"You little dove of good tidings, my dear little Margery, how can I love you enough?" she cried.
"Have you answered?" asked Margery eagerly.
"I posted a note just now, and it was addressed to Mr. Oliver Twist," said Miss Isabel, and fairly ran away.
Margery went at once to take it out of the box. It was alarmingly thin, and her heart sank. Still, you could not always judge letters by the outside, and she ran with it all the way to the Evergreens.
She found Mr. Dean marching up and down the walk, "just as if he were expecting some one," thought Margery.
"A letter, Margery?" he cried, as soon as he saw her.
"Yes, but it's very thin, and yours was so thick," said Margery, not wishing him to be disappointed.
He snatched it from her and tore it open while she stood by trembling with eagerness to know whether he was to stay or go, and whether Miss Isabel had been so cruel as not to forgive him, and to make the children lose their kind new friend. It was a tiny note, but it took Mr. Dean ten minutes to read it, with bowed head, and only his shoulders visible to anxious Margery. Then he straightened himself, and turned towards her such a happy face that her heart leaped with joy.
"I shall not go away, my little dove," he said simply.
"Then Miss Isabel isn't angry any more?" asked Margery.
"No, and it is your blessed little plan that saved us," said Mr. Dean. "You dear little dove of peace and good tidings, you brought the olive branch."
"And now I can keep you and Miss Isabel?" asked Margery.
"You can keep me; I'm not so sure about Miss Isabel," said Mr. Dean.
"I'm not afraid of losing her," laughed Margery happily. "Oh, I'm so glad, I'm so glad you can stay!"
"What shall we do to show how glad we are?" asked Mr. Dean.
Margery considered the question seriously.
"Let's kneel right down and thank God," pious little Margery suggested at last, and as there was no one there to see, the big man and the little maiden knelt down on the grass under the pines with their Gothic arches, and said a most sincere prayer of thanksgiving.
"But are you sure it is all right; it was such a little note, and yours was so thick?" said Margery as they arose.
"All right; it was little, but it was enough," said Mr. Dean, taking out the note and refolding it carefully to restore it to his pocket. And Margery went home pondering the mysterious ways of grown people. She was quite sure that she should never have been satisfied with such a tiny note in reply to a long letter.
Margery went to bed early that night, needing rest after a long and wearing day. She lay in her little white bed looking out at the soft summer twilight in which her two friends, whom she had been the means of reuniting, were that moment walking and talking after a separation of ten years. The stars shone down on her peacefully, and the one bright one that she called "her star" looked right into her eyes.
"It's glad, too, that everything is happy, and Mr. Dean is going to stay. It's smiling good-night."
And smiling back to it, Margery passed into happy dreams.
CHAPTER X.
A PICNIC.
Trix and Amy were twins—that is, as they explained to everybody, one was eleven and the other ten, and they weren't the least bit of relation to one another, but both their birthdays was the same day, the eighth of August. On the afternoon of the seventh four small notes appeared in the post-office addressed to Lady Catharine Seyton, Mrs. Peace Plenty, Lady Griselda of the Castle of the Lonely Lake, and Sir Harry Hotspur, stating that the favor of their company was requested for a day in the woods on the following day by Lady Alma Cara and Mr. Oliver Twist, in celebration of the birthday of Lady Catharine Seyton and Mrs. Peace Plenty. The recipients of this invitation showed their joy with less dignity of manner than one might have expected from their lofty titles. Sir Harry Hotspur immediately climbed a tree, and sat whooping on a limb for a few moments before descending in a somersault from a lower one. Lady Catharine Seyton, regardless of her eleven years, danced a sort of impromptu skirt dance, in which Lady Griselda joined, and Mrs. Peace Plenty hopped on and off the apple-tree stump, which served as a seat, fully twenty times without stopping, which was undignified in a well-known philanthropist.
The eighth dawned fair and lovely, though rather warm. The four children met at Miss Isabel's gate, where she and Mr. Dean were awaiting them. Amy brought her doll Rose Viola along, for, as she justly remarked, she did not see why growing up need make one forget old friends, and for her part she meant to play with Rose Viola till she was twenty. A three-seated wagon stood waiting them as they came up to the meeting-place, and hampers of the most exciting appearance stuck out all round under the seats.
"Trix and Amy are the guests of honor to-day, because it is their birthday," announced Mr. Dean. "Up with you first, lassies, and many happy returns of the day."
The drive to the woods was a delight in itself, so fragrant was the air, and so beautiful the roadside with the bright flowers of August, and the blackberries showing red through the vines, with some black as jet, and here and there the leaves beginning to bronze.
The last of the drive was through the woods, and the shrill voices hushed as the great trees darkened the road, and the wheels rolled almost noiselessly over the fragrant carpet of brown pine needles. They left the horse and his driver at the last point where driving was possible, and lading themselves with the contents of the wagon went on afoot.
"There is a spring not far from here," said Mr. Dean. "I came prospecting the other day, and I thought that would be the best place for us to pitch our tents, for I expect to be both hungry and thirsty."
The spot that Mr. Dean had selected for their use was the prettiest in all the woods. Though the fierce heat of the sun, penetrating even the thick hemlocks, had dried much of the delicate leafage, the spring had here kept the moss bright and green, and the brakes and ferns grew tall and lovely in all the hollows.
The children drew long breaths of satisfaction as they paused here, and stooped to lay their burning cheeks on the cool pillows of moss. Miss Isabel sank down with a happy sigh, caressing a fern at her side with her delicate fingers, as if it were a little baby's hair. But her guests were not disposed to be quiet long.
"Now what shall we do?" said Jack, starting up after fully three minutes and a half of silent enjoyment of the peace and refreshment of the spot.
"What would you like to do first?" asked Mr. Dean, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Eat," said Jack promptly.
"I knew it," cried Mr. Dean, laughing, "and to be quite honest, I am hungry myself."
"Open the small hamper," said Miss Isabel. "I provided a little lunch and a big lunch, and we may have the little one first."
The "little lunch" proved to be hard-boiled eggs, thin bread and butter, and bottles of milk, with ginger cookies for dessert. The last crumb vanished speedily, for although the girls had laughed at Jack for being hungry the very first thing, they were quite ready to take their share of the luncheon.
"And now I've thought of a splendid play," announced Trix, removing the crumbs from her lips in the most simple, if not the most elegant manner, by the tip of her slender red tongue. "Miss Isabel and Mr. Dean must be a queen and king, and we will be their subjects, and they must send us to explore the countries around their kingdom, and do all kinds of brave deeds, and we must come back to report them, and then they must send us again. Some of us can discover countries, and some report on the plants, and fruits, and things in the neighboring kingdoms, and some must kill dragons and all those things."
"Isn't that a great play, Trix!" cried Jack in ecstasy. "I'll kill dragons."
"I'd like to discover," said Margery.
"I'll report the flowers and things," said Amy.
"And I want to be a knight sent out to have adventures," declared Trix. "Will you play that, Miss Isabel? Will you, Mr. Dean?"
"By all means," replied Mr. Dean.
"I'd like it very much," said Miss Isabel.
"Then you sit here," said Trix, in great delight. "Wait till I make your throne with these shawls. And now we'll kneel before you, and you must send us on these expeditions. And remember, we're all knights, because girls can't do such things."
Four faces were raised to the sovereigns seated on the empty lunch-basket and a rock, while four knightly figures, three in bright ginghams and one in knickerbockers, knelt to receive their commands.
"Sir Harry Hotspur," began the king, "there is a monstrous dragon devastating our kingdom on the west. Take thy trusty sword and slay this monster, bringing me its head, and fail not, as ye be a good knight and true."
"Yes, your majesty," replied Sir Harry, rising and backing from the royal presence, and then starting westward at a pace that plainly showed how his horse was plunging beneath him, as he waved his pine sword in his right hand and blew an imaginary trumpet in his left.
"And you, Sir Percival," the queen said, "go abroad to the kingdoms adjoining our domain, and bring me tidings of the kinds of fruits and plants that flourish in those foreign parts, and if possible bring me also specimens of these."
"Yes, your majesty," replied rosy-cheeked Sir Percival, trying to rise gracefully as the first knight had done, and getting entangled in her pink gingham skirts.
"And, Sir Philip," the king said, "don light armor and select your trustiest steed, for it is my will that you go to discover new countries, if such there be, for the honor of our name and the increase of our kingdom."
"Sire, I will go right gladly," replied Sir Philip loyally.
"And you, brave and bold Sir Guy," the queen said, "ride hither and yon seeking adventure for the glory of knighthood and the succor of the unfortunate."
"Your majesty, I obey," replied Sir Guy, making a profound bow, and doffing a helmet that looked uncommonly like a shade hat with yellow daisies.
The band of knights began returning in what seemed like two or three minutes, but which was a period of from three to five years.
Sir Harry bore the dragon's head, which he presented kneeling to the king.
"It was a dreadful fight, your majesty," said the panting knight. "All around the dragon's cave lay men's bones."
"Think ye they were the bones of the victims which he had devoured?" the king asked.
"I am sure of it, your majesty, for I barely escaped," said Sir Harry; "but at last I gave one terrible stroke, and his head rolled at my feet. Here it is."
Jack had had a hard time digging up the root which represented the dragon's head.
"You have our royal thanks," said the king, "and you shall learn that one monarch at least is not ungrateful."
Sir Philip was the next to arrive. He—or she—knelt at the feet of the king.
"Well, Sir Philip," he asked, "were you successful?"
"More than I expected to be, my liege," replied Sir Philip. "I found a large continent north of this kingdom, and an island to the east. They are inhabited by a singular race, but the chief with whom I talked is willing to embrace Christianity, so I doubt not they will be loyal subjects of your throne."
"Well done, valiant Sir Philip," said the queen; "permit me to decorate you with the Isabellan medal," and she pinned in the gathers of the blue gingham shirt-waist which covered the breast of this knight a large round leaf, bearing the word "Honor" pricked in it with a pin.
"And here comes Sir Guy," cried the king.
Sir Guy came running, his hair was unbraided, and his cheeks flushed, and his dark eyes bright.
"I found a lovely maiden chained to a rock, and four ruffians about to stab her. I made them all fly, and here is the maiden," and Sir Guy produced a little white kitten mewing feebly.
"Oh, Trix, give her to me!" cried Margery.
"No; I'm going to keep her myself," said Trix, dropping the rôle of Sir Guy. "I found her, and you've got Tommy Traddles, and I haven't any kitten. She's most starved: Mayn't I give her milk, Miss Isabel?"
"Of course you may. You really did have an adventure," cried Miss Isabel. "Perhaps it is a fairy birthday present, Trix, and she is an enchanted princess. But at last here comes Sir Percival. Good Sir Percival, we began to fear you had perished."
"Here are all the flowers and fruits I could find," said Sir Percival, presenting an enormous bunch of all sorts of blossoms. "But here is something else I found, and it looks like shells—see;" and Sir Percival, who was not as good as the rest in keeping up what Margery had called "historical ways of talking," held out something to the queen.
"A fossil!" cried her majesty. "Sir Percival, I congratulate you; you have really made a discovery. Where did you find it?"
"Oh, need I be Sir Percival any more? It's so hard to talk that way. I can't tell you unless I can be myself," implored Amy.
"Oh, pshaw! you can't pretend worth a cent," said Jack in disgust; but Miss Isabel said, "Why, of course; we don't want to do anything for fun when it is no longer fun. Tell on, Amy."
"You know that little hill over there beyond the spring," began Amy, much relieved. "They've been taking out some rock on the side, and I was looking there when I found this lump of something that looked like mud, and when I took it up I found it was hard, and it had all these shells in it. They look like scallop shells, but they can't be, because they are in the woods. What are they, Miss Isabel?"
"The shells can tell us," said Miss Isabel, putting the lump of clay to her ear and pretending to listen. "I'll tell you what they say. It is this shell that is speaking; it says: Many ages ago, before Adam was made, there was a great lake where these woods now are, and this shell lived in the water, and was the house of a little mollusk, like shells nowadays. And once there came a great commotion in the waters and something like an earthquake in the land, and when it was over the lake was gone, and in its place was a valley, and the hill was thrown up, and beautiful great plants of such kinds as grow now only in the tropics began to flourish, for it was very warm. And the shell says it found itself thrown up into clay-like mud, and pretty soon the mollusk died, for it could not live out of the water. And then it grew very cold, and great glaciers went crashing and cracking, and sliding to the sea over this very spot where we now sit. And then the land in the northern latitudes sank, and made the climate warmer again, and the glaciers began to melt, and as they melted they dropped great quantities of stone and gravel and soil made of the stones their awful strength had ground up, and the hollow where the lake had been was filled up, and the little shell says it was imbedded in the soil made by the passing and breaking up of the glacier, and a great bowlder fell on top of it, dropped by the glacier, and which was taken out of the hill only the other day, and once more this little shell saw the sun. And it says it wonders to see such creatures as we are, for though more ages ago than we can imagine it saw great animals much larger than the elephant wandering here, it never before saw anything that could understand its wonderful history, for when it last saw light God had not made man."
"Oh, Miss Isabel, is it a fairy story?" "Oh, Miss Isabel, is it true?" cried Trix and Amy together.
Margery almost sobbed in excitement; she stretched out her hand for the fossil.
"I can't think so far back," she whispered. "Before God made man!"
But Jack said, "I know; that's geology, and it's splendid. I mean to study it when I get big."
"It is all true, dears," said Miss Isabel, "and no one can 'think so far back,' nor take in the wonders of the story. And it is geology, as Jack says; but no fairy story, Amy, is half so lovely and interesting as the story that nature tells."
"Do you know that nature is telling me a story about little Jack Horner, and I think I should like to put my hand in that hamper and pull out a plum—in other words, I'm hungry, Isabel," said Mr. Dean.
So they all attacked the "big luncheon," and when they had eaten all the chicken, and rolls, and cake, and fruit that they possibly could, and had given the white kitten the bones, they were disposed to rest, and all but Amy lounged on the moss in every attitude of perfect ease. Suddenly Miss Isabel asked, "Where is Amy?" And that moment a faint scream came as answer to her question. Everybody ran towards the direction whence the sound came. There stood poor little Mrs. Peace Plenty up to her knees in black mud, and if she tried to extricate one foot the other only sank the deeper.
"I came to get some water," she sobbed, "and when I came around here behind the spring to see what it looked like I got stuck."
"Never mind, Amy, we'll pull you out," said Mr. Dean cheerily. "Jack, help me drag this dead tree over."
They swung the fallen trunk around, and with that to stand on soon pulled Amy out, and set the poor child on firm land again, though with both her low shoes gone, and her skirts in a sorry plight.
"It's lucky that it is time to go home," remarked Miss Isabel, as she took off Amy's stockings to rub her feet. "You must carry her to the wagon."
Mr. Dean obediently shouldered the little girl, and they started in procession out of the woods.
"I am glad the hampers are empty," remarked Mr. Dean. "Mrs. Peace Plenty is a solid little body."
The drive home in the long, warm rays of the afternoon sun warmed Amy thoroughly and restored her shaken nerves.
"I never had such a lovely birthday in all my life, and I thank you ever and ever so much," said Trix, as they set her down at her own gate.
"And you have had a whole long eleven, too," laughed Mr. Dean.
"I have had such a good time I can't tell you," said Amy, in her turn, as she was deposited at home. She was a funny figure standing there barefooted, the black mud of the woods dried on her skirts and hands, clutching her stiff stockings, her precious fossil, and Rose Viola to her breast.
"Many happy returns, many happy returns," Mr. Dean, Miss Isabel, Jack, and Margery called back to her as they drove away.
"I'm afraid there won't be many returns of her shoes," remarked Jack. "But in spite of that it's been a perfect picnic."
CHAPTER XI.
A WEDDING.
Mr. Dean was to marry Miss Isabel, after all! The tidings came to the children as a blow at first, and they, especially Margery, felt that it was almost taking advantage of their confidence, since that was not at all the end they had in view in seeking to have Mr. Dean stay at the Evergreens. But in time they grew reconciled to the arrangement, and even came to see that it was the best one possible, for now they could visit both Miss Isabel and Mr. Dean at once, instead of dividing their time between them. It helped them to see that this wedding was a desirable plan, that the day appointed for it was Margery's eleventh birthday, October fourteenth, and that all the little girls were to be bridesmaids, and Jack best man, in spite of his being but twelve years old, for Miss Isabel declared that this must be a club wedding, since without the H. T. C. it might never have come about.
Four pairs of little bare feet sprang to the floor early in the morning of October fourteenth, moved by the thought that Margery was eleven years old and it was Miss Isabel's wedding-day, and they sped to the window to see what sort of weather it was. Nor was one likely to sleep late when a dress of softest pink mull, with a big picture hat to match, lay like a kind of rosy dawn on a chair ready for the bridesmaid to put on. And Jack had gone to bed with his first long trousers laid where his eyes could rest on them the moment they opened, and with his patent-leather shoes in shining glory on the hearth, and he arose in a flurry that was still dignified, feeling that much of the success of the wedding lay on his shoulders. The weather was all that it should be; a soft haze rested over all the earth, the leaves were blazing in the glory of their October colors, and there was that wonderful hush upon nature that comes when the harvest is over, the work done, and summer pauses lingeringly, as if dreading to say good-by.
There was only happiness in each little heart that lovely morning; all doubt had been removed from the children's minds, and they had learned to see what a delightful thing it was that their Miss Isabel would no longer be lonely in the old house. "For," as Amy sagely remarked, "when we were there we couldn't tell how lonely she was, because we were there, and she wasn't lonely, but when we were gone she must have been sad, and now we shall know that when we aren't there Mr. Dean will talk to her till we come back."
At half-past ten three pink skirts fluttered out of a carriage at Miss Isabel's door. The Mass was to be at eleven. It would have been dreadful to have been late, and they had all insisted on their privilege of seeing Miss Isabel first in her bridal dress. Very sweet and lovely she looked with the white veil crowning her bright hair, and such a peaceful look on her face that Amy cried out as she kissed her, "You look so good, Miss Isabel, as well as pretty."
Miss Isabel had three little boxes all ready containing her gifts to her bridesmaids, and when they opened them, behold there lay before their delighted eyes a dear little dove in pearls, so that the only regret that they felt in wearing their pretty pink dresses, that the blue badge with the dove was forbidden them, was more than taken away. Miss Isabel fastened the pins in the soft ruffles around each little yoke, and whispered to her bridesmaids that these were badges of her love, as well as reminders of the club and the happiness that had come from it. And she satisfied Trix's solicitude for Jack by assuring her that he had a pin precisely like theirs for a scarf-pin.
Then she kissed each face under its big mull hat, gathered up her gloves, and they all went down to get into the carriages to drive to the church, whence Miss Isabel should return Miss Isabel no longer. The little church was filled, for Miss Isabel had many friends, and everybody was deeply interested in this wedding because they knew it was the happy ending of an old story. And everybody knew, too, that it had come about through the children's club, and the old women in the side aisles nudged each other as the Lohengrin wedding march pealed through the church, and whispered, "There they are; there are the children," as the three little maids in pink came slowly down the aisle, preceding Miss Isabel on the arm of her uncle, who had come all the way from Chicago that on this great day she might have the arm of one of her kindred on which to lean.
And Mr. Dean met her at the sanctuary gate, looking very proud and happy, with Jack beside him suffering torture from his stiff collar, but enjoying himself immensely none the less. Then Miss Isabel and Mr. Dean entered the sanctuary, and Mass began.
It did not seem long to the excited children before the organ once more pealed forth, this time in the jubilant strains of Mendelssohn's wedding march, and they were proceeding down the aisle in twos, Trix and Amy, Margery and Jack, and behind them Mr. and Mrs. Dean, while audible exclamations of "God bless her!" came from the humbler friends to whom Miss Isabel had given help and happiness, and tearful smiles and loving looks followed her from those to whom she had given happiness also, though they had not needed alms.
The old house looked beautiful on their return. All the rooms were filled with palms and white and golden chrysanthemums, and the sun lit up the place into splendor.
"I believe they built these old houses just for weddings and balls; I never knew it could look so fine," said Jack to Margery, pausing on the threshold, and feeling without understanding why that the dignified old rooms were made for grandeur.
At the wedding breakfast Margery, as first bridesmaid, sat at Mrs. Dean's right hand, and Jack at Mr. Dean's left, Trix next to him, and Amy next Margery. They found that for once in their life they had enough ice-cream and dainties, and Jack leaned over and whispered to Trix, "I've taken my watch out, and I can't get it back," which remark caused Trix to choke in the most embarrassing manner over her last spoonful of ice.
Jack had hardly succeeded in the difficult task of restoring his watch to the tight vest, and was sitting back at peace with all mankind, when he heard Mr. Dean saying something so dreadful that he could not credit his own ears. He looked up; Mr. Dean's eyes had a twinkle in them that Jack had learned meant mischief, and he certainly was saying:
"Mr. John Hildreth, my best man, will make a few remarks on this happy occasion."
Jack sank back farther, looking painfully red and frightened, but Trix poked him energetically.
"Get up, Jack; he wants you to make a speech," she whispered. "You've got to do it. Pooh! what do you care; you know most of the people here."
Jack arose; his very ears were crimson, and his voice trembled.
"Ladies and gentlemen," poor Jack began.
"Hear! hear!" cried one of the guests, in what was meant for encouragement, but had the opposite effect.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Jack said again, "I didn't know best men had to make speeches. I never made a speech."
Here the poor child stuck fast, and Mrs. Dean whispered to her husband to be merciful and tease him no more, while Trix in a stage whisper said, "Go on, say something about the weather, the breakfast, and Miss Isabel, or Mr. Dean, or anything."
"I think we have very nice weather for a wedding," Jack went on, acting on this hint; "and once I heard a saying, 'Happy the bride that the sun shines on.' And we've had a fine breakfast, and enjoyed ourselves very much, and I couldn't eat another bit. And we all love Miss Isabel so much, that at first we didn't want Mr. Dean to marry her, but after we got acquainted with him we didn't mind, because he's most as nice as she is. So we were willing—I mean Margery, and Trix, and Amy, and me—and I—to have her marry him, and we're all perfectly satisfied, and we think they've had a nice wedding, and we hope they'll have a great many more."
A great deal of laughter and cheering greeted this happy ending, under cover of which Trix whispered:
"O Jack! you goose; why did you go and spoil it? The rest was splendid. They can't have a great many more weddings; people don't keep getting married."
"Some people do," retorted Jack. "Isn't there a tombstone in the cemetery that says, 'Here lies Amos Barnes, and Amelia, and Frances, and Rosa, and Harriet, wife of the above'?" However, Jack got upon his feet again, quite emboldened by his success. "I didn't mean we hoped they'd have a great many more; I meant we wish them many happy returns of the same."
And not even Trix could see why the guests laughed again, but they applauded heartily, and Mr. and Mrs. Dean told Jack that his speech was very nice, and they thanked him very much. So Jack felt rather puffed up, and tried hard not to look as if the eyes of the world were on him; and under cover of the applause for Jack, Mr. and Mrs. Dean arose and slipped away up-stairs, and presently they reappeared, Mr. Dean carrying an umbrella and a travelling shawl, and Mrs. Dean dressed all in soft dove-gray with chinchilla collar, and the children saw that she had pinned on her breast the blue badge of the H. T. C. And that one little act explained why they had so loved Miss Isabel, for even in that exciting moment she remembered to give them pleasure. From the foot of the stairs, all down the long hall, and out the door, even while Mrs. Dean paused to kiss her small bridesmaids, swarming eagerly around her, she was pelted with a shower of rice, and it rattled on the top of the carriage as the door shut, and Jack hit the back with an old slipper provided for that purpose, and then the wheels rattled down the gravel of the driveway, and Miss Isabel was gone.
A feeling of desolation crept over the children; the girls' eyes were full of tears, and Jack felt a lump in his throat, for though they knew that Miss Isabel would be back in two weeks, it seemed horribly like giving her up. But the situation was saved from becoming melancholy by Amy's small brother, who, standing quietly in his white dress and blue kid shoes, had been watching the departure from under his waving mop of golden hair. He now trotted off to the parlor, and returned with the hearth-broom.
"Well, if nobody else is goin' to get married, I dess I'd better thweep up dis rice," he remarked, and everybody laughed, and the solemnity of the moment was broken up.
Fifteen minutes passed, and most of the guests had gone, when children began arriving, and more and more, till Amy, Trix, Margery, and Jack were completely puzzled to see all their schoolmates enter. But Mrs. Gresham explained the mystery by telling them that it was a plan of Miss Isabel's to surprise Margery, as it was her birthday, as well as Miss Isabel's wedding-day. So she had asked Mrs. Gresham to help her, and the orchestra was to remain, and the children were to have a party for the rest of the afternoon. This exciting information drove all thoughts of loneliness out of the children's heads, and soon the big rooms were filled with gay little figures, dancing to the liveliest music under the stately palms and bright golden chrysanthemums. And so while the cars were whirling their dear Miss Isabel away to begin her new life, her loving thought gave Margery a happy ending of her birthday, and made the children feel that she was still too near them to be lonely, and that the time would be all too short for them to plan the welcome home that they meant to give her.
CHAPTER XII.
THE END OF THE YEAR AND OF THE POST-OFFICE.
Christmas had come and gone, and it was the last day of the year. The Christmas tree still stood in the bay-window, and Tommy Traddles had not ceased to find delight in setting in motion with his paw the decorative balls within his reach on the lower limbs, and eying wistfully those that hung higher. The fire burned brightly on the hearth, and the snow fell swiftly and silently outside, drifting like a white veil across the window, and heaping itself on the sills.
Margery sat watching it listlessly, swinging the curtain cord, and wondering what made the others so long. The post-office had languished of late, having been crowded out of mind by the holiday preparations and the colder weather. No one would confess to being tired of it, but sometimes there were two or three days between the delivery of mails, which were steadily growing lighter; indeed, no one but Lady Alma Cara and Mr. Oliver Twist were still faithful correspondents.
At last Trix and Amy came running in the gate, and Margery sprang to meet them. They stamped the snow off in the vestibule, and took off their things in the hall, where Trix had a struggle with her rubber boots, which, as she needlessly observed, were growing too small for her.
"Now what shall we do?" demanded Trix, as they came into the sitting-room, bringing with them such an atmosphere of out-of-doors that Tommy Traddles retired to the hearth-rug.
"Why, I'm looking for Jack," answered Margery. "He has some secret which he wouldn't tell me, but he said he'd come over this afternoon surely and tell me. He said it was half good and half bad, and I can't think what it can be."
"I don't believe it's much," said Trix sceptically. "Jack has such lots of notions."
But Margery shook her head.
"This is something," she began, when Amy interrupted her.
"I hear him now, coming through the back way," she said, and had scarcely spoken when Jack appeared, half a dozen cookies in each hand and busy with another.
"Winnie's baking," he explained, not very clear in speech, "and I helped myself. They're prime; have one," and he offered each girl a cookie with princely generosity.
"Now, Jack, what's your secret?" demanded Margery. "Are you going to tell me to-day? Mind those crumbs; this room's been swept this morning."
Jack nodded energetically, signifying in pantomime that he would tell them as soon as the cookies had disappeared; so there was nothing to do but wait for this to happen with what patience they could summon. At last the final morsel vanished, and after a provokingly elaborate brushing of his knees, and careful sweeping up of crumbs with the hearth-brush, Jack seated himself on the edge of a chair, and looked from one to the other.
"Oh, tell me, Jack; hurry up!" cried Margery, while Trix threw a down pillow at him, which he caught, saying:
"Thank you," putting it at his back. "Do you want me to tell you, Megsy?" he asked. "Well, I'm going away to school."
A thunderbolt in the midst of the snow could not have produced greater consternation.
"Jack!" cried all three in tones of horror. "You're not."
"Yes, I am; papa has decided. I am going next Monday."
"To boarding-school?" asked Trix, regret at his going and envy struggling in her face.
"Yes; you see, papa thinks I can prepare for my First Communion better in the school than here, and you know I want to make it with you next June."
"Oh!" cried Margery, who had been sitting in speechless grief, a little ray of light breaking into the gloom of her face. "Then you're not going far?"
"Oh, no; only in town. I can come home at Easter, and June will soon be here," replied Jack.
"And we can write to him," said Amy, trying as usual to see a bright side.
"But it will be so lonesome without Jack," said Margery, her voice quivering, for she had never had a brother, and this cousin had been all to her that a brother could be.
"It's a pity he must go," said Trix, tilting one foot up and down on the toe of her slipper, which she thus slipped on and off at the heel in a pensive manner; "but as Amy says, we can write to him, and the post-office will be more fun again," thus admitting by implication what no one had been willing to confess, that the post-office was less delightful than at first.
Silence followed this remark. Amy and Margery looked at one another.
"We should have to take the post-office in the house," Trix went on, continuing her line of thought. "No one could go down into the orchard for mail all winter."
"And what house could we put it in?" asked Margery. "None of us wants to be postmaster all the time now, though we did at first, and it would be a nuisance for any of us to have to go into some one else's house to take care of the mails."
Neither liked to be the one to propose discontinuing it, but Jack did not mind, because since he was going away he could not bear his part in it that winter in any case.
"Why not give up the post-office?" he asked. "We'd be the H. T. C. just the same, and you're all sick of it anyway."
"You are too," said Trix, indirectly admitting that she was.
"Well, even if I weren't, I couldn't play post-office this winter," Jack replied. "I say, let's get the post-office in here, and burn it for a farewell ceremony, and then if we want to have another I'll make one next summer. Anyhow, this one's warped."
Trix cheered up.
"Let's," she said briefly.
"Burn our post-office!" Amy gasped.
Margery looked happier.
"And I could write an ode, and we'd read it while it burned. But you'd have to ask Alma Cara and Mr. Oliver Twist first, Jack, because they're members. You go there, and while you're gone I'll write the ode."
"First let's vote on whether we burn it or not," said Jack. "All in favor of burning the post-office please signify it by saying aye."
"Aye," said Trix and Margery unanimously.
"How do you vote when you want to and don't want to?" asked Amy.
"You decide which you want more," said Margery.
"O Amy, you goose, we'll have another next summer, if we want one, and what's the use of a post-office without Jack," said Trix impatiently.
"Sure enough," said Amy. "Well, I vote aye, then."
"Now once more," cried Jack. "All in favor say aye."
"Aye," cried the four voices.
"Now, Jack, run up to Mr. Dean's while I write an ode," said Margery, and Jack went.
"They say give it up till next summer, and then decide whether to begin again," announced Jack, returning out of breath. "They say better not drag on if it's burdensome. I'm going down to the orchard to get the post-office."
"How shall we burn it?" asked Amy, when Jack came back.
"I've been thinking of the ceremonies on the way," Jack replied, depositing the post-office on the floor. "I say we all march around it three times in silence, and then each of us lay our hand on it once for farewell. And then I'll make a speech, and then we'll each take a corner and carry it to the fire and lay it on the coals, and we'll stand around and watch it burn while Margery reads the ode."
"It's awfully solemn," said Amy, shuddering.
"It's fine," said Trix. "Ode done, Margery?"
"Yes, it will do," said Margery, giving a last wild flourish with her pencil.
"Come on then," said Jack. "Move the table."
They pushed the table out of the way, and three times the members of the H. T. C. encircled the doomed post-office in solemn silence, after which each laid a hand on its top as a farewell greeting. Then with a gesture commanding silence Jack began to speak.
"This office, ladies, has served us long and faithfully, and many are the pleasures it has given us. We owe to it that our dear friend, Mr. Oliver Twist, is still with us, and it has made the Lady Alma Cara happy and done a noble work in the six months of its life. But the year is ending to-night, and the office is to end with it, because each has lasted as long as it can. We say farewell to this happy year, and we are glad that it was so happy. And we say farewell to our good post-office, and we are glad it was so good. I for one shall keep its memory dear even in the new scenes to which I am about to depart. And if the H. T. C. has a new post-office next summer we shall still love and cherish the recollection of this one, to which we now say good-by. Girls, take a corner each."
Amy sniffed outright as she lifted her end, and Margery looked excited, while Trix whispered to her, "I think Jack will be a priest, he preaches so splendidly."
They bore the little post-office to the grate, and laid it on the coals. It was wet with snow, and sputtered, and steamed awhile before it kindled. At last a little tongue of flame ran along the roof, and came out at one of the boxes.
"Now, Margery, begin your ode," whispered Jack. "Read slowly."
Margery read: