At the Little Brown House Part 38

"Faith and Hope might for once. They _never_ have to!"

"Faith is to serve dinner, and Hope is needed at the table."

"Which I s'pose means Cherry and me ain't needed," cried the disappointed child.

"Peace! I am ashamed of such a little pig."

"It ain't piggishness, Gail. I don't want a whole hen, I want just a drumstick," protested Peace, with two real tears in her eyes.

"Oh, dear, now we are in for a scene," sighed the older girl, anxious to avert the storm. "Now be reasonable, Peace. If you will wait like a good little girl, you shall have a drumstick. Look at Cherry,--she doesn't make a fuss at all. You will be sorry by and by if you cry and get your eyes all red."

"Is there to be a s'prise?" asked Peace in animated curiosity.

"Yes, _such_ a splendid one!"

"I'm not going to cry, Gail. Those two tears just got loose 'fore I knew it. I will stay in the parlor with Cherry all right, but don't take too long a time eating dinner, and _don't_ forget my drumstick."

With this parting warning she flew back into the front room and announced, "Dinner is ready, folkses! Faith, tell them where to sit; and say, you all better eat fast, 'cause Gail says there is a big s'prise coming."

Slamming the door behind them as they filed out into the dining-room, she sat down in the nearest chair and faced Cherry with a droll look of resignation, saying, "Well, Charity Greenfield, how do you like being one of the children and having to wait every time we have comp'ny? When I have a family of my own, I'll make the visitors do the waiting."

"I don't mind it much," answered Cherry, serenely. "There is a heap of victuals cooked. Mrs. Grinnell said she guessed we must have been expecting a regiment."

Peace sniffed the air hungrily, rose with deliberation from the rocker, tiptoed to the door, opened it a crack and peeked out at the merry diners. Then she let go of the k.n.o.b with a jerk, wheeled toward Cherry and whispered, "Just as I 'xpected! That man _has_ got a drumstick and he just gave Allee one. He's stuffing her for all he's worth. First thing we know, she will be sick."

"Yes, and you banged that door, too, so they must have heard you," said Cherry indignantly.

"Maybe 'twill hurry them up. I don't see _how_ I can wait."

"Get a book and read. Then the time will seem shorter."

Peace rocked idly back and forth a few turns, patching her companion in misery, who seemed so absorbed in her story that even the thoughts of no dinner did not disturb her; then she stalked over to the battered bookcase, drew out a big, green-covered book which evidently had been often read, for the binding was in rags, and sat down on the rug to digest its contents.

"'Bright was the summer of 1296. The war which had desolated Scotland was then at an end,'" read Peace slowly, spelling out the long, unfamiliar words and finding it dry reading. She turned the yellowed pages rapidly in search of pictures, but found none. She skipped several lines and began again to read, "'But while the courts of Edward, or of his representatives, were crowded--' oh, dear, what does it mean? There ain't a mite of sense in using such long words. Cherry, what is this book about?"

"'Scottish Chiefs?'" said the sister, looking up indifferently. "I don't know. Ask Hope. She had to read it last year when they studied English history."

"I thought maybe 'twas about Indians. I didn't know other things were called chiefs. My, I can smell dinner awfully plain! They've been at it long enough to have finished, seems to me. I'm going to peek again."

"You better not let that door slam," warned Cherry, "or Gail will be getting after you."

"I don't intend to. It slipped the other time. There goes another drumstick!" she wailed dismally, forgetting to speak in whispers; and the amazed guests beheld a flushed, distressed face popped through the wide crack of the door, as rebellious Peace called in bitter indignation, "Remember, all the family haven't had dinner yet, and chickens don't grow on every bush!"

"Peace!" gasped poor, mortified Gail.

"Ha-ha-ha!" roared the minister, and President Campbell called after the little figure which had vanished behind the closed door once more, "That is right, Peace! You needn't stay in there another minute. Here is plenty of room for you and Cherry in my lap."

The only answer was the sound of a choking sob from the adjoining room, and the college president started to his feet with remorse in his heart, pleading, "Let me get her! It's too bad to shut them off there to wait for us older folks to eat dinner. I know from experience."

But Gail stopped him, saying firmly, "No, it was very naughty of her to do that, and she can't have any dinner at all now until she has apologized."

"You are hard on her."

"She must remember her manners. I resign my authority to you and Grandma in a few hours," she answered laughingly, "but until then she must mind me."

"_Please_ let me bring them out here with us, anyway," he urged. "She will apologize; and around the table is a good place for the big 's'prise' she is expecting."

"Very well," she answered reluctantly.

Excusing himself to the little dinner party, he disappeared behind the parlor door, whispered a few words to the conscience-stricken culprit in the corner, and in a surprisingly short time reappeared with two smiling little girls.

Peace's eyes were red, and one lone tear stood on the rosy cheek, but she marched up to the table, bowed, and said with some embarra.s.sment, but in all sincerity, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've already told Grandpa, and he said it was all right--I apologize. I s'pose you are hungry, same as I, and that's what has kept you busy eating for so long. I shouldn't have hollered at you from the door like I did, but if you wanted that drumstick as bad as I do, you'd have hollered, too. Now can I have my dinner? Cherry, you sit in half of Allee's chair. Faith, Hope will give you a piece of her place, and I am to have half of Grandpa's. That's all his plan, so come along, Faith. Please pa.s.s me my drumstick. You've already blessed it, haven't you?"

"Peace!"

"Now, Gail, please don't scold! This is the last day in the little brown house, you know--"

"What!" burst forth, a chorus of dismayed voices.

"Ain't that _mordige_ settled yet?" demanded Peace.

"Oh, yes. I had a long talk with Mr. Strong, and we settled that question forever and all time, I hope. Nevertheless, you aren't going to stay here any longer."

A hush fell over the five younger girls, though Gail was smiling happily with the rest of the little company, and even Baby Glen seemed to appreciate the situation, and cooed gleefully, as he pounded the table with his spoon.

"It's just as I 'xpected," Peace blurted out at length. "I said I bet you wanted the farm yourself, seeing that old Skin--Mr. Skinflint didn't get it."

He threw back his head and laughed loud and long; then the old face sobered, and he said, "No, it isn't that, Peace. We--Grandma and I--want you to come and live with us. Gail says yes. What is your answer?"

"All of us?" whispered Hope in awestruck tones, remembering with fresh fear the midnight conference of a few weeks before.

"All of you!"

"Gail, too?"

"Yes, indeed!"

"Haven't you any children yourself?" asked Allee, not exactly understanding the drift of remarks.

"No, dear. The angels came and took away our two little girlies before they were as big as you are."

"But six is an awful many to raise at once," sighed Peace. "Do you think you can do it?"

"I will try if you will come."

"Do you live in Martindale?"

"Yes."