A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays By Amy E. Blanchard

A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays

By

Amy E. Blanchard

CHAPTER I THE INVITATION

It was a very warm morning in June. Edna and her friend Dorothy Evans were sitting under the trees trying to keep cool. They both wore their thinnest morning frocks and had pinned their hair up in little pug knots on the tops of their heads. They had their boxes of pieces and were trying to make something suitable for their dolls to wear in the hot weather.

"It's too sticky to sew," said Dorothy, throwing down her work. "Marguerite will have to go without a frock and sit around in her skin."

"You mean in her kid," returned Edna.

"Well, isn't kid skin?" asked Dorothy.

Edna laughed. "Why, yes, I suppose it is, and Ben says we are kids, so our skin is kid skin. Oh, dear, it is hot. I wish I were a fish; it would be so nice to go slipping through the cool water."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be so nice to be in a frying pan sizzling over a fire."

"I feel almost as if I were doing that now. There comes the postman, I wonder if he has a letter from Jennie. We promised one another we would always write on blue paper because blue is true, you know, and that looks as if it might be a blue letter the postman has on top. I'm going to see."

"I'll wait here," returned Dorothy. "It's too hot to move."

She sat fanning herself with the lid of her piece box, watching her friend the while. Once or twice Edna stopped on her way back, and finally she began to dance up and down, then ran toward Dorothy, calling out, "Oh, there's a lovely something to tell you. Oh, I do hope it can come true."

"What is it?" cried Dorothy, roused out of her listlessness.

"Just listen." Edna sat down and spread out the letter on her knee.

"'We want you and Dorothy to come down to make me a nice long visit. Mamma is writing to your mothers about it and I do so hope you can come. I shall be so awfully disappointed if you don't. Oh, Edna, we shall have such fun. I can scarcely wait to hear.'"

"Do you suppose our mothers have their letters from Mrs. Ramsey?" asked Dorothy now as much excited as Edna.

"Do let's go and see," returned Edna. "We'll go up and ask my mother first because that will be the nearest and if she has her letter your mother is pretty sure to have hers."

All thought of the hot sun was forgotten as they sped across the lawn to the house, and two little girls with hot faces, panting as they came, burst into the room where Mrs. Conway was reading her letters.

"Oh, Mother," began Edna, "did you get a letter from Mrs. Ramsey?"

"Mrs. Ramsay? Why, I don't know. I will see in a moment. Just wait till I have finished this from your Aunt Kitty."

It seemed incredible to Edna that any letter should be of more importance than Mrs. Ramsey's, and the two little girls danced around so impatiently that Mrs. Conway finally put down the sheet she was reading and said, "How warm you children look. Do sit down and cool off. I never saw such little fidgets."

"We ran all the way from the oak tree," explained Edna. "We were in such a hurry."

"No wonder your faces are red. You are such an impetuous little somebody, Edna. You shouldn't forget that mother has so often told you not to run in the hot sun."

"But we did so want to hear about Mrs. Ramsey's letter," replied Edna anxiously. How could her mother take things so coolly?

"Is it so very important, then?"

"Oh, Mother, it is so exciting we can scarcely stand it till we know."

"Then there is nothing to do but relieve the strain," said Mrs. Conway laughing. She turned over the letters at her side. "Let me see. This is from the dressmaker, and this one from cousin Grace. This must be it." She opened the letter with what seemed to the children a great lack of haste, and began to scan the lines, two pairs of eager eyes watching her the while. "Ah, now I begin to understand," she remarked as she turned the page.

"Well," said Edna breathlessly.

"Wait a moment, dear." And Edna was obliged to be patient till the last line was reached.

"Oh, Mother," said the child pleadingly, "you are going to let me go, aren't you?"

"Why, dearie, I shall have to think about it a little. I can't say just on the instant, and I shall have to see what your father thinks about it."

"But, Mother, won't you say that maybe I can? That will be better than nothing at all."

Mrs. Conway smiled. "I think I can venture to say that much or even a little more. I can say that I should like very much to have you go."

"Goody! Goody!" cried Edna clapping her hands. "That is almost as if you said I really could. I had a letter from Jennie, Mother, and she is just crazy for us to come. You know Dorothy is invited, too. Would you like to see Jennie's letter?"

"Very much."

Edna promptly handed over the blue envelope, and was not disappointed to have her mother say, "That is a very nice cordial letter, Edna, and I am sure the invitation shows that both Mrs. Ramsey and Jennie really want you. I will talk it over with your father this evening. Now run along, and don't exercise too vigorously this warm day, and don't forget what I said about being in the sun." She returned to her letters and Edna with Dorothy left the room.

"Now we must go to my mother," declared Dorothy.

"Yes, but we must walk slowly and I think we had better take an umbrella," returned Edna, fresh from her mother's advice.

"All right," said Dorothy, "I think it would be better, for there is that long sunny stretch along the road, though the rest of the way is shady."

They set forth talking eagerly. "Don't you think it sounded as if I might go?" asked Edna.

"Why yes," replied Dorothy, "only I don't see how we can wait till evening to know."

"Do you believe your mother will say positively that you can or that you can't?"

"I think she will say just what your mother did; that she will have to talk to papa about it, but—oh, Edna, I know what I shall do."

"What?"

"I shall ask mother if she can't telephone in to father and find out, and if she says she can't take the time to do it, I know Agnes will."

"What a lovely idea!" exclaimed Edna. "I shall do that very same thing as soon as I get home."

"And if he says yes, you can telephone over to me."

"That's just what I'll do. Oh, isn't it exciting?"

In spite of their determination to walk slowly, they covered the ground very quickly and in a few minutes had reached Dorothy's home. "Where's mother?" cried Dorothy as she came upon her sister who was sitting on the back porch.

"She has gone over to Mrs. MacDonald's," Agnes told her.

"Oh, dear," said Dorothy despairingly, "just when I wanted her so very, very much. Will she be gone long, Agnes?"

"I don't know, honey. What is the particular haste? Can I help you out?"

"I'm afraid not," answered Dorothy in a woe-begone voice. "Do you know whether mother has had a letter from Mrs. Ramsey this morning?"

"I don't know that, either. She took her mail and said she would read it while she was driving over. What is it about Mrs. Ramsey, and why are you so interested?"

"We'll explain," replied Dorothy. "You let her read Jennie's letter Edna, and that will tell most of it."

A second time Edna handed over the letter to be read, and when Agnes had finished, she told her about the letter Mrs. Conway had received.

"And so you see," Dorothy took up the tale, "mother is sure to say just what Mrs. Conway did, only I thought we might find out sooner what papa thought if we talked to him over the 'phone."

"I don't see why we can't do that anyhow, and get that much settled," said Agnes. "Suppose I call him up and tell him about it, then when mother comes in we will tell her what he says, for she is pretty sure to have had Mrs. Ramsey's letter."

"Oh, Agnes, that will be lovely," cried Dorothy, clasping her hand. "It is awfully good of you to think of doing it."

"Let me see," said Agnes, "I think father is pretty sure to be in his office about this time; we might as well go and get it over."

She went to the 'phone, the two little girls standing by while she carried on the conversation, and once in a while one of them would put in a word of argument, so that they could be sure the last word bad been said on the subject. After a while Agnes hung up the receiver and looked down with a smile.

"That much is settled," she told them. "Father says he hasn't the slightest objection and leaves it all to mother to decide."

"Then there is nothing to do but wait, I suppose," said Dorothy with a sigh.

"Why, I don't know," said Agnes after a moment's thought. "Why can't you call up Mrs. MacDonald's and get mother there? She will have read the letter, you see, and it will be fresh in her mind."

"Why, of course," said Dorothy delightedly.

"Shall I do it myself, Agnes?"

"You might as well plead your own cause."

So Dorothy was soon discussing the matter with her mother, and finally won from her the assurance that she did not see anything to prevent, though she would not say positively until she had discussed it with Mrs. Conway.

"Then, Mother, will you please stop there on your way home?" was Dorothy's final prayer.

"She's going to stop and talk it over with your Mother on her way home," was the news she gave Edna. "Now I suppose that is all that we can do. Do you think it is, Agnes?" she asked.

"I don't see why Edna couldn't call up her father just as you did yours," returned Agnes, "and then there would be only the mothers to deal with."

"Why, of course," agreed Dorothy, with a pleased look. "Come on, Edna, and see what he says."

But here they met with a disappointment, for Mr. Conway was not at his office and it was uncertain when he would be, so his word on the subject must be left till later.

At Dorothy's urgent request Edna stayed until Mrs. Evans' return, and the two spent most of the intervening time in watching for the carriage.

At last it was seen slowly coming up the drive, and the two little girls rushed out to meet it.

"Go in out of the hot sun," called Mrs. Evans, as the little figures took up a place either side of the carriage. "What are you thinking of? Do you want to have a sunstroke?"

"Oh, but, Mother, please stop and let us get in; then we won't be in the sun," said Dorothy.

"Stop then, William," Mrs. Evans ordered the driver, and the two children clambered in.

"We just can't wait," began Dorothy. "Mother, do please tell us what you and Mrs. Conway decided."

"We decided that we would not decide until we found out what our husbands had to say."

"Oh, but we know what your husband has to say," returned Dorothy triumphantly. "Agnes called him up on the 'phone and he said he had no objection as far as he was concerned and he would leave it all to you."

Mrs. Evans laughed. "Well, you certainly have not wasted any time."

"Then, please, please say what you think."

"Why, my dear, you haven't given me time to think."

"How long will it take, then," continued Dorothy, pressing the matter.

"I will try to decide by this evening. There is no great hurry, is there?"

"Why, Mother, of course there is. I don't think I could sleep unless I knew."

"Then, I shall try to prevent such a catastrophe by settling it before bedtime. Here we are. You will stay to lunch won't you, Edna?"

"Why, no, Mrs. Evans, thank you, I don't think I ought, for I didn't tell mother I would stay."

"Then let William take you home; it is too warm to walk. The horses haven't been very far, and William can drive slowly."

So the two little girls parted and Edna returned to her own home. She was not long in finding her mother, and in plying her with questions upon the all-important subject, but she received no further assurance than had been given her in the beginning and was fain to exercise her patience and unburden herself to her sister Celia, who was interested and sympathetic. But at last even Celia became tired of the topic and went off to take a nap in her own room. So Edna went down to a cool spot at the back of the house where there was a little stream, and tried to amuse herself with a book.

But even her favorite fairy tales failed to fix her attention, so she returned to the house to find everyone given up to napping and the place so still that finally in the coolest corner of the library where a little breeze found its way through the open windows, she herself fell asleep.

When she awoke it was to hear her father's voice saying: "Hallo! who is this? The Sleeping Beauty?"

"Oh, Papa," cried Edna, awake in a moment, "how nice and early you have come home."

"It was too hot to stay in the city any longer than necessary," her father told her. "There wasn't much doing, so I thought I would be better off here."

"I called you up on the 'phone this morning," said Edna, "but you weren't at the office."

"And what did you want of me?"

"Mother will tell you," answered Edna, suddenly shy of meeting a decision which might disappoint her.

"Then I'd better find mother and see what it is all about."

Left to herself Edna waited for what seemed to her a very long time, quite long enough for the affairs of a nation to be settled, and then she went slowly up the stairs, and paused before the open door of her mother's room. To her surprise her parents were talking about something quite different from the subject uppermost in her own mind.

"Edna, dear," said her mother, catching sight of the little figure, "you'd better get ready for dinner. We shall have it a little earlier, so Susan won't be kept so late over the hot fire."

Edna took a step into the room. "Did you ask him?" she said wistfully.

"Ask what? Oh, yes, I forgot dear," she said turning to her husband. "Edna has had a very cordial invitation from Mrs. Ramsey to spend some weeks at the Ramsey's summer home. She and Dorothy Evans are both invited, and I think the Ramseys really will be disappointed if we do not allow Edna to go. What do you think?"

Wasn't it just like mother to put it that way? thought Edna. Surely her father could not be so heartless as to refuse his consent after that.

Her faith in her mother's tact was not misplaced for her father replied: "Why, I think that will be great for Edna. Of course let her go."

"Oh, Mother, Mother, may I? May I?" cried Edna with clasped hands and beseeching eyes.

Her mother turned from the mirror before which she was standing to arrange her hair. "Well, honey," she said. "I think it is decided that you may."

Edna flew to her to bestow a rapturous hug and kiss, and then sped out of the room and downstairs to the telephone. "One, six, seven; ring two," she called in an excited voice.

Presently there was an answering "Hallo," from the other end.

"Is that you, Dorothy?" called Edna.

"Yes. Oh, Edna, I hoped it was you. Do tell me, is there any news?"

"I'm going," came the triumphant reply.

"So am I," came promptly back to her.

CHAPTER II THE ARRIVAL

For the next few days there was much talk of clothes and packing, of trains and time-tables, and it was a matter of some discussion as to the best way for the little girls to make their journey of some hundreds of miles. Dorothy had never been so far away from home, and was therefore the more excited of the two. After some writing back and forth it was decided that the two children should go to the city under Mr. Conway's care and there he turned them over to Mr. Ramsey who was to join his family at the seashore in about a week.

"Do you suppose we shall get homesick?" asked Dorothy as the time drew near for them to make their start.

"Oh, I hope not," returned Edna fervently. "I was awfully homesick at Aunt Elizabeth's, but this will be quite different, for there will be Jennie, and Mrs. Ramsey is a real mother; besides we shall have one another."

"I know all that," returned Dorothy a little dubiously, "but Jennie's mother won't be mine nor yours."

Edna was willing to admit this, but she had gone through some rather trying experiences and was not disposed to think that anything but pleasant times awaited them. As Jennie had pictured it the visit was to be one long season of delight, so Edna said determinedly. "Well, I don't intend to be homesick."

"Then I'll try not to be," returned Dorothy, not to be outdone in courage.

However, when the trunks stood ready packed, and Edna said good night for the last time before undertaking the journey, she held her mother very tightly around the neck and whispered: "I wish you were going too, Mother."

"That can't be, darling," said her mother. "You will have such a fine time that you will not miss your mother at all."

"Oh, but I shall," returned Edna, half wishing she were not going after all. "I 'most wish it was time to come back instead of time to go."

Her mother laughed. "And this is the little girl who could scarcely wait to be told she could go. Never mind, dearie, you will feel quite differently to-morrow morning. Now go to sleep, for you must get up bright and early, you know."

Edna settled down with a sigh, but, in spite of her excitement, she soon fell asleep to waken in the morning with the feeling that something very important was to happen. Her mother came in to see that she was properly dressed and to tie the bows on her hair. Then just as they were about to sit down to breakfast, the expressman came for the trunk, and next Dorothy arrived all impatience.

"Why, Edna, haven't you had breakfast yet?" she asked. "Aren't you afraid we shall be late?"

"We don't have to go till papa does, and he hasn't half finished," replied Edna. So Dorothy had to possess her soul in patience for there was no gainsaying the fact that they could not go without Mr. Conway.

At last the good-byes were said, and Edna waved to her mother till she could no longer see the white figure on the porch. Agnes and Celia had gone on ahead to the station and the boys were there, too, to see them off. Soon the train came in sight; in another moment they had been helped aboard, and the next they were off. It was but a short ride to the city, and this part of the journey was not exciting, as it was one with which they were very familiar. But when they were ushered into Mr. Ramsey's private office, they felt that here began their untrod way.

They sat for some time, their feet dangling from their high chairs while Mr. Ramsey conferred with his clerks in the outer office. Their talk was carried on in whispers, though once in a while a stifled giggle told that they were in good spirits.

At last Mr. Ramsey appeared. "Well, young ladies," he said, "I am sorry I had to leave you so long, but when a man is about to take a holiday, he has so many things to see about that he doesn't know which way to turn." He looked at his watch. "I think we have just about time enough to get that ten o'clock train." He pressed an electric button and a boy in a grey uniform came to the door. "Take these bags, Edward," said Mr. Ramsey, pointing to the satchels each little girl had placed carefully by her chair. The boy led the way to the elevator and down they went to the first floor of the big office building, then to the street where an automobile stood to whizz them off to the station. Mr. Ramsey directed the chauffeur to see about the trunks while he conducted the little girls to the waiting-room where he left them, returning in a moment to hurry them to the train, and the second part of their journey began.

"I never was in a parlor car before," whispered Dorothy to Edna as the porter turned their seat to a proper angle and adjusted their footstools.

"I was once," replied Edna.

Here Mr. Ramsey handed over some picture papers to them and a box of chocolates. "I am going into the smoking-car," he said. "Do you think you young ladies can get along a little while without me?"

"We'll try to," replied Edna politely.

"If you want a glass of water or anything, just call the porter," Mr. Ramsey told them and then he left them.

There were not so very many persons in the car to interest them and for a time the children gave their attention to the newspapers and the box of chocolates, but after a while they wearied of these, and began to look at their fellow travellers. A very pretty young lady smiled at them from across the aisle, and an older woman back of her looked interested in their movements. After a while this latter person came over and took the place directly behind them where Mr. Ramsey had been sitting.

"Are you children all alone?" she began the conversation.

"No," replied Dorothy.

"Are you sisters?" was the next question.

"No, we are only friends," Edna answered this time.

"And is the gentleman who came with you your father?"

"No, he is just taking us to his house where we are going to make a visit."

"Is he any relation to you?" came next.

"No relation at all. He is the father of the friend we are going to visit." It was Dorothy's turn this time.

"And do your mothers approve of your going off this way without a member of your family?"

This question the children thought a very disagreeable one. They looked at one another before Dorothy made reply. "If it wasn't exactly right our parents wouldn't let us do it. They never let us do a thing that isn't exactly right."

"And nobody knows what is right so well as my mother," Edna chimed in.

"Mine, too," put in Dorothy.

"How far did you say you were going?" asked their questioner.

"We didn't say," answered Dorothy, "but we are going to New York." She gave a little frown to Edna, who understood that she was not to vouchsafe any further information. "I just wasn't going to tell her where we were really going from New York," Dorothy said to her friend afterward. "It wasn't any of her business."

"New York is a very wicked city," their acquaintance informed them. "You must be very careful not to be alone in the streets. I would advise you never to lose sight of your escort for a moment."

Both little girls felt rather glad that they were not to remain in such a dreadful place, but they made no reply and wished most heartily that Mr. Ramsey would return to his seat and rid them of this undesirable companion. Presently Edna had a bright idea. "Would you like to look at some of our papers?" she asked.

"What have you?" asked the lady putting up her lorgnette.

"We have Life and Puck and Judge and—"

"I'll take Life and Puck." She accepted the papers handed to her and settled back in the seat she had behind them. The two children looked at each other with relieved expressions. "Don't you wish Mr. Ramsey would come back?" whispered Edna.

"Yes, but where will he sit?" Dorothy whispered back. They both smothered a giggle at this, and looking up Edna caught sight of the pretty young lady looking at them with an amused expression. She made a little movement with her hand to beckon Edna over to her.

"Is that old turtle quizzing you?" she asked in a low tone. "She is a perfect bore. She tackled me first but I wouldn't talk to her. Are you wondering if she is going to take that seat and keep it?"

"We were wondering what Mr. Ramsey would do," returned Edna.

"I'll tell you what to do;

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Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.08.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-4065-5

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