The days grew shorter and cooler, the leaves began to flutter down, and each morning, from her sitting-room window, Miss Brown watched the children start for school.
First the little girls, tossing good-by kisses to Aunt Zélie, ran down the walk to join Dora or Elsie; then a few minutes later Ikey was at the gate whistling for Carl. In the five months since Ikey had come to stay with his grandparents the boys had become almost inseparable.
Dr. Isaac Clinton Ford was a surgeon in the navy, and having been ordered to the Mediterranean, his wife, whose health was not good, followed him, with their little daughter, while young Isaac was sent to his father's old home. Warmly attached to it himself, Dr. Ford could think of no better place for his son, and old Mr. and Mrs. Ford felt that it would be almost like having their boy again, from whom they had had only brief visits for eighteen years.
Unfortunately, neither took into account that young Isaac was totally unlike the quiet, studious boy his father had been. It was a question which suffered most during those first weeks, the elderly people whose lives had moved on like clockwork for so many years, or the mischievous, fun-loving boy suddenly introduced into their household.
The Fords' was a tall, three-story, stone front house, with everything about it inside and out in immaculate order. The stone steps and walk were spotless, the windows shone, and the shades and curtains were arranged in the most exact manner. The only flowers were three oleanders in tubs, and these partook of the general tidiness.
It is easy to see that a boy without any deep regard for spotless stones, who labored under the delusion that windows were made to look out of, and who did not hesitate to push curtains aside and open blinds, who whistled when his grandfather was taking his nap, left his things lying about, and teased the snappish old pug was destined to be a trial. On the other hand, the change from a free and easy home life, with a mother as merry-hearted as himself and a father who was more of a boy at forty than he had been at twelve, to that humdrum routine would have been trying to wiser people than Ikey.
No wonder the first weeks were full of miserable homesickness. Life would have been unendurable if the Hazeltines had not discovered him. Ikey was ready to meet them more than half way, and before long became their boon companion.
Mrs. Howard, the children's aunt, guessed how matters stood, for she had lived across the street from the Fords most of her life; so she went to his grandmother, and asked her to let Ikey play with Carl and the little girls every day.
Mrs. Ford consented, feeling surprised and gratified; and unwilling to be lacking in hospitality, she allowed her grandson and his friends the freedom of the back yard, on condition that they would respect the front. Before the summer was over she had become so used to the sound of the children's voices that she no longer found it necessary to go to the window every five minutes to see what they were doing.
Ikey had a genius for getting hurt. Cuts, bumps, and bruises were matters of every-day occurrence, and were accepted with a heroism born of long familiarity. But one morning when he and Carl were on their way to school he met with an accident which was unusually hard to bear.
As they were passing a high board fence they heard a great barking and growling, as if a lot of dogs were tearing one another to pieces. "What in the world!" exclaimed Carl, trying to find some crack or knothole.
"You can't see in that way," Ikey cried scornfully, and giving a spring he grasped the top of the fence and drew himself up to look over.
Exactly how it happened he could never tell; probably his curiosity was resented, for before he had time to see anything, some sharp teeth made themselves felt, and he dropped down groaning, "My nose! My nose!" Carl was very much alarmed at sight of the blood that streamed down from his face, but had presence of mind to remember a doctor's office in the next block.
"Your nose isn't all gone, is it?" he asked anxiously, as he led the way.
"No, I think there is some of it left," came in muffled tones from the handkerchief Ikey held to his face.
Fortunately the doctor was in and dressed the wound, pronouncing it not serious, but advising his patient not to be in such a hurry to investigate strange dogs another time, or he might lose the whole of his nose instead of only a slice.
Relieved that it was no worse, and not being in the habit of making a fuss over his hurts, Ikey decided to go on to school.
Perhaps if he could have looked in the glass he would not have been so ready, for the yellow plaster did not add to his beauty.
Now all danger was over, Carl could not contain himself, but laughed and laughed till his friend's feelings were somewhat hurt.
They were late of course, and created a sensation when they entered, and the suppressed amusement among the boys became an uproar at recess. It was decidedly trying to be the object of so much school-boy wit; to hear over and over again: "Ikey, what ails your nose?"—"Can't you wear it in a sling?"—"Or put a shade over it?"—or to see on the blackboard lines adapted from Mother Goose:
He stood it bravely till school was over, but on the way home, at sight of the girls on the corner he made a sudden dive across the street.
"Where is Ikey going?" Louise asked, in surprise, of Carl and Aleck.
"He has lost his nose," answered the latter.
"Has he gone to look for it?" laughed Dora.
"Tell us what you mean," said Bess.
With much laughter the boys told the story.
"It is mean of you to make fun. Suppose it was your nose?" and Louise held on to her own.
"Perhaps it won't turn up any more," suggested Bess.
"I am afraid he won't go to the ball-game; that will be too bad," said Carl.
They were all going with Uncle William to see a game of foot-ball that afternoon, and there was only time for a hasty lunch before they started. Carl ran over to beg Ikey to go in spite of his disfigurement, but a melancholy voice from the third-story landing declined so positively that there was nothing left to be said.
From behind the curtains Ikey watched the party start off, and felt very unhappy at not being with them.
That was a miserable afternoon! His grandmother's exclamations and questions had only made matters worse, and he took refuge in his room, declining to eat any lunch.
Before long he succeeded in convincing himself that nobody cared for him, except, perhaps, his father and mother, who were so far away.
Maybe the others would be sorry when he died of hydrophobia. He had heard that people often had it when they were bitten by dogs, and it seemed very probable that this would be his fate.
Absorbed in his misery, he hardly knew how time passed, till some one knocked at his door. He lay on the couch with his face buried in the pillows, and thinking it was the housemaid he said, "Come in," without looking up.
The hand that touched his head, however, was not Katie's, nor the voice that said, "You poor boy!"
It was Mrs. Howard, or Aunt Zélie as he always called her in his thoughts.
Overwhelmed with mingled delight and dismay, he could only struggle to a sitting position, with his handkerchief to his nose and not a word to say.
She did not appear to notice this, but talked on, and in some way it came about that presently his aching head was down on the pillows again, and her soft hand was smoothing back his hair, just as Mamma did, while she told him that Mr. Hazeltine had inquired about the dogs, and found that they were only very large and lively puppies, not at all vicious.
Ikey heaved a sigh of relief, and managed to thank her for her thoughtfulness. Then they talked of other things, and he actually lit the gas—for it was growing dark—that she might see the photographs of his mother and sister.
Before Aunt Zélie left they were even laughing together over his funny accident, and when with a kiss on his forehead she was gone, it was a much happier boy she left on the sofa.
There was sure to be a tonic in her petting, and Ikey got up and washed his face, looking bravely in the glass meanwhile. Then he went meekly downstairs and enjoyed his dinner. Mrs. Ford never petted anyone, she did not know how; but she showed her sympathy by offering her grandson all sorts of good things to eat.
At the most exciting moment of the foot-ball game Louise exclaimed: "We haven't done anything to help Ikey, and he is really and truly our neighbor!"
"We will try to find something to take him," said Uncle William.
There was little to be had in that part of the town, so they turned it into a joke, and it was a most remarkable collection that Carl and Aleck displayed in the Fords' sitting-room that night.
There was a toy balloon, a beetle that ran all over the room in a life-like manner, a jumping jack, and some popcorn balls.
Old Mr. Ford declared he had not laughed so much in twenty years as he did at the antics of the boys and the beetle. His bedtime passed before he knew it.
Ikey went to sleep with the balloon tied to the head of his bed, feeling that after all his friends did care. The next day the doctor replaced the ugly yellow plaster with something white that was more pleasant to look at, and in a short time his nose was as well as ever, except for a slight scar.
Bess had thought of giving a masquerade ball in his honor, to be held in the star chamber, and at which he was to appear as "The Man in the Iron Mask," but owing to his rapid recovery it was given up. She was rather disappointed, for it seemed an interesting way in which to help a neighbor in affliction. She and Louise were very anxious to be helpers, but were not content with small every-day opportunities.
"I can't think of things as Dora does," she complained to Aunt Zélie one evening.
"What has Dora been doing?" her aunt asked.
"Oh, it was at school to-day, when we were reading together at recess in a new story book of Elsie's. There was Elsie and Constance, Dora, Louise and I, and that meek little Mamie Garland kept walking up and down looking at us. Nobody likes her, because she is a telltale. Then before we knew what she was going to do Dora jumped up and ran after Mamie, and asked her if she didn't want to hear the story. You could see she was surprised, but she came, and Louise made room for her."
"And did she spoil the story?"
"No—not really, but it is nicer to have just the people you like. But I suppose it is pretty mean to go on having a nice time when somebody else isn't—even if you don't like them—and not ask them."
Aunt Zélie smiled at this remarkable sentence. "It is easy to be selfish with our good times," she said; "but don't be discouraged, you will be more quick to see an opportunity next time. If I am not mistaken I saw a little girl put away her book to play with her small sister not so very long ago."
"Do you think that would count?" Bess asked earnestly.
"I certainly do," answered her aunt, pinching the rosy cheek.
Bess stood at the window, her brows drawn together in a decided frown. Not that the sunshine was dazzling; quite the contrary. It was what Aunt Sukey called a drizzle-drazzle day. The air was full of a penetrating mist that put outdoor amusements out of the question. Stormy Saturdays were particularly trying, and to-day the rain interfered with an expedition to which the children had been looking forward for a week.
"I wish I were a fairy," said Louise, who sat on the floor building a block house for Carie; "I wouldn't have any rainy days."
"A mighty nice world 't would be, I reckon, if you had the fixin' of it," Sukey remarked sarcastically.
"Oh, well, perhaps I'd have some rain, but only at night."
"Don't you s'pose the good Lord knows what kind of weather is best for us a heap better than a no-account fairy?" Sukey continued, seeing an opportunity for some moral teaching.
"Of course he does, but I shouldn't think one Saturday would make much difference."
"That ain't for us to say. Folks can't have all they wants in this world, and they has to be taught it."
"Louise, I see Miss Brown at her window; don't you think it would be nice to go to see her?" said Bess. "We could wear our waterproofs."
"Yes, indeed; may we, mammy?" asked Louise, jumping up. Though Sukey professed to be a stern disciplinarian she rarely denied the children anything, so after a careful survey of the weather she thought they might go if they would wear their overshoes. Miss Brown saw them as they came out of the door and raised a big umbrella. "Where can they be going?" she wondered as they disappeared from her view. A few minutes later, however, they came in sight again, this time on her side of the street, and stopped at her gate.
"You are a pair of rainy-day fairies!" she exclaimed as they entered. They both laughed at this, and Bess explained that it was just what Louise had been wishing to be.
"Then we each have our wish, for I have been longing for some good fairy to cheer me this gloomy day."
Miss Brown's sitting-room was a pleasant place even on the darkest day. A bright fire burned in the grate behind the high brass fender, some yellow chrysanthemums bloomed in the west window, the mahogany chairs and tables shone with the polish time gives to such things, and behind the glass doors of the corner cupboard stood rows of pretty old china. From above the mantel, old Mrs. Brown—at the age of eighteen, with stiff little curls over each ear and immense leg o' mutton sleeves in her low-necked pink gown—looked down, smiling impartially upon everybody.
"Don't you think rainy days are tiresome?" asked Louise, seating herself in the window beside the flowers.
"Not when I have company," was the smiling reply.
"Aunt Zélie has been staying with Cousin Helen this week, and Carl went home with Aleck yesterday, and we were going out to spend the day to-day and come home with them. But of course we couldn't on account of the rain, and there is nobody at home but Carie and Sukey, for Helen is at Aunt Marcia's." The tone in which Bess spoke was so doleful it was almost tragic.
"Uncle William says there is always a bright spot somewhere, and perhaps there is for us, but we haven't found it," added Louise; then looking across the street she gave a little laugh. "I was just thinking of the Magic Door," she explained.
Miss Brown wanted to hear about it, so Bess told the story, growing quite cheerful as she proceeded.
Miss Brown was more pleased with it, if possible, than Dora had been. She said it explained why she was so contented and happy in her new home.
"My old aunt left me this house with all its contents on condition that I would occupy it. At first it seemed out of the question, but the more I thought of a home of my own the more I wanted to try it, and now I feel settled for life! You see," she went on, "how beautifully it came about this afternoon. Here I was feeling stupid and a little lonely; I looked at the Big Front Door, and presently it opened and you came out and straight over here, to make me cheerful again."
The children beamed on her with faces that said plainly: "Here is an appreciative person."
At this moment who should appear but Mary, with a plate of warm spicy cookies! The climax of sociability was reached!
"Miss Brown, is it hard to knit?—to learn, I mean," Louise asked presently, looking admiringly at the bright wools the lady was working with.
"Not at all; I learned when I was a little girl."
"I should like to know how, it is such pretty soft work," said Bess.
"I shall be very glad to teach you. We might have a knitting class for rainy afternoons."
"And after awhile perhaps we could make an afghan for Uncle William!" cried Louise delightedly. "Wouldn't that be fun, Bess?"
"If it would not be a trouble to Miss Brown."
"It would be a great pleasure to me," she answered, smiling at the bright faces.
"It would be nice—" Bess began.
"Well, dear, what?" as she hesitated.
"I don't know whether I ought to ask you, for it might be a bother to you, but I was thinking how nice it would be to have a club, and ask Dora and Elsie."
"Bess, that is a lovely plan!" exclaimed her sister.
Miss Brown thought so too, and said if the others would like it she should be glad to have them, and she suggested that they bring their friends to talk the matter over on the next Saturday afternoon.
In discussing the club Bess and Louise forgot their disappointment, and were astonished to find how late it was when Joanna came for them.
"There was a bright spot, after all," said Louise as they were putting on their waterproofs. "If we had gone to the country we might never have thought of the club."
Some days later the postman had three most important notes to deliver to Miss Dora Warner, Miss Elsie Morris, and Miss Constance Myer.
This is the way they read:
You are requested to be present at the Brown house next Saturday afternoon, to organize a knitting club. Please come early.
Truly yours,
Bess Hazeltine.
Louise Hazeltine.
Much time and thought were expended on these invitations, and the importance of the senders was only equalled by the curiosity and interest of the girls who received them.
Aunt Zélie insisted that five were as many as Miss Brown ought to have. "For you know she is not used to such lively young ladies as you and Elsie and Do—"
"Not Dora, Auntie!" cried Bess; "she is perfect, and never makes a noise."
Mrs. Howard laughed, and went to see the lady of the Brown house, fearing she was undertaking too much for her strength.
But Miss Brown was quite sure of herself.
"If you knew how like spring sunshine they are in my sober life, you would see that it can only be a benefit to me," she said.
"Of course I think they are dear children, but I may be partial," their aunt replied, smiling.
"I discovered one secret of their attractiveness some time ago—they are fortunate children," and Miss Brown looked admiringly into the sweet face before her.
Promptly at three on Saturday afternoon the invited guests appeared. They were a little shy and silent at first after Bess introduced them to their hostess, but this wore off very quickly at the sight of five pairs of needles with the knitting already begun in bright worsteds.
Dora, who had learned to knit in Germany, was made assistant teacher, and for an hour they worked away diligently.
Then Miss Brown said they had done very well for beginners, and that it was time to stop and decide upon a name for their club.
The work was hardly put away when Nannie, the new maid, came in, bringing some of Mary's delicious cakes, and chocolate which was served in the oddest little cups brought by Miss Brown's grandfather from India when she was a child. Chocolate had never before tasted so good.
"Did you have tea parties with them when you were a little girl, and never break any of them?" Constance asked with wide-open eyes, for she had broken half a dozen tea-sets in her short lifetime.
"You did not think then that when you were grown up you would give some other children chocolate in these cups, did you?" said Dora.
"If we should keep our things I wonder if they would be as funny and interesting to us when we are grown up?" Bess fingered one of the cups admiringly as she spoke.
"I never feel as if I'd care for things when I am old," said Elsie.
"I can remember when I used to feel so too, but it is a great mistake. Now I enjoy things which I have had for a long time, more than I do new ones. When I use my tea-set I always think of the days when my cousin Margaret and I used to play together."
"Couldn't you tell us about it, Miss Brown?—about your cousin and when you were a little girl?" asked Louise.
"Please, if it is not too much trouble," added Bess.
They all looked so eager she could not refuse.
"There is really not much to tell," she said. "Thirty years ago little girls were not very different from those I see now, though we had not half so many toys and books.
"This cousin and I lived with our grandmother. Margaret was a year younger than I, and a delicate child, while I was strong and well then. My father and mother died when I was a baby, and my grandmother's house in Philadelphia is the first place I remember. Margaret did not come to live with us till she was six years old. Her mother too was dead, and her father spent most of his time abroad. She used to talk a great deal of her home in the South, for she did not like the city, but longed for the country and the warm climate she was used to. I remember the stories she told me after we were in bed at night. Sometimes they were in rhyme and always about her beautiful southern home.
"Our grandmother was good to us, but she was strict too, and every day for an hour we sat beside her learning to sew and knit. Instead of going to school we had a governess. We took our exercise in the open square opposite our house, where there were trees and grass, and, best of all, squirrels. This tea-set which my grandfather brought to me the year before Margaret came to live with us was my greatest treasure, and I thought it a great treat to be allowed to play with it. When I was ten years old Margaret and I had measles, and one day when we were nearly well grandmother left us to go to a funeral. Our house servant happened to be sick, so there was no one in the house, besides ourselves, but the cook. Telling us on no account to leave the warm room, grandmother drove off. Then Margaret began to wish that we had asked to have the tea-set. I knew where it was kept and volunteered to get it, for it was mine and I thought I had a right to it.
"Next we began to wish for something to eat. The spirit of naughtiness possessed me, I think, for I determined to go downstairs and find something. I stole down to the dining-room, where I found nothing but bread—which we did not want—and doughnuts. I carried back half a dozen of these, and we had our feast.
"Before we finished grandmother came home. When we heard the carriage we had a great time getting the crumbs out of the way, and the dishes put in their place. In my hurry I dropped a cup and cracked it.
"When grandmother came in she found everything as usual, but that night Margaret was very ill; she had a relapse and came near dying. No doubt the doughnuts had something to do with this, and perhaps the excitement also. I confessed how naughty I had been, and my grandmother was very kind, for she knew how I loved Margaret, and how I should miss her if she died. However, she recovered, but I had the broken cup to remind me of my disobedience. It is there among the others now."
"Thank you for telling us," said Dora as the cup was passed around.
"Is Margaret alive now?" Bess asked.
"Yes, indeed; she is married and living in England, and has three great boys and one little daughter. And now let us find a name for our club."
It was difficult to suit everybody, till after a good deal of discussion Dora made a suggestion.
"Suppose we have a name not like any we ever heard of, and call ourselves the Merry Knitters."
Nobody could find any objection to this, so it was accepted.
"For we want to be knitters and we mean to be merry," said Louise.
"And let's not tell the boys what M.K. stands for," proposed Elsie.
It was the next Saturday afternoon, and Carl, Aleck, and Ikey sat in the star chamber busily discussing something.
"There they go!" Ikey exclaimed; and the others, looking over his shoulder, saw the M.Ks. filing up the Brown house walk.
"They think they are so clever," growled Aleck. Carl raised the window and called; "Never you mind, we'll get even!"
"We don't care," answered Elsie.
"You are welcome to," cried Dora gayly, waving her work-bag.
"You'd better not lean out so far," cautioned Bess, and then the door closed behind them.
As the girls had hoped, the boys were wildly curious about the mysterious letters "M.K." They made a great many absurd guesses, and Carl finally nicknamed it the "Club of Many Kinks," which he thought sounded like girls. But they only laughed, and wouldn't tell.
He tried to bribe Louise, or to extract it unawares from Bess. Aleck went to the length of offering Elsie a box of candy if she would give him so much as a hint, and they united their efforts upon Aunt Zélie, all to no purpose. Now they had come to the conclusion that the only thing to do was to start an opposition club, and in their turn arouse the curiosity of the girls.
Mrs. Howard sat in her own little study, a room over the front door, where she kept her special treasures, and was most likely to be found when she was at home. She was busily sorting letters and bills when Carl's face appeared at the half-open door.
"May we come in?" he asked.
"Who are 'we'?"
"Oh, only Aleck and Ikey," and he ushered in his companions without further ceremony.
"If you don't object to my going on with my work, I shall be glad to have you," she said.
"Can't we help you?" asked Aleck politely, dropping down among the cushions on the couch.
"No, I thank you, and please have some mercy on my new pillow."
Ikey, who admired pretty things, rescued the dainty white and yellow pillow, and modestly helped himself to a footstool.
"Take the floor, Carl, it is the only safe place," murmured lazy Aleck.
"Somebody take it, please, and tell me the object of this call."
"We want to get even with the girls," began Carl, as his aunt leaned back in her chair, all attention.
"They think themselves so clever with their old club," said Aleck, his nose in the air.
"They are clever—quite as much so as boys." Aunt Zélie returned to her bills, and there was silence for a moment; then Ikey spoke:
"We thought it would be fun to have a club too, and not tell the girls the name. There isn't any harm in that, is there?" meekly.
"None whatever. What I do not like is that tone of lofty superiority. You do not realize how it sounds, and as I consider myself one of the girls I shall take such remarks as personal. Now tell me about the club; is it to be simply for fun?"
"We'd like a little fun, please," said Aleck.
"Aunt Zélie, we really don't know what we want, but we thought you could suggest something. You can think of scrumptious things when you try, and we can get ahead of the girls easily if we have you. So please, there's a dear," and Carl emphasized his request with a bear-like hug from behind.
There was no holding out against their entreaties, so she agreed to think it over.
"You may each invite one friend to a meeting in the star chamber next Friday evening, and in the meantime I'll do my best to think of something for you," she said, and very well satisfied the boys departed, to lie in wait for the M.Ks.
When they came to think of it, it was not easy to decide which of their friends to ask. Ikey finally settled upon his next best chum, Fred Ames. "Don't you think he will do?" he asked Carl as they walked home from school.
"Yes, of course; he is a very nice boy. I think I'll ask Jim Carter."
Ikey looked astonished. "Do you think he is the sort of a fellow your aunt will like?"
"I don't care; I like him and I am going to ask him," Carl replied positively. He thought best, however, to make some explanation.
"You see, Aunt Zélie," he said, finding her alone that evening, "Jim is a funny kind of a boy. Ikey doesn't like him, but I think there is a lot that is good in him. He is bright, I can tell you, and there is nothing really mean about him, but his father gives him too much money. I suppose that isn't ever good for a boy."
"I hardly think it is," she said, smiling at Carl's judicial manner.
"When he first came to school he thought he could get around anybody with his money, but he soon found the boys did not like it,—but perhaps I'd better not ask him."
"Ask him by all means if you think he would like to come. I am willing to trust your judgment."
There were many points of resemblance between Jim Carter and Carl. Both stood well in their classes, were independent and popular with their schoolmates, but their home surroundings were very different. Mr. Carter was deeply engrossed in making money, having become suddenly rich through a lucky speculation. Ambitious for his only son, he wished him to have all the advantages of education which he himself had missed. So Jim was sent to a good school, but was taught at home by precept and example that to get money was the chief thing.
Mrs. Carter was a good-natured, loud-voiced woman, who idolized her son, and could not deny him anything. It was the want of refinement, which Carl felt but could not express, and the utter lack of home training, that were responsible for Jim's faults.
His good-nature and real generosity won him friends among those who were at first disgusted by his boasting and display, and with a keen instinct for popularity Jim quickly learned the lesson.
He admired Carl Hazeltine and was flattered by his invitation.
"We want to get up a club," Carl said. "My aunt is going to help us, and we mean to have some fun; I'd like to have you, if you will come."
He accepted on the spot, though he wondered a little why an "aunt" should have anything to do with it. His experience with such relatives was limited to a middle-aged person who wore a shawl the year around, and regarded boys as necessary evils, to be sent upon as many errands as possible in the course of the day. Indeed, he would have considered his mother, of whom he was very fond, decidedly out of place among his friends.
He was the last to arrive on Friday evening, and he looked about him with some curiosity as Carl led the way to the star chamber. As they passed the library door he had a glimpse of a pleasant family group; Mr. Hazeltine with his paper, Bess and Louise studying their geography lesson, and Helen playing with Mr. Smith. An airy vision awaited them at the top of the first flight of steps; Carie in her nightgown, holding out her arms and calling, "I want to tiss you dood-night," while Sukey came running after.
"You naughty fairy," said her big brother, catching her and handing her over to mammy after the kiss was bestowed.
"What a pretty little thing!" Jim remarked admiringly.
"She is the sweetest baby in the town," Carl responded loyally.
In the star chamber they found the other boys. Ikey and his friend Fred Ames, Aleck and his special chum Will Archer, who was as quiet and steady-going as Aleck was mischievous and happy-go-lucky.
Jim was warmly welcomed, and Ikey gave him an ear of popcorn to shell. The rest were already at work seated on the rug before the fire. The old sofa was drawn up sociably, and a chair of state had been provided for Mrs. Howard.
When the door opened a few minutes later, they were all talking and laughing at once in a decidedly uproarious fashion.
"Here is Cousin Zélie!" cried Aleck, and there came a sudden lull as they scrambled to their feet. Jim was the only one she did not know, and for some reason the sight of this slender young woman in black, with a white rose in her dress, caused him a fit of unusual shyness. Ikey himself could not have been more abashed than he was when Carl introduced him.
"As the fire is in such fine condition, perhaps the popping had best go on while we talk," Aunt Zélie said, taking the chair; "then when business is over the refreshments will be ready."
Fred and Ikey were appointed a committee to attend to the corn, and when all were comfortably settled, she began:
"As you know, the object of this meeting is to hear suggestions for a club. I have been thinking about it for a week, and this is the best plan that has occurred to me: it is to have a Good Neighbors Club. The text Uncle William gave you children, Carl, suggested it to me. 'They helped every one his neighbor.' It would mean keeping our eyes open for ways of helping, and being careful to respect the property of others.
"You see I take it for granted that you want something besides fun, though I am sure we shall have a good time too."
"I don't think I understand what we are to do," said Will.
"You are not to break your neighbors' windows, for instance," replied Aleck, winking at Carl.
"There is no trouble about the helping," answered Mrs. Howard; "there are always opportunities for that, and on the other hand I am inclined to think that you all at times do things that, to say the least, do not improve the appearance of your neighborhood. For example—but I believe I'll let you find out for yourselves. Suppose for a week you try to discover what it means to be a good neighbor, and report next Friday. The rest of my plan is very simple. To hold meetings every week or once in two weeks, as you choose, and I have some fascinating work which I know you can learn to do, and surprise the girls. I shall have it ready for the next meeting, and while you work we can have reading, or you can select a subject to discuss. Now the meeting is open; please talk and ask questions."
Just here Ikey created a diversion by letting the pop-corn burn, whereupon Mrs. Howard took it from him, and, kneeling on the rug, popped the rest herself. Carl brought in a basket of apples, and drawing up in a sociable circle they soon became merry and very much at ease.
Aunt Zélie liked boys, and had a way of establishing friendly relations with them on short acquaintance. And this evening she made a special effort, for she wanted to know Carl's friends and make the new club a success. The boys were ready to adopt her plan without waiting, but she insisted upon their taking a week to think about it. Before they left she wrote out the text on a card for each of them, that they might keep it in mind.
"Isn't she splendid?" said Ikey to Jim as the door closed behind them, for ever since the day of his accident he had been her ardent worshipper. Jim assented rather coolly. In fact, he was a little dazed. He had had a good time, though now it was over he was inclined to wonder why. As for being a good neighbor, he thought it sounded silly; but before he went to bed he took out the card and read the text: "They helped every one his neighbor."
The Hazeltines' lot was a corner one, and Aunt Marcia, driving one afternoon along the street upon which their side gate opened, saw two boys seated on a box near the entrance to the alley that ran back of the stable.
"What can they be doing?" she asked herself, and not being able to imagine, she stopped the carriage and stepped out to investigate.
As she approached it became evident that one of the boys was Carl.
"What are you doing here I should like to know?" she demanded.
"We aren't doing any harm, Aunt Marcia," her nephew answered stoutly.
"An alley is no place to play in. Is that Louise?" as somebody peeped out of the stable door. "I am astonished; you must go in at once."
"I am going in directly, I am, indeed, Aunt Marcia; but please don't make the boys get up till they are sure it is quite dead." As she spoke Louise came out into full view.
"What are you talking about, and who is this boy?" Mrs. Hazeltine put up her glass, embarrassing Ikey greatly. "Oh, it is that Ford boy! Now tell me what you have in that box."
"A cat." Carl's eyes were full of mischief, though his tone was solemnity itself.
"Mercy upon us! Let it out at once!"
"We can't; it is dead."
"Dead? You wicked boys! Did you kill it?"
"Oh, Aunt Marcia," cried Louise before Carl could reply, "they had to do it, indeed, indeed they did! It was hurt; some boys shot it with a toy pistol, and it was dreadful; so we bought some chloroform and Ikey killed it because he knew how, and now they are sitting on the box to make sure!"
Horrified and astonished, Mrs. Hazeltine surveyed her young relatives in silence.
"Why couldn't you have James do it?" she inquired at length.
"He has taken the horses to be shod."
"Where is Zélie?"
"Gone to Chicago with Cousin Helen."
"Well, Louise must go in at once, and may I inquire how long it will be necessary for you to sit on that box in this damp place?"
"It must be dead now, I think," Ikey said, rising.
Carl was proceeding to make an investigation, when Aunt Marcia protested, "Wait till I'm gone, if you please; I don't care to have anything to do with such business," and drawing her skirts about her, she hastily retired.
"There never were such children!" she said to her husband that night. "Think of it—actually killing a cat—and Louise helping!"
"Don't you think it was better than letting the poor thing suffer?" asked tender-hearted Uncle William.
"I don't care, Carl, you needn't laugh," said Louise that same evening; "for cats are neighbors, father says so. Anything or anybody you can help, he said."
"All right, I'll tell Ikey to report it at the G.N. meeting."
"Oh, ho, Mr. Carl! Is that what you are going to do at your club?" cried both his sisters in the same breath.
"Pooh! that is nothing," said Carl, affecting great unconcern, but secretly very much provoked with himself; "we do a great deal more than that."
The girls were excessively pleased over his little slip, and he at last descended from his lofty pinnacle and humbly begged them not to tell Aleck.
The M.Ks. had in their turn christened the boys' club the "Great Noodles," a name in which it was thought Uncle William had a hand.
"Sounds like boys," Elsie remarked with much emphasis.
The next day after school, just as the group of boys on the corner began to separate in various directions, Jim Carter asked, "Have you fellows thought of anything for Friday night?"
"Ikey has," laughed Carl. "You couldn't guess what he did yesterday."
"Shut up! I'd like to know if you didn't help?" Ikey's strap full of books swung round in dangerous proximity to his friend's head.
"Full details of the sad occurrence given later," Carl called out as he ran for his life.
"I don't understand it, do you? I haven't any neighbors to help," Jim said, as he and Fred Ames walked on together.
"I don't know. I suppose it means not doing things too. Perhaps this is one thing," and Fred carried to the edge of the sidewalk the skin of the banana he was peeling, and dropped it on the pile of dust and dirt which had been swept up by the street cleaner.
"Do you think Mrs. Howard meant silly things like that?"
"Why not? I heard of an old man who slipped on a banana skin and broke his leg. It would not have seemed silly to him if someone had put it out of his way. But if she didn't mean such things, what did she mean? Perhaps you think you are improving the neighborhood." Fred glanced mischievously at his companion, who held a piece of chalk and was carelessly making a straggling-white line on everything he passed. Jim dropped his hand impatiently. "I don't think I'll belong," he said. He did not quite mean this. He was really curious to see what it would amount to, but at the same time he was not exactly pleased. He felt great scorn for what he considered trifles, and had a strong belief in his right to do as he pleased.
Thursday night of this week happened to be Hallowe'en. Jim, who had had almost unlimited freedom since his babyhood, had often gone about with a crowd of boys on this night ringing doorbells, carrying away door-mats, and turning on water. By the marauders it was looked upon as a grand frolic, and owners of missing mats and deluged yards might grumble as they pleased. He had even looked forward to the time when more daring exploits would be possible, and when some of his old companions came for him this evening he joined them as a matter of course.
"Let's give old Grandfather Clark a dose first, he is always as mad as fury," said one of the boys.
At this moment the motto of the club popped into Jim's head.
"They helped every one his neighbor." This was not helping. There came to him a sudden determination not to have anything to do with it. Not that he saw any special reason why they should not have fun at old Mr. Clark's expense, but rather because he wanted to go to the club at least once more; and, mingled with this, there was a feeling that the nicest fellows did not do things of this kind.
There could be no doubt as to the interest in the G.N.C. as the boys had begun to call it. On Friday night six eager faces greeted Mrs. Howard when she entered the star chamber, and there was an amiable scramble for the honor of giving her a chair.
"First we'll have reports and then begin work; that is, if you have decided that you like the plan." As she spoke she looked at Jim, who was nearest.
He had entirely recovered from his bashfulness, and was feeling rather well pleased with himself, so he answered promptly:
"I am not sure I understand it, Mrs. Howard, but I have thought of one thing. I suppose you would not call it being a good neighbor to go about on Hallowe'en as lots of boys do, carrying off gates and doing other mischief. I have done it myself, and I never thought there was much harm in it, but I suppose there is." He was astonished himself at this honest conclusion.
Mrs. Howard smiled. "Stopping to think makes such a difference," she said. "I should be sorry indeed to believe that any of you boys could take part in some of the wild pranks that are often played on Hallowe'en. My brother had a valuable young tree destroyed last night. Boys do such things for fun, they say, but it doesn't seem honest to make other people pay so dearly for their fun."
"I never thought of it in that way," said Fred.
"But how are you ever to have any fun if you must stop and think about things?" Jim asked, feeling ashamed in spite of himself as he remembered how near he had come to making one of such a crowd.
"Its being fun isn't any excuse. Suppose you thought it fun to steal somebody's pocketbook?" said Carl.
"That is a different thing."
"What is the real difference between stealing money and ruining something that cost money?" asked Will.
"Father says that in America people have less respect for public property than anywhere else in the world," remarked Fred.
"I am afraid it is true," replied Mrs. Howard, "and that is why I want you boys to think about it. Ikey, haven't you something to say?" This young gentleman, who had been fidgeting about like some uneasy insect, now became greatly embarrassed.
"I don't know whether it will count or not, and it is as much Carl's as mine," he began.
"It isn't at all; you thought of it—go on."
Aunt Zélie nodded encouragingly at him, though she had no idea what was coming, and after several beginnings Ikey managed to tell the story of the cat. Louise had found the poor thing, and had come in great distress to the boys. Ikey remembered seeing his father kill a pet dog with chloroform, and so volunteered to try it on the cat. Carl bought the chloroform, and, putting some cotton saturated with it in a paper bag, they drew this over the animal's head, covering all with a box made as air-tight as possible.
"But," said Ikey comically, "I don't know whether cats are neighbors."
"Indeed, they are most useful ones, and frequently unappreciated. It was a kind thing to do, and, now you know how easy it is, I hope you will all be ready to put any poor animal out of its misery when you find it hopelessly hurt."
"We had a beautiful funeral, Cousin Zélie, and are going to take up a collection for a tombstone," said Aleck.
They grew so merry over Ikey's story that it was difficult to come back to such commonplaces as writing on fences and walls, and scattering papers around.
"Everybody does such things, so what difference will our not doing them make?" asked Jim.
"Everything has to begin, and you don't know how contagious a good example is," replied Mrs. Howard.
"Let's have a penny fine for each time we do a thing of the sort," Carl suggested.
Last of all, Will Archer told about the little lame boy, son of the minister at the church on the corner.
"I think perhaps it would be a pleasure to him if some of us would go to see him occasionally. He hardly gets out at all in the winter, and he is a bright little fellow."
"That is a beautiful suggestion," said Mrs. Howard. "I am glad that you have thought of so many things good neighbors should and should not do. Taken all together it amounts to this: To be thoughtful for the rights of others, and ready to help. Now, what of our club? Shall we try this plan?"
It was unanimously adopted, and they all wrote their names under the text in a new blank-book which was handed over to Jim, who offered no objection to being made secretary.
"And now for our work," said Mrs. Howard. "Some years ago, when I spent a summer in Maine, I learned from an Indian woman to make baskets of sweet grass. This year I had a friend bring me some of this grass, and it occurred to me the other day that it would be just the work for you boys."
Carl brought in an armful of the fragrant material, and his aunt showed them how to fasten it to the frame she had had made for the purpose, and then braid it. Their fingers were awkward at first, but they soon learned to do it evenly, and found it pleasant work.
"What are we to do with them when they are done?" Ikey asked.
"Sell them, and help somebody with the money," was the reply.
The thought of making anything good enough to sell was inspiring, and they worked with a will till it was time to adjourn.
Talking it over with her brother after the boys were gone, Aunt Zélie said: "Perhaps our club is too comprehensive: a sort of Village Improvement, Humane and Missionary Society combined, but the boys thought of these things themselves. If we can only cultivate the spirit of helpfulness, perhaps it will find its own natural channel in each."
"You can't specialize in everything, life is too short," answered Mr. Hazeltine, laughing.
"I don't know what you mean by channels, and specializing, and all that," said Carl, looking in the door, "but I can tell you, Aunt Zélie, the boys like it, and Jim thinks you are tiptop. Hurrah for the G.N.C.!"