Chapter NINE: The Results

Wiggles was dreaming uneasily. She thought she was running along through the woods, when her foot slipped and she fell down,--down, into a slimy marsh, and, no matter how hard she struggled, she could not get out, but felt the sticky-oozy mud all about her.

Jeannette dreamed, too. It seemed as if she were in the kitchen, and colored Mandy was teaching her to make gems. She had the batter all mixed, and Mandy held the yellow bowl full of the mixture to show her how to pour it into the tiny muffin-tins. But, instead of pouring it where it belonged, Mandy upset the entire sticky mass all over Jeannette, and she could feel the clammy stuff trickling down her back.

Boots likewise dreamed, but I cannot begin to tell you what he dreamed about, except to say that it was a dreadful, _dreadful_ “cat-mare.”

Mrs. Eaton returned at twelve, with her tooth all fixed. Mrs. West was just leaving, and so Aunt Elsie and Mother ran up the stairs together. Grandmother met them at the top, to inquire about the toothache.

“The children have been taking a nap,” she said, “and so have I. They must be getting a nice rest, for everything is so quiet--” and at that, bedlam broke out in the forget-me-not room, and cat-yowls and children’s excited voices could be heard together.

“Mother, Mother,” shrieked Wiggles. “I think Boots must be having a fit, and we’re all stuck up.”

“What does the child mean?” gasped Grandma. All three ladies made a dash to open the door into the children’s room, as the enraged Boots, looking a queer spectacle, shot out, spitting violently.

“That’s not a fit,” cried Aunt Elsie, “he’s just plain angry. What can that be that he has all over him?”

“For pity’s sake, children, what have you been doing?” asked Mrs. Eaton in amazement. “Can these be my little girls?”

No wonder she asked, for Jeannette’s long curls were a glued-together mass down her back, and the backs of both children’s nightclothes were dripping with a thick, sticky substance.

A small figure in white arose from the floor, from between the beds, where it had been sitting, “on duty,” as a nurse should be.

“I gaved ’em an al-colic rub,” said Cubby triumphantly.

“Alcohol nothing,” exclaimed Aunt Elsie, gingerly picking up the large bottle the “nurse” still clasped. “Cod-liver-oil, instead.”

“What is all the racket about?” inquired Daddy from the doorway, and gave an astonished glance at his little daughters.

“So that’s where my cod-liver-oil bottle disappeared, is it? Well, well, I never realized you children were so fond of it that you used it to bathe in.”

“Cubby, you scamp--,” began Mother severely, but was stopped by an anguished wail from the wee nurse. “I--I fought it was al-colic,” she hiccoughed, “and I wanted to hel--lup.”

Of course the first thing to be done was to pop the children into the tub. Mother took Wiggles, and Aunt Elsie, Jeannette, and into the big bath-tub they were dipped for more rubbing and scrubbing.

“Aren’t we the most mis-fortunate children you ever saw?” sighed Wiggles, as she was soused up and down. “Ouch, you’re taking my skin off, too!”

“I may have to,” Mrs. Eaton said grimly. “I never saw such stuff to scrape off. Never mind, chickabiddies, it might have been worse, for Cub might have taken glue.”

Grandma, swathed in a large rubber apron, was dipping the wee culprit into the big foot-tub, shaped like a sea-shell, for Cubby had liberally besmeared herself as well.

“The soap’s in my face,” howled Cubby, who was struggling violently.

“Well, the cod-liver oil’s in mine,” said Jeannette savagely, having the hardest time of them all, as Mother and Aunt Elsie worked over the long curls.

Down in the basement it was a question as to who was having the worse time,--Boots or Dr. Eaton. Cats hate water, and poor Dr. Eaton had to scrub pussy vigorously in the stationary tubs, to get the thick fur back to its usual state.

“Meow, meow!” went poor Boots, and “scrub, scrub” went the Doctor, both looking very unhappy, for Boots had struggled until the front of Dr. Eaton’s suit was all spattered with soapy water.

Hannah was changing the messy bed, with many shakes of her head over the antics of “dat naughty lamb.”

At last the youngsters were tucked safely away once more, and long-suffering Mother departed to change her dress.

Fifteen minutes later a chastened Boots strolled in, looking so thin and forlorn, with his fluffy fur all slicked down, that the children screamed with laughter.

“Oh, oh, I know just how he feels,” gasped Wiggles, “for I never want to see a scrubbing-brush again.”

Aunt Elsie fixed him a cushion by the window, where an occasional sunbeam tried to peep in, and little by little his hair fluffed out anew.

Then sorrowful wails were heard, and Cubby entered, both hands wrapped round and round with long bandages until they looked like well-stuffed pincushions and were impossible to use.

“’Cause my paddies were naughty,” sobbed she, burying her head like a little ostrich in Aunt Elsie’s lap, “and that’s the ‘why.’”

“Naughty little hands that get into mischief have to be punished so they will remember not to touch things they should not, again,” said Mother seriously. “Don’t you think so, Elsie?”

“I do, indeed,” Aunt Elsie replied gravely, stifling an impulse to hug the naughty little culprit, who howled afresh at Auntie’s words.

“Does she have to have pincushion hands long?” asked the sisters sorrowfully, for they hated to see the baby bear punished.

“Until dinner-time,” replied Dr. Eaton. “She _must_ realize how very naughty it was to touch any of Daddy’s medicines. It might have been acid, or something that would have really injured you, instead of just making you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’se sorry,” wept the small sinner, with huge crocodile tears raining down her rosy face.

“What are you sorry about?” questioned Daddy, taking her on his knee.

“I loves ’oo,” cajoled the artful baby, smoothing her father’s hair as best she could with her pudding-like hands, and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Eaton unmoved, wishing to make certain that she fully understood why she was punished. “But what are you sorry about?”

“Why, why,” murmured she, “I’se sorry ’cause I can’t do what I wants to do any more.”

Dr. Eaton hastily turned away his head. She looked so little and cunning sitting there, bolt upright, on his knee, with her golden curls nodding, and the ridiculous pudding-like bandages on each little hand, that it was hard to continue the punishment. It was easy to see that she didn’t understand at all why she was being punished, so for a long time he talked to her in simple words, explaining how she might have badly hurt her sisters by her disobedience, and, when the luncheon-bell sounded, she showed that she really understood.

I don’t believe I have told you about the big double room that the sisters shared at The Lilacs. It was such a pretty room that it was a pleasure just to lie in bed and look around, while the others were eating their luncheon. The walls were a soft, cloudy blue, and an artist friend of Grandpa’s had painted blue and yellow butterflies and bees, sipping at festoons of forget-me-nots, in a dainty border around the ceiling. The children loved to rest quietly and look at them, they were so pretty.

The furniture was white, with twin beds for the little girls; and the windows were draped with the prettiest cretonne, up which pink buds and blue forget-me-nots clambered, while blue rag rugs on the floor had tiny pink and blue posies woven in the border. The white furniture was painted with sprays of forget-me-nots, while bed-spreads of the same cretonne as that which draped the windows, covered the beds when the children were not in them.

The girls were both much surprised when Mother and Aunt Elsie rolled their beds together, and then placed a bed-table over them, which was covered with a dainty white cloth. Then, instead of the usual individual trays, Grandma set the children’s places with the dearest little blue tea-set you can imagine.

“Where did you get them, Grandma?” demanded Jeannette, examining the pictures on each side with much interest.

“That set belonged to Jean and Elsie,” replied Grandma, filling a tiny chocolate-pot as she spoke, and placing cold sliced chicken on the tea-plates.

“Our own mother and Auntie, when they were little girls,” declared Wiggles with satisfaction, starting her luncheon with much zest. “It tastes lots better on these than on ordinary dishes. Just look at those lovely gooey marshmallow cakes that Mandy baked for us, Jet.”

“I’m going to do more than _look_,” returned Jet with spirit, and biting into one as she spoke. “Yum-yum, these are a treat. She’s put chopped cherries in the marshmallow cream inside, and they’re _heavenly_.”

“She calls them angelettes. It’s her own name for them. I remember these dishes well,” Mrs. Eaton continued with a laugh. “Helen Cole used to come over here and have tea-parties on them when we were about your age, and even younger. We always had sponge cake and lemonade, and two striped peppermint candies apiece. It seems as if I ought to have some now.”

“Did Aunt Elsie play tea-party, too?”

Mother cast a mischievous smile at her sister, who laughed as if recalling something funny.

“Oh, what is it?” cried Wiggles. “I can see by the twinkle in your eye that there is a joke.”

“Well,” replied Mother, industriously darning socks, “your Aunt Elsie was my baby sister, as you know, and she was only two years old at the time we started our tea-parties. She simply adored the chocolate-pot in that set, and, every chance she got, she would steal it and hide under the dining-room table with it.”

“I’m s’prised that you were such a little mischief,” remarked Wiggles, demurely.

“One afternoon Helen and I had been playing dolls on the veranda, when Mother came to the door to tell us that the tea-party was all ready. We always had our tea-parties on a little white table on the side porch, but when we reached the table, the chocolate-pot, full of lemonade, had disappeared, although all the other refreshments were untouched. It was the first time that Elsie had found the opportunity to take it when it was filled, but it really wasn’t the lemonade she wanted, it just seemed as if the chocolate-pot itself fascinated her.

“Of course we rushed right out to the dining-room, and there, under the big table, was Elsie, clasping it in her two little hands and gulping down the contents from the spout as fast as she could swallow.

“I can see her yet, with her long golden curls hanging down over her shoulders, and the lemonade smeared all over her face and hands, and down the front of her white frock, but with the most angelic expression on her face you can imagine.”

“Imagine Aunt Elsie being so naughty,” laughed Jeannette. “Why, she must have been as mischievous as Cubby.”

“She was every bit as bad, and maybe worse,” said Grandma with a smile. “In fact, Cubby puts me very much in mind of her. It seemed to me as if she went from one piece of mischief to another as fast as she could go. Many and many a time she has had pudding-hands, just like the wee bear, and I have even known her feet to be tied up because she would go ‘visiting,’ unknown to me.”

“Why, Aunt Elsie, weren’t you dreadful? Won’t you please tell us some more stories about when she was a little girl, Grandma?”

“Oh, do,” urged Jeannette. “Daddy says we mustn’t read in bed, and, though I’m so tired of lying still, I’m too lame to get up.”

“How would you like to come in my room for a little change?” asked Grandma. “You could be together in my big double bed, and I will tell you some stories, if you like.”

“O goody, that would be lovely!” cried both children.

They clambered out of bed with many grunts of pain, and slipped into blue bedroom slippers and warm blue corduroy bath-robes.

Then, led as usual by Boots, the little party scurried across the hall to Grandmother’s lilac room.