A Sweet Little Maid by Amy Ella Blanchard (e book reading free .txt) 📖

their way home they passed a pretty house and grounds which greatly attracted Florence.

"Oh, do let us stop and look in," she said. "I think this is the very prettiest place here, don't you, Dimple?"

"Yes," was the reply, "I like it best. The grounds are so lovely. See those roses."

The two pressed their faces against the iron railing, and let their eyes wander over the lawn and to the garden beyond.

"How very quiet it is," Florence remarked, presently. "We can't hear a sound except the wind among the trees, and the robins singing. There doesn't seem to be a soul about. Who lives here, Dimple?"

"The Atkinsons. Mamma and papa know them."

"Are there any little children?"

"Not now; there used to be a little girl named Stella, but she died two years ago, and now there is only their eldest son living; he has just gone abroad with his mother. That is why it's so quiet. They are all away. You see the house is shut up."

"Ah, I wonder if they would mind if we went in and looked around. Do you think they would mind? I should love so to go and sit on that porch for a few minutes."

Dimple hesitated. She wasn't quite sure that it would be right for them to go in, especially when no one was at home.

"You know," Florence went on, "it would be just exactly the same as if we went there to call, and they should happen to be out. It won't hurt anybody or anything for us to walk around and look at the grounds."

At last Dimple consented. So they lifted the latch of the gate and shut it behind them very gingerly.

"Do you often come here?" asked Florence, when they had made their tour of the grounds and were sitting on the porch in the shadow of the vines.

"Not so very often, but I have been here with mamma when she came to call. I remember Stella very well. She died of diphtheria, and they have a lovely portrait of her. She was such a pretty little girl, and the portrait shows her with a great big dog she used to have."

"How I should like to see the portrait. Wouldn't it be nice if the door should suddenly open, and we could walk right in?"

Dimple laughed. "I'd be scared if that should happen. The house is beautiful inside. I never saw so many pretty things. Mrs. Atkinson's father was a naval officer, and she has curiosities from all over the world."

"I wish Mrs. Atkinson had said, 'Dimple, here are the keys, come in as often as you like while we are away; in fact, I wish you would try to come in and look around once in a while to see if everything is all right.'"

"Maybe she would have said that if she had thought of it," returned Dimple, "for she is always so nice and pleasant."

Florence cast wistful eyes up and down the side of the house; then she went out on the lawn, at the side, and looked up. "Dimple, come here," she called, and her cousin obeyed. "We could get in as easily as anything," said Florence. "See, that's a very easy tree to climb, and that long branch goes right over the upper porch. We could reach that; then we could go in by raising the window."

"If the window is not fastened down. Maybe there is some one in the house, after all. I shouldn't think they would leave it with no one ever to look after it. We might go around to the back door and see."

"Let's try climbing the tree anyhow. It will be easy enough to do that, and won't do a bit of harm. See, I'm going," and Florence put her foot against the rough bark, and swung herself up, reaching the porch without difficulty. But Dimple would not follow and her cousin climbed down again, not, however, as easily as she had gone up.

"It was nothing at all to do," she declared. "I think you might try it, Dimple. I'll tell you what we'll do: let's bring our dolls to-morrow, and go up there and play. I'm sure if I had a pretty place like this, I should be glad if two little girls, like us, could come and enjoy it. Ah, Dimple, you don't know how fine it is on that upper porch. It would be the finest place in the world to play in."

The idea took such possession of her that the next morning she broached the subject again.

"I'll ask mamma," said Dimple, at last consenting with this proviso. But Mrs. Dallas had gone out to spend the morning with a friend, and finally Florence's persuasions overcame Dimple's scruples, and with Celestine and Rubina they set forth.

At first Florence was contented to play on the corner porch, but the memory of the day before was too much for her, and she again climbed to the upper porch. "Do come up, Dimple," she coaxed. "You've no idea how fine it is, with the tree all around. It's just like a nest," and Dimple decided that she would try it too.

"Wait, we mustn't leave the dolls," Florence said. "I wish we had a piece of string. See if you can find a piece, Dimple."

After much searching Dimple hunted up an end of rope, which she found by the kitchen shed, and brought around. "Will this do?" she asked.

"Finely. Can you throw it so I can catch it?"

"I don't know. Maybe I could if I tied a stone to it. Don't let it hit you, Florence."

After several attempts the rope was landed, and when the dolls were fastened to it, they were drawn safely up, and then Dimple made her ascent successfully.

"It is nice," she declared. "Isn't it fun to be here, where no one can see us? I wonder if that window will open." She gave the shutters a little shake and lo! they offered no resistance, but opened easily, and, the latch being out of order, the window, too, yielded to their efforts, and before they knew it, they were inside.

"Now we're here, we might as well go through the house," said Florence. "And you can show me the portrait."

They proceeded stealthily through rooms whose furniture was swathed in sheets to keep away the dust. It all looked rather bare and desolate upstairs in the dim rooms, but it was better below, especially in the dining-room, where a big bay window let in a flood of light when the inside shutters were opened.

"Let's pretend it's our house, and keep house really," Florence exclaimed. "Here is a broom and a duster. I'll sweep and you can dust. Then if we can find some dishes, we'll set the table. I wish we had brought something to eat. Oh, Dimple, you haven't shown me the portrait yet; where is it?"

"In the library. Come, we'll go there now."

"My, but it's dark in here!" Florence exclaimed, as they entered the room. "Let us open the shutters a little so we can see the picture."

This they managed to do, shutting the window carefully.

"It seems dark still," Dimple remarked. "I wonder what makes this such a dark room." Just then they heard a mighty crash and both started, then clung to each other, whispering, "What's that?"

"It is thunder," said Dimple, when a second peal was heard. "Oh, how dark it is. Come, Florence; we must hurry. Open the window and shut the shutters as quick as you can and I'll go to the dining-room. We must leave everything as we found it."

"Don't leave me," Florence implored. "I can't bear to be alone when the lightning flashes so." And together they fastened the shutters and the windows, then ran to the porch, where they had left their dolls.

An angry gust was blowing the dust about furiously. The trees swayed and creaked, lashing their branches about in a very terrifying way. The thunder growled and muttered, while sharp flashes of lightning zigzagged across the sky almost incessantly.

"We would never dare to go down the tree while it is blowing so," said Florence, after they had surveyed the scene for a moment in silence.

"But it is beginning to rain. Oh, dear! What shall we do? It's coming down a perfect torrent. Come back, Florence; we'll have to go inside," cried Dimple. And snatching up their dolls, they retreated into the house in no enviable state of mind, between fear of the tempest and alarm at being obliged to stay alone where they were.

"We might as well make ourselves comfortable," Florence said at last. "Suppose we go down to the library or the dining-room. We can open the inside shutters, and it won't seem so gloomy. I'd rather see the lightning than stay up here in the dark."

"Oh, dear! I wish we hadn't come at all," sighed Dimple. "I wish we were safe at home. Mamma will be so worried, for she won't know where we are. I do wish we hadn't come."

Florence was very uncomfortable, but she tried to brave it out. "Anyhow," she said, "it's a great deal better than to be out in the storm. I am sure auntie will be very glad when she knows we were safe here, and it isn't as if you had come to a perfectly strange house. The Atkinsons are your friends, and they won't mind a bit our coming here for shelter. I know they won't. They'd be very hard-hearted if they did mind."

"Yes, I s'pose so," returned Dimple, somewhat comforted.

"Very likely your mamma isn't bothering at all about us," Florence went on. "She probably hasn't gone home herself, on account of the storm."

They had been conversing together at the top of the stairs, and now made their way to the dining-room, where, after opening the shutters, they stood looking out at the rain. The peals of thunder had died away into distant mutterings, but it was still raining hard.

"Somehow we always get into trouble when it rains," Dimple remarked.

"Don't let's talk about that," returned Florence. "See how the raindrops dance up and down. Little water fairies they are. Don't they look as if they were having a good time?"

"Yes; but I'm getting hungry. I wonder if it isn't most dinner time. Do you suppose it will rain all afternoon, Florence?"

"I don't know. If it holds up we'll have to run between the drops."

"But how can we get out? We could never climb down that sopping wet tree, and we would be very wicked to leave any part of the house down here unfastened. Some one might see us and try to get in."

They lapsed into a grave silence which was presently broken by a startled "What's that?" from Dimple. She heard a sound like the click of a key turning in a latch. They listened fearfully, as the sound was followed by the shutting of a door, and the noise of footsteps along the hall. The two girls looked at each other. "Let's hide," whispered Florence, but before they had decided what to do, a man was seen standing in the doorway. It was Mr. Atkinson.

"Well, well, well," he exclaimed, "where did you little girls come from? You came in out of the rain, I suppose, but how did you manage it? Why, Eleanor, is it you? I declare, I didn't know