chapter ii
the plan
“when did you land?” “why didn’t you let us know?” “how long are you going to stay?” “did your father come too?” “where’s billy potter?” “how’s dr. pierce?” and “oh how you’ve grown!”
maida tried to answer them all; to hug each of the girls who were hugging her all together; to hold out a hand to each of the three boys who seemed all to shake both her hands at once; to manage to kiss betsy hale, who hearing the name maida shouted, vaguely recalled that there had once been a maida whom she loved; and who thereupon, hung tight to one of her legs; to manage to kiss delia dore who had no remembrance of maida whatever but in imitation of betsy, hung tight to the other leg; and in addition to call to molly and timmie and dorothy and mabel who remembered her perfectly and who danced like little wild indians on the outskirts of the crowd, yelling, “maida’s come back! maida’s come back!” at the top of their lungs.
all this took much less time to happen than it has taken to describe, and it was suddenly interrupted by the rapid opening of the door to the dore yard. a little old irish woman with silvery hair and with a face as wrinkled as a nut, came rushing out, her arms extended calling, “my lamb’s come back! my lamb’s come back!”
maida ran to her and hugged her ecstatically. “oh, dear granny flynn!” she said, “dear, dear granny flynn!”
then there appeared back of granny flynn, mrs. dore—granny flynn’s daughter; delia and dicky dore’s mother—who had to be met in the same affectionate way. mrs. dore was a tall, brown, fresh-complexioned woman. it was from her that dicky inherited his brown coloring and delia her sparkling expression.
“i’d never know you for the same child,” mrs. dore said.
of course the grown people claimed maida’s attention first. they showered her with questions and she answered them every one with all her old-time courtesy and consideration. was she well? well! but look at her! when did she land? she had landed the day before in new york; had come on the midnight to boston. where was she living? at their home[pg 22] on beacon street. would she stay to lunch? yes! yes! yes! her father had said that if she were invited, she could spend the whole rest of the day in primrose court; he would send the car for her late in the afternoon. where was she going after that? her father would tell them all this afternoon. he had some plans, but they weren’t worked out yet. would she be in boston for a few days? probably. then, during that time, wouldn’t she like to come back to her own rooms over maida’s little shop? would she? oh goody, she could telephone her father to bring her some clothes.... it went on and on until the older children stood first on one foot and then on the other with impatience; and the younger ones went back to their house-keeping game and their frequent punishments.
but finally the curiosity of this group of grown-ups was satisfied and the children claimed their prey. a clamorous group—every one of them telling her some bit of news and all at once—they made the tour of the court. they called on mrs. lathrop, who mercifully forebore to ask more than five minutes of questions; and on the misses allison, a pair of middle-aged maiden ladies. here[pg 23] the confusion doubled itself because of the noisy screams of tony the parrot.
tony kept calling at the top of his croaking voice, “what’s this all about?” each of the children tried to tell him, but he was apparently dissatisfied with their explanations; for he only called the louder and with greater emphasis, “i say—what is this all about?” finally, in despair he exclaimed, “good-night, sweet dreams,” and subsided.
at length, the six of them—maida, rosie, laura, arthur, dicky and harold—retired to the lathrop lawn and plumped down on the grass. they talked and talked and talked....
“how you have grown, maida!” rosie said first. “how tall you are and strong-looking!” she would have added, “and how pretty!” if the boys had not been there, but shyness kept her from making so personal a comment in their presence.
“that’s exactly what i was thinking about you,” maida laughed, “but then you have all grown, arthur particularly.” in her candid, friendly way, she surveyed them, one after another. “you are taller too, laura, and i believe even your hair has grown.”
“it certainly has,” laura admitted. laura’s hair was extraordinarily long and thick. it hung in two light-brown braids, very glossy, not a hair out of place, to below laura’s waist. at the tip of each braid was a big pale blue bow.
“as for you, rosie, you are still taller than i, i’m afraid.”
“let’s measure,” rosie answered springing to her feet.
the two girls stood shoulder to shoulder. rosie, it proved, was a little the taller. maida continued to look at her after they had resumed their places on the grass. “what a beauty she is,” she thought; and she too was withheld by shyness and a sense of delicacy from making this comment before the others.
rosie was certainly handsome. tall, active, proud-looking; great black eyes lighted by stars; a mass of black hair breaking into high waves and half curls; cheeks as smooth as satin and stained a deep crimson—ivory-white, jet-black, coral-crimson—that was rosie. maida had always called her rose-red.
“but the greatest change has come in dicky and me,” maida ended. “we have both lost our lameness. you don’t limp, dicky, and i don’t. let’s race to the gate and back.”
dicky was on his feet in a minute. arthur called, “one to make ready, two for a show—” at the word, “go” they were off. dicky was more active but maida was taller. the race finished a tie.
the blood which maida’s running brought to her cheeks painted roses there; not the deep crimson roses which bloomed perpetually in rosie’s face but transient blossoms, delicately pink. and under that flush, her face, a healthy ivory, looked well. her big gray eyes were filled with happiness and the torrent of her pale-gold feathery hair seemed to gush from her head like living light.
they sat and talked until luncheon and immediately after luncheon gathered on the lawn and talked again. maida still had questions to ask and comments to make.
“you have all grown,” she said once, “but somehow i think the little children have grown the most and dorothy and mabel more than anybody! their eyes still look like great blue marbles and their hair as though it had been curled over a candlestick. isn’t it marvelous how they keep exactly the same height. twins are magical creatures, aren’t they? as for betsy and delia—they’re great big girls. i suppose betsy still runs away every chance[pg 26] she gets. on the whole i think molly and timmie have changed the least. does timmie still fall into all the ‘pud-muddles?’ molly still looks like a darling brown robin and timmie like a brown bogle. don’t you remember i used to call them robin and bogle.”
the children answered all her questions. yes, betsy still ran away. no, bogle had quieted down. he didn’t fall into “pud-muddles” any more. of course they had their questions to ask maida about her year in europe. and she told them of her experiences in italy, switzerland, france, and england. but though she answered them instantly, and with the fullness of detail which had always been her characteristic, it seemed at moments as though her mind were not all on what she was saying. once or twice, she even interrupted herself to start something which had nothing to do with her subject. but apparently, both times, she thought better of it and checked a tongue which obviously was yearning to speed on in the interest of that unknown subject.
“there’s something you want to tell us maida,” dicky guessed shrewdly once. “but you won’t let yourself.”
maida blushed furiously but her eyes danced. she did not answer. rosie, thereupon, continued to watch her closely. “maida westabrook, you’re almost bursting over something,” she said once; then as though with an inspiration, “you’ve got a plan of some kind and i know it.”
again maida blushed and this time she laughed outright. “wait and see!” was all she said, however.
after they had talked themselves out, they showed maida the accumulated treasures of the last year. the wood-carving, which was arthur’s accomplishment and the paper-work which was dicky’s, had improved enormously. the beautiful box of tools that mr. westabrook had presented to the one and the big box of paints that he had given the other, were of course important factors in the improvement. laura still danced beautifully and she danced her latest dance for maida—a spanish fandango. harold was raising rabbits and he showed his entire family to maida. at the urge of all this work, rosie, who hated the sight of a needle, had taken in despair, to knitting. she could endure knitting she told maida because the work grew so fast. she herself said though that the less[pg 28] said about the results of her labor, the better. and maida frankly agreed with her when she examined some of it.
after this the group returned to the yard for more talk.
somehow they didn’t feel like playing games. late in the afternoon, they sprinkled the flower beds and hosed the lawn for mrs. lathrop. then as this made further sitting on the grass impossible, they retired to the tiny dore yard with its amusing little flower bed and its one patch of grass. there was just about room for their group there. they sat down. again they asked maida about her travels. but now maida was distinctly absent-minded. suddenly in the midst of a description of pompeii, there sounded a long, faint far-away call of an automobile horn. it broke, like a fire-rocket, into a flurry of star notes; then dropped a long liquid jet of sound which, again like a fire-rocket, dropped another shower of notes. the effect on maida was electric. she came upright, quivering.
“that’s father,” she said. “now i can tell you what i’ve been biting my lips all the morning to keep back. i didn’t want to tell you until he was here to talk to your fathers and[pg 29] mothers. but, oh, we’ve got such a beautiful plan for the summer— oh it’s so wonderful that it seems like a fairy tale.”
the long jet of sound lengthened ... came nearer....
“father wants you all to come to spend the summer with us at satuit. he’s going to do the most beautiful thing you ever heard of in your life. just as he gave me maida’s little shop, he is going to give me maida’s little house. he is going to live in the big house where he can have all the grown-up company he wants and we are going to live in the little house. the little house is so far away from the big house that nobody would ever guess we were there. oh, but it’s all so beautiful and there are so many things to tell about it that i don’t know where to begin. for one thing he’s going to let us all help in— we girls are to do our part in the—and the boys are to take care of the— oh it is such a duck of a house! built very near a great big pond and not so very far off—the ocean. and there’s a wood and house rock and the bosky dingle ... and.... oh, i don’t know how to tell you about it....”
she stopped for breath.
the horn came nearer and nearer.
the five faces stared at her. for one astounded instant nobody could speak.
“oh maida!” at last rosie breathed. the two girls threw themselves upon her; arthur rose and then suddenly sat down again but dicky kept quite still his eyes full of stars. “i knew you’d have some plan, maida,” he said. harold, unexpectedly, turned a somersault.
“i know i’m dreaming,” laura almost whispered.
the horn stopped. a great gray car turned into primrose court. a man, middle-aged, tall, massive and with a pronounced stoop to his shoulders, stepped out. he turned a head, big and shaggy as a buffalo, in the direction of maida’s little shop. the piercing eyes, fierce and keen as an eagle’s, seemed to penetrate its very walls. this was jerome westabrook whom the world called, “buffalo” westabrook.
maida dashed out of the yard, the children trailing her.
“oh father, father, i’ve told them, i’ve told them! i couldn’t keep it any longer after i heard the horn.”
