Chapter EIGHTEEN: An Interrupted Tea-Party

Mrs. MacAllister glanced from the black-bordered calling-card to the shaking shoulders of Martha, the maid. Try as she might, she could recollect no “Mrs. Clayton Campbell” of her acquaintance.

“It’s a little girl, ma’am,” Martha explained hastily, “and in the queerest get-up you ever did see. But she handed me the card and asked for Mrs. MacAllister with such a grand air, that I showed her into the music-room.”

Mrs. MacAllister descended the staircase hastily, and paused in the music-room doorway with twitching lips, as a queer little figure, clutching a violently agitated bundle, slid to its feet and advanced with high-held hand.

“How do you do,” said Cubby formally. “I’ve come to call.”

“Won’t you have a seat?” murmured Mrs. MacAllister, controlling her amusement with difficulty, and casting an apprehensive glance at the violet toque, which, with the white hair, had slid over one of Cubby’s ears, giving her a rakish appearance of which she was entirely unconscious.

“I am derry well, thank you,” returned the visitor calmly, boxing Boots’ ears with vigor to quiet him, and clambering with much puffing and panting into a high wing-chair.

“I do wonder who the cunning baby is,” thought Mrs. MacAllister with enjoyment, stealing a look at the demure visitor, who sat bolt upright on the edge of the big chair. “Her face looks familiar, but in that rig it’s hard to identify her.”

Donald, on his way to the porch, glanced in casually, and then, with a twinkle in his dark eyes, strolled forward to have a better view of this self-possessed caller, who was greatly enjoying the sensation she was creating.

“Donald, this is--this is--,” Mrs. MacAllister began uncertainly, but paused abruptly. It would be too ridiculous to say, “Mrs. Clayton Campbell,”--and yet who _was_ this cunning, mischievous youngster, with her highly amusing grown-up airs that contrasted so strongly with her dimpled baby face.

“I am Evelyn Eaton,” announced Cubby easily, drawing a black-bordered handkerchief from her bag and wiping her nose with a flourish that nearly upset Donald’s gravity. He stooped hastily to conceal his amused face, and to pick up two mittens which Boots had lost in his frantic struggles.

“Are these yours?” he asked, not daring to glance at his mother, whose shoulders were heaving suspiciously. “They look as if they had dropped from the--the-- What _is_ it, anyway?” he inquired curiously, eyeing the uneasy, wriggling bundle from which a plaintive “meow” had issued.

Cubby twitched the baby bonnet about and threw back the lace veil, revealing an unhappy furry face which she proceeded to dust off with her black-bordered handkerchief, much to Boots’ discomfort.

“It’s Boots,” she explained gravely, as she cast a lightning glance about the attractive room; “and I brought him over to call on the pony and the lovely white doggie. He was lonesome,” she finished, looking from one interested face to the other with wide, dark eyes.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” assured Mrs. MacAllister, completely charmed with the child. “Now, suppose we have afternoon tea together, and then we’ll all go out and visit the ponies. How would that be?”

Cubby’s smile was ecstatic. Never had she dreamed of being served afternoon tea like a real, grown-up young lady. What a lot she would have to tell Wiggles and Jet! But would she dare stay? She had no desire to meet Mother, Grandma, and the rest, face to face, until safely home again, for she knew very well that punishment would follow her naughty escapade,--and follow quickly.

“I--I think maybe I’d better be going,” she ventured uncertainly, sliding to the floor and losing one gold slipper with a bang.

“Oh, you’ve only been here a few minutes,” urged Donald, eager to keep her talking. He stooped as he spoke to tie her slippers on more securely, and completely won the wee bear’s heart by the grown-up, dignified manner in which he assisted her back into her high chair.

“Just as if I was a real lady,” she thought gleefully. “Guess I’ll stay and have tea and see the ponies after all. It will be a long, long time before Mother and Mayma will be here.”

“I used to know your mother and Aunt Elsie well, when I was a little girl,” Mrs. MacAllister continued, hoping that she would be able to remember all the details of her visitor’s remarkable costume after she had gone.

“You have sisters, too, haven’t you?” chimed in Donald, anxious to hear more about the girl that could turn cart-wheels better than most boys.

Cubby drew herself up with a grand air, while, parrot-like, there dropped from her lips a sentence that she had heard Hannah use only that morning in speaking to the laundress’ daughter, who was the eldest of eight.

“Oh, yes, but it isn’t an easy thing to be the oldest of a family, for you have--you have--’sponsibilities,” she finally brought out triumphantly, the word having nearly eluded her.

Donald choked, but politely turned it into a cough. “Oh, are you the oldest?” he questioned, to keep her talking.

“Oh, yes. I’m a hundred,” she returned unexpectedly, pushing back the spectacles that _would_ slip off her nose.

Mrs. MacAllister bit her lip. “And your sisters, how old are they?” she asked in carefully controlled tones.

“Oh, they’re only itty gur-rls,” the wee bear responded. Then, lest conversation might languish, she added sorrowfully, “And sometimes they’re derry naughty.”

“That’s too bad. What do they do?” inquired Mrs. MacAllister, duly shocked at Cubby’s horrified tone.

“Well, sometimes they run away,” returned Cubby virtuously, smoothing her skirt with a solemn air. Then, as the conversation seemed in danger of becoming a bit too personal, she changed the subject abruptly.

“This is a pitty house, but you have a drefful lot of windows to wash,” she announced suddenly, just as Martha entered, wheeling the tea-wagon.

Martha, with shaking shoulders and a hasty cough, left the room at a low-voiced remark from Mrs. MacAllister, and Cubby gazed after her thoughtfully.

“You know, I fink maybe your maid is sick,” she confided in a stage whisper to the delighted Donald. “Her face is all wed, and she shakes all over as if she had chills and fever,--and she coughed, too.”

“Maybe she’s getting whooping-cough,” suggested Donald joyously. “Have you ever had it?”

Cubby shot him a suspicious glance, but his face was perfectly sober.

“Yes, I’ve had it, years and years ago when I was only an itty gur-rl ’bout three,” she replied severely. “You cough and cough and cough, and sometimes you throw up, too. Does your maid throw up?”

“I--I don’t think so. I guess she just has a cold,” returned Mrs. MacAllister unsteadily as she poured three cups of cocoa and topped each with big spoonfuls of whipped cream, while Cubby eyed the dainty plate of cakes with satisfaction. “Do--do you care for cocoa and cakes?”

“Oh, yes, I like frosted cakes derry much, thank you. And cocoanut cake, and cheese, and mince pie, and bananas better’n anything else,” continued Cubby rapidly, naming over with much gusto all the things that she was not allowed to eat, and which she coveted. “Do the ponies like bananas?”

“No, but they love apples, and we’ll give them each one when we go out to see them,” Donald smiled, handing her a gold-and-white cup of cocoa and passing the cakes.

Cubby stirred her cocoa into swirling eddies, unmindful of the greedy glance that Boots was giving it. It was the first thing Boots had seen all that sad afternoon that interested him at all, and the nearness to the whipped cream was more than he could resist. Down went the baby bonnet over the cup, and into the froth of cream and cocoa went Boots’ furry face and pink tongue.

“Naughty Boots, aren’t you ’shamed?” scolded Cubby in disgust as he lifted creamy whiskers and a cocoa-smeared nose from his stolen feast.

“Let me get your kitty a saucer,” suggested Mrs. MacAllister. “I didn’t know that he enjoyed cocoa, too, or I would have given him some before.”

“He’s young, and hasn’t derry good table-manners,” faltered Cubby hastily, wiping Boots’ whiskers with the dainty tea-napkin on her lap, in a panic at this unexpected breach of etiquette.

It was unfortunate that at this moment Bingo, the white collie, should have come strolling in, unperceived by the others. He eyed the uneasy bundle in Cubby’s lap casually at first, uncertain as to what it might be. It moved,--yet it did not look like any cat he had ever seen before. Then, just as he raised his head to utter a warning growl, the object lifted a furry head from which two green eyes glared defiantly at him, and his doubt changed to a certainty. There was a scamper of feet across the polished floor, a huge white shape planted two paws right in the cup on Cubby’s lap, sending a trickling stream of cocoa to the floor, while a flying bundle of fur and lace veil gave a quick leap to the piano, where it stood spitting violently and uttering deep-throated yowls.

Alas for Cubby! Time had flown only too rapidly, and right in the midst of the excitement, in walked Grandmother, Mother, and the rest. They stood in startled amazement at the tableau that confronted them, and at sight of the piteous little figure that climbed down from a big chair and stood facing them with tearful eyes. If ever guilt was written on any one’s face, it was on Cubby’s, in spite of its smeary appearance. But not even the mixture of tears, cocoa, and frosting could disguise her from her mother’s eyes.

“I--I guess I’d better be going,” she gasped, sidling rapidly toward the front door, as Donald grabbed Bingo, who was making frantic efforts to climb up on the piano.

“_Cubby!_” ejaculated all three ladies in horrified tones.

“If it isn’t my new violet hat!” exclaimed Grandma Carr.

“And my gold-brocaded slippers,” put in Aunt Elsie. “Cubby, you wretch!”

“Oh, oh, _oh_! What is _that_?” stammered Jeannette, pointing to a long gray tail that protruded from an animated bundle of blue gingham. The bundle spit violently as Wiggles darted forward and peeped under the bonnet.

“It’s--it’s _Boots_,” she gasped, hardly believing her eyes. “Oh, Cubby, how could you be so naughty?”

“I--I was making a call,” hiccoughed the wee bear as Grandmother and Mother swooped down upon her. “I--oh, I didn’t mean to drop the cocoa.” Her day of judgment had come sooner than she expected.

“Please don’t scold her,” implored Mrs. MacAllister as she cordially greeted her friends. “You can’t imagine how I have enjoyed her visit, and the spilled cocoa was entirely Bingo’s fault. Donald, will you please tell Martha to clear up the débris.”

“I must apologize, Marie, for my bad baby,” Mrs. Eaton began, looking sorrowfully at the naughty culprit, who sniffed back her tears with all dignity forgotten. “After all these years I had hoped to renew our friendship again this afternoon, but I’ll have to excuse myself and take Evelyn home.”

“I’ll attend to Cubby,” put in Grandma Carr briskly, seizing Boots from the piano and trying not to smile at the absurd little figure that gazed piteously at her. “You and Elsie and the children stay and have your visit.” Through the window she glanced across toward The Lilacs, where she could see Hannah running excitedly down the path. “I’ll go and reassure Hannah as to Cubby’s safety, and dispose of the family wardrobe that she has borrowed.” She lifted off the violet toque, white hair and all, as she spoke, revealing the rumpled gold of Cubby’s own soft curls beneath.

Cubby suddenly remembered her manners. “I--I didn’t mean to be bad,” she gulped sorrowfully, “and--and I’ve had a derry nice visit, and p-please give the ponies my love. Oh, I did want to pat them!” she wailed, her tears breaking out afresh. It was too much, to be deprived of the delicious refreshments of which she had only had a taste, to miss seeing the ponies after all her anticipation, and to be taken home in disgrace, with such a disastrous ending to her lovely visit. Her lip quivered as she looked longingly at the little frosted cakes that now Jet and Wiggles would enjoy. Donald could not resist the tear-filled dark eyes.

“Never you mind, Cubby,” he whispered softly in her ear, wondering how any one could have the heart to scold her. “Keep a stiff upper lip, and I’ll come over and give you a ride with the ponies just as soon as your mother says you may go.”

The wee bear’s face brightened as if by magic. She shot an adoring, grateful glance at this big boy who had not laughed at her a bit, and who had treated her with as much deference as if she were a real grown-up young lady.

“Cubby,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister, leaning over to kiss her cocoa-stained cheek, “I want you to come over to see me again soon. Miss Helen has told me about the May Frolic, and has invited Donald to join the games in the afternoon. You know he’s going to feel very lonesome that day when all the other young people are eating a picnic luncheon in the meadows. So I wonder if you and Mother, Aunt Elsie and Grandma, couldn’t come over and have a May Day luncheon with us, and then we’ll all drive over to see the crowning of the Queen. Don’t you think that would be fun?”

Cubby’s eyes danced at the idea, and she gave a rainbow smile. It wouldn’t be quite so hard to leave the tea-party and take the punishment bound to follow, with the lovely luncheon to look forward to.

“Oh, oh, _oh_, thank you derry, derry much,” she breathed happily, balancing herself on the tottery heels and dropping a curtsy, as she had been taught.

“Come, Cubby,” began Grandma firmly, but the small sinner paused once more as she reached the door, and looked back wistfully.

“I think,” she piped clearly, gazing approvingly at Donald, “that you are a derry nice itty boy;” and amid the sudden laughter that followed her grandmother bore her hastily away.

“I do think she’s the cunningest little girl I ever saw,” Donald repeated enthusiastically half an hour later, as he followed Jeannette and Elizabeth, to whom he had been introducing the ponies, through the French doors into the music-room, where Mrs. MacAllister, Aunt Elsie, and Mrs. Eaton had been having a cozy chat together.

“She’s a very mischievous one,” put in Mrs. Eaton ruefully, with a sorrowful shake of her head and a smile at Donald, who had been much amused at Cubby’s escapade.

“Now don’t you punish her, Jean,” pleaded Mrs. MacAllister appealingly. “She’s a perfect darling, and I never enjoyed a call so much in my life. You know she puts me so much in mind of Elsie when she was that age and used to steal your little chocolate-pot. Only Elsie’s eyes were blue instead of brown, but they had the same twinkle. If you ever could have heard the grown-up manner in which Cubby assured us she was a hundred----”

“Or seen the cat’s expression when he saw the cocoa,” broke in Donald mischievously, as Martha, trying to look as if nothing unusual had happened, appeared again with the tea-wagon and passed fresh cocoa and cakes to the visitors. “But, honestly, she was the pluckiest youngster that I ever saw. Most children would have screamed when that great big dog rushed across the room and jumped at her when he tried to get Boots. She never gave a peep.”

“I strongly suspect it was because she saw that ‘fate was upon her,’ as we appeared just then. Did you ever see such a get-up in your life?” laughed Aunt Elsie, helping herself to a frosted cake. “The idea of that little scamp hunting up that white hair and that new violet hat of Mother’s. She’s been possessed for that hat ever since she saw it.”

“I think, myself, that the black-bordered calling-card was the crowning touch,” replied Mrs. MacAllister with much enjoyment, and a twinkle in her brown eyes. “I visualized a widow in her fifties at least, the name sounded so impressive, and when I saw that cunning mite--” Words failed her, and she paused to laugh again at the recollection.

Wiggles and Jeannette giggled. They couldn’t help but see the funny side of the prank, although at first they had been overcome with mortification. Mrs. MacAllister had been so charming, however, and so enthusiastic in her praises of their naughty little sister, that she had put them at ease immediately. Still it was too bad that this should have happened the first time they met this delightful friend of their mother’s girlhood days, and the handsome, interesting boy who had lived all over the globe.

“I’m glad she approves of my nice _little_ son,” Mrs. MacAllister said, glancing mischievously at the tall boy as she accented the “little.”

Polly Wiggles stole a look at Donald from under her long lashes, as she daintily drank her cocoa. He certainly was the most self-possessed boy she had ever met,--but no wonder. No one else she had ever known had traveled from country to country with a tutor, as she had heard Grandmother Carr say this lad had done ever since his baby days. You couldn’t call any boy who had _lived_ in as many lands as she had studied about in her geography, an everyday boy, and yet he didn’t seem a bit “stuck-up” either.

“Have a cake,” broke in Donald, holding out a plate of plummy, tempting little cakes that could not be resisted. “You could jolly well eat a dozen of these, they’re so small, and still be hungry.”

“They’re delicious,” returned Jeannette, looking about the interesting room with a little thrill of pleasure. It was even lovelier than she imagined,--truly an Enchanted Palace.

“I’m _so_ glad that we have a home at last,” continued Donald with satisfaction, eating three cakes in rapid succession and glancing approvingly at the cherry-trimmed hats. “It seems jolly to be in America to stay,--and to think that next fall I’ll really go to school like other boys. It’s too late to start this spring,” he finished regretfully.

Polly Wiggles opened her blue eyes wide. “Why, I thought you had a tutor,” she began, wondering why any boy should express the hope of going to school in such a happy voice.

“Used to have,” corrected Donald. “It was only because we were always on the move,” he explained hastily, seeing their look of interest. “You see, we’d be a month in one place, then two months somewhere else, and so on; and I couldn’t keep changing schools like that.”

“But didn’t you love traveling?” asked Jeannette.

“Y-yes, it was great seeing different places, but it was hard to make friends and then go away and leave them, and have to start in getting acquainted all over again.”

“Donald, I have an idea,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister suddenly, clapping her hands like a girl. “Elizabeth is to be May Queen on May Day, and she and her Maids of Honor are to march first in the parade. But who ever heard of a Queen--walking?”

Donald’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not,” he burst out enthusiastically. “Imagine a Queen plodding along on foot. Why, she must have a beautiful chariot, drawn by white ponies----”

“And the chariot must be a bower of flowers, and the ponies must wear white harness,” continued Mrs. MacAllister, watching Wiggles’ shining eyes and Jeannette’s happy face. “Now, Jean, don’t you dare say ‘No’ to all my lovely plans. I have always wanted a daughter to fuss over, and instead I have a big husky son, who simply _can’t_ wear frilly dresses and flowery hats. Now you see this solves the problem, and I’ll simply borrow your girls and pretend that Don has three sisters.”

“That would be _bully_,” beamed Donald, charmed at the idea. “It’s lonesome being an only child, I can tell you.”

“It’s lovely of you, offering the ponies,” returned Mrs. Eaton, who saw the delight in the children’s faces at the idea. “But----”

“No ‘buts’ about it,” said Mrs. MacAllister gayly. “You couldn’t deprive me of such a pleasure. The ponies are as gentle as kittens, and if you will let us know your color-scheme, the chariot will await the command of Queen Elizabeth and her attendants on May Day morning. Donald and I will decorate it, and it will give us a real ‘homey’ feeling to be able to have a finger in the pie.”

So it was settled, and as soon as the call was over, two happy, excited children raced over to Sweet Briar to tell the news to Alice, Marion, and Kitty.

“Well,” said Alice solemnly, pinching herself hard to be sure it was true, “I don’t mind so much now that Donald isn’t a girl. He certainly looks like a Prince Charming, and his mother is just exactly as good as a Fairy Godmother, to think of anything as lovely as that. Now sit down and tell us every single thing about your visit.”