’s full of big sticky, delicious-looking things. May I taste one right away, Dulcie?”

“Of course you may. We’ll all have some. Oh, I do wish Uncle Stephen would hurry up and marry Miss Leslie. It would be so nice to have her for an aunt.”

“Hurry and tell about that door in the wall,” put in Paul, a little impatiently. “I’ve promised I won’t tell anybody, and I don’t see why you want to keep me waiting any longer.”

“We won’t,” said Dulcie, and while they all munched the delicious candied fruit, they told him the story of brave little Miss Polly.

“We miss the piano very much,” said Maud, when the story was finished, and Paul was looking as deeply interested as could possibly be expected. “It used to be so nice to hear Miss Polly singing when we were going to sleep.”

“I’m afraid Miss Polly misses it very much, too,” said Daisy, sadly. “She doesn’t say anything about it, but her eyes have such a sorrowful look in them, and she doesn’t laugh nearly as often as she did before.”

“I’d like to go and see her,” said Paul. “I’ll sing to her if she wants me to.”

“Why, Paul, we didn’t know you could sing,” cried Dulcie, in surprise. “We never heard you.”

Paul blushed.

“I hate doing it generally,” he confessed. “Mother makes me sometimes, to show off, you know, and I’m going to be in the choir next year. I don’t mind singing for that lady if you think she’d like to have me. I know some French songs, and ‘The Holy City,’ and ’most all the songs in ‘Pinafore.’ I can say a lot of poetry, too.”

“Let’s go to see Miss Polly right away, and take Paul with us,” urged Molly, eagerly. “It will be much more fun than having a make-believe party, won’t it, Dulcie? And we can take her some of this lovely fruit. We’ve been wanting to give her a present ever since the first time we went, but we never had anything to take before.”