The Carter Girls' Mysterious Neighbors

“I was just thinking,” said Douglas, changing the subject with a swiftness that disarmed the count, “your moustache certainly turns up at the ends just like Emperor William’s.”

CHAPTER VIII

SATURDAY

“Isn’t it glorious to be living and for it to be Saturday?” yawned Lucy.

“Yes, and not to have to catch that old train,” and Nan snuggled down luxuriously under the bedclothes. “I used to think Saturday was a pretty good institution when we lived in town, but now – Oh, ye gods! Now!”

“Did you know that Saturday was decreed a half-holiday in the days of the Saxon King Edgar 958 A. D.?” asked Lucy, who had a way of springing historical facts on people.

“No, but I know it’s going to be a whole holiday for Nan Carter in the year of grace 1916. I intend to do nothing but laze the whole day long, laze and read.”

“I bet you won’t. I bet you go nutting with Mag and me, because if we go it means Billy goes along, and if he goes along he’ll be in a terrible grouch unless you go, too.”

October had delightfully spread over into November. The weather had obligingly stayed good, and although our Carters had been at Valhalla more than a month, they had experienced no real bad days.

Nippy, frosty nights had put Mr. Carter wise to the many cracks that he must stop up. Weather strips must be put on windows and doors, panes of glass must be puttied in. Suspicious stains on walls and ceilings warned him of leaks, but he had to wait for a rain to locate them. He found himself almost as busy as he had been before his breakdown, but busy in such a different way.

“I’m glad it’s Saturday! I think I won’t work today,” he had remarked to his wife at about the same time Nan and Lucy were having their talk. “Come and walk in the woods with me.”

That lady had graciously consented, if he promised not to go far and to lift her over fences.

“I think I’ll wash my hair today; and darn the stockings; and go over the accounts; and write some letters; and read the Saturday Evening Post,” said Douglas as she and Helen dressed hurriedly. Their little attic room was hot in summer and cold in winter.

Douglas had been thinking a great deal about her ride with the count. Had he only meant to tease her? Was he trying to flirt with her? Did she like him at all or did she in a way distrust him? She asked herself all of these questions. Of course she liked him! Why should she distrust a man because of the way his moustache grew? Of course he was teasing her, and who could help teasing a silly goose of a girl who sat on the roadside and bawled until her nose was disgracefully red, and then insisted it was all because her little brother had aided and abetted in the crime of putting fleas down a little girl’s neck? He had made a good guess about Lewis Somerville, because no doubt her father had told him that she and Lewis had been chums from the time they were babies.

“I only hope I will be able to make up to him for my discourtesy by being very polite to him the next time I see him,” she thought.

“Count de Lestis is coming to lunch with us today,” said Helen, almost as though she had been reading her sister’s mind. “Father asked him.”

“That’s good! Isn’t it nice for Father to have such a congenial friend?”

“And Mumsy! She enjoys his visits so much. I am going to try and have a scrumptious luncheon, but I tell you I am going to leave mighty little of it to Chloe.”

“I think she is improving, Helen.”

“Of course she is improving. She is trying so hard to do what I want her to and I am trying so hard to be patient. I think I am improving some myself.”

“Oh, honey, you are simply splendid. I think you have the hardest job of all and I think you are doing better than any of us.”

“Nonsense!” But Helen looked very happy over her sister’s praise. “I’d rather do general housework for six dollars a month than go every day and teach thirty little nincompoops a-b, ab.”

“But the thing is you are doing general housework for nothing a month.”

“I am doing a little teaching of a-b, ab, too, only my methods are different. I have evolved a very advanced style of teaching and Chloe, too, is learning to spell. My method is somewhat that of Dotheboys’ Hall – you remember: ‘W-i-n-d-o-w, window – Go wash them.’ I make her spell and write all the kitchen utensils. She learns while she is working and it makes her take an interest in becoming educated.”

“Oh, Helen, you are so clever! You must let me help about the luncheon.”

“How about washing your head; and writing your letters; and casting up the household accounts; and the Saturday Evening Post?”

“Well, the letters and Post will keep!”

On Saturday the rule was that the dead warriors must make up their own beds and clean their own rooms, so shortly after breakfast there was a general scramble in process. Helen turned Chloe loose in the dining-room to have it swept and garnished for their distinguished visitor.

What a pretty room it was, much the most attractive in the house, with the exception of the sitting-room, perhaps! Low, rough-hewn rafters were frankly exposed to view. The walls were sealed with pine boards. Walls and ceiling were both painted a very soft, pleasing grey-green. On the high mantel was an old-fashioned wooden clock with painted door, and this was flanked on both sides by funny old vases with large raised roses and gilt ears. Two high windows and a glass door, opening on a covered passage leading to the kitchen, gave a soft and insufficient light.

Douglas had just put the finishing touch to the table: a bunch of cosmos sent down by the Misses Grant. Nan had made the mayonnaise; and Lucy had found a great basket of mushrooms and peeled them for Helen to cream. Truly they were to have a scrumptious luncheon. The count had arrived and was playing lady-come-to-see, so Lucy said, with Mrs. Carter.

The whir of a motor drew the attention of all.

“Who on earth!” exclaimed Helen. “Surely not callers at this hour, just when my popovers are almost ready to eat!”

“Mo’ comply!” declared Chloe. “Dat ol’ red rooster what yo’ paw set so much sto’ by is been a-crowing halleluja all mornin’. I been a-tryin’ ter make him hesh, ’cause we ain’t got no mo’ cheers fer comply.”

“That’s so, there aren’t but eight dining-room chairs,” laughed Helen.

“My ’ployer done come and a soger is in with him!” cried Bobby, tearing excitedly by the dining-room in his race to open the gate for his beloved Dr. Wright.

Helen ran out in her pink bungalow apron, first peeping into the oven, not trusting Chloe yet to keep things from burning.

“Douglas!” she called excitedly, but Douglas, with flushed cheeks, bent over the bowl of cosmos.

“A soldier with him! What soldier? Could it be Lewis?” she asked herself.

It was Lewis Somerville, looking very handsome and upstanding indeed in his khaki uniform, with his face burned a deep bronze so that his eyes looked very blue and his teeth very white. He clambered out over the great basket of fruit Dr. Wright was bringing to Mrs. Carter, dropped the boxes and parcels piled in around him and hugged and kissed all the female cousins in sight, Helen, Nan and Lucy. He shook Bobby by the hand, knowing full well that that youngster would sooner die than be hugged and kissed.

“Douglas, where is Douglas?” he whispered to Helen.

“In the dining-room! You can get there around at the back of the house – in the basement. We thought you were still in Mexico.”

Lewis did not wait to tell her that he wasn’t, but doing double quick time he streaked around the house, and finding the basement stairs without any trouble, he was down them in one stride.

“Douglas!”

“Oh, Lewis!”

Douglas forgot that not so very many months before this time she had informed her cousin that she was too big to be kissed and that he was not close enough kin to warrant indiscriminate hugging. Certainly she was no younger than she had been eight months before and Lewis was no closer kin, but now she submitted to his embraces and even clung to him for a moment.

It was so wonderful to have him back safe and sound. She could hardly believe it was only yesterday that she had sat on the roadside and wept. He was her same Lewis, too. She felt instinctively that the count’s suggestion in regard to Mexican beauties was ridiculous.

“And Lewis, sergeant stripes on your sleeve, too! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did! Didn’t you get my letter?”

“No, not for weeks and weeks!”

“Strange! I must say I am not crazy about that letter’s being lost.”