All thought the prospect a charming one: Mrs. Moss, because life had been dull for her during the year she had taken charge of the old house; the little girls had heard rumors of various pets who were coming; and Ben, learning that a boy and a donkey were among them, resolved that nothing but the arrival of his father should tear him from this now deeply interesting spot.

“I’m in such a hurry to see the peacocks and hear them scream. She said they did, and that we’d laugh when old Jack brayed,” cried Bab, hopping about on one foot to work off her impatience.

“Is a faytun a kind of a bird? I heard her say she could keep it in the coach house,” asked Betty, inquiringly.

“It’s a little carriage,” and Ben rolled in the grass, much tickled at poor Betty’s ignorance.

“Of course it is. I looked it out in the dic., and you mustn’t call it a payton, though it is spelt with a p,” added Bab, who liked to lay down the law on all occasions, and did not mention that she had looked vainly among the f’s till a schoolmate set her right.

“You can’t tell me much about carriages. But wha’ I want to know is where Lita will stay?” said Ben.

“Oh, she’s to be up at the Squire’s till things are fixed, and you are to bring her down. Squire came and told Ma all about it, and said you were a boy to be trusted, for he had tried you.”

Ben made no answer, but secretly thanked his stars that he had not proved himself untrustworthy by running away, and so missing all this fun.

“Won’t it be fine to have the house open all the time? We can run over and see the pictures and books whenever we like. I know we can, Miss Celia is so kind,” began Betty, who cared for these things more than for screaming peacocks and comical donkeys.

“Not unless you are invited,” answered their mother, locking the front door behind her. “You’d better begin to pick up your duds right away, for she won’t want them cluttering round her front yard. If you are not too tired, Ben, you might rake round a little while I shut the blinds. I want things to look nice and tidy.”

Two little groans went up from two afflicted little girls as they looked about them at the shady bower, the dear porch, and the winding walks where they loved to run “till their hair whistled in the wind,” as the fairy books say.

“Whatever shall we do! Our attic is so hot and the shed so small, and the yard always full of hens or clothes. We shall have to pack all our things away, and never play anymore,” said Bab, tragically.

“Maybe Ben could build us a little house in the orchard,” proposed Betty, who firmly believed that Ben could do anything.

“He won’t have any time. Boys don’t care for baby-houses,” returned Bab, collecting her homeless goods and chattels with a dismal face.

“We sha’n’t want these much when all the new things come; see if we do,” said cheerful little Betty, who always found out a silver lining to every cloud.

Miss Celia’s Man

CHAPTER 8

Ben was not too tired, and the clearing-up began that very night. None too soon, for in a day or two things arrived, to the great delight of the children, who considered moving a most interesting play. First came the phaeton, which Ben spent all his leisure moments in admiring; wondering with secret envy what happy boy would ride in the little seat up behind, and beguiling his tasks by planning how, when he got rich, he would pass his time driving about in just such an equipage, and inviting all the boys he met to have a ride.

Then a load of furniture came creaking in at the Lodge gate, and the girls had raptures over a cottage piano, several small chairs, and a little low table, which they pronounced just the thing for them to play at. The livestock appeared next, creating a great stir in the neighborhood, for peacocks were rare birds there; the donkey’s bray startled the cattle and convulsed the people with laughter; the rabbits were continually getting out to burrow in the newly made garden; and Chevalita scandalized old Duke by dancing about the stable which he had inhabited for years in stately solitude.

Last but by no means least, Miss Celia, her young brother, and two maids arrived one evening so late that only Mrs. Moss went over to help them settle. The children were much disappointed, but were appeased by a promise that they should all go to pay their respects in the morning.

They were up so early, and were so impatient to be off, that Mrs. Moss let them go with the warning that they would find only the servants astir. She was mistaken, however, for, as the procession approached, a voice from the porch called out, “Good morning, little neighbors!” so unexpectedly, that Bab nearly spilt the new milk she carried, Betty gave such a start that the fresh-laid eggs quite skipped in the dish, and Ben’s face broke into a broad grin over the armful of clover which he brought for the bunnies, as he bobbed his head, saying briskly—

“She’s all right, miss, Lita is; and I can bring her over any minute you say.”

“I shall want her at four o’clock. Thorny will be too tired to drive, but I must hear from the post office, rain or shine”; and Miss Celia’s pretty color brightened as she spoke, either from some happy thought or because she was bashful, for the honest young faces before her plainly showed their admiration of the white-gowned lady under the honeysuckles.

The appearance of Miranda, the maid, reminded the children of their errand; and, having delivered their offerings, they were about to retire in some confusion, when Miss Celia said pleasantly—

“I want to thank you for helping put things in such nice order. I see signs of busy hands and feet both inside the house and all about the grounds, and I am very much obliged.”

“I raked the beds,” said Ben, proudly eyeing the neat ovals and circles.

“I swept all the paths,” added Bab, with a reproachful glance at several green sprigs fallen from the load of clover on the smooth walk.

“I cleared up the porch,” and Betty’s clean pinafore rose and fell with a long sigh, as she surveyed the late summer residence of her exiled family.

Miss Celia guessed the meaning of that sigh, and made haste to turn it into a smile by asking anxiously—

“What has become of the playthings? I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Ma said you wouldn’t want our duds round, so we took them all home,” answered Betty, with a wistful face.

“But I do want them round. I like dolls and toys almost as much as ever, and quite miss the little ‘duds’ from porch and path. Suppose you come to tea with me tonight and bring some of them back? I should be very sorry to rob you of your pleasant play-place.”

“Oh, yes, ’m, we’d love to come! and we’ll bring our best things.”

“Ma always lets us have our shiny pitchers and the china poodle when we go visiting or have company at home,” said Bab and Betty, both speaking at once.

“Bring what you like, and I’ll hunt up my toys, too. Ben is to come also, and his poodle is especially invited,” added Miss Celia, as Sancho came and begged before her, feeling that some agreeable project was under discussion.

“Thank you, miss. I told them you’d be willing they should come sometimes. They like this place ever so much, and so do I,” said Ben, feeling that few spots combined so many advantages in the way of climbable trees, arched gates, half-a-dozen gables, and other charms suited to the taste of an aspiring youth who had been a flying Cupid at the age of seven.

“So do I,” echoed Miss Celia, heartily. “Ten years ago I came here a little girl, and made lilac chains under these very bushes, and picked chickweed over there for my bird, and rode Thorny in his baby-wagon up and down these paths. Grandpa lived here then, and we had fine times; but now they are all gone except us two.”

“We haven’t got any father, either,” said Bab, for something in Miss Celia’s face made her feel as if a cloud had come over the sun.

“I have a first-rate father, if I only knew where he’d gone to,” said Ben, looking down the path as eagerly as if some one waited for him behind the locked gate.

“You are a rich boy, and you are happy little girls to have so good a mother; I’ve found that out already,” and the sun shone again as the young lady nodded to the neat, rosy children before her.

“You may have a piece of her if you want to, ‘cause you haven’t got any of your own,” said Betty, with a pitiful look which made her blue eyes as sweet as two wet violets.

“So I will! and you shall be my little sisters. I never had any, and I’d love to try how it seems”; and Miss Celia took both the chubby hands in hers, feeling ready to love everyone this first bright morning in the new home, which she hoped to make a very happy one.

Bab gave a satisfied nod, and fell to examining the rings upon the white hand that held her own. But Betty put her arms about the new friend’s neck, and kissed her so softly that the hungry feeling in Miss Celia’s heart felt better directly; for this was the food it wanted, and Thorny had not learned yet to return one half of the affection he received. Holding the child close, she played with the yellow braids while she told them about the little German girls in their funny black-silk caps, short-waisted gowns, and wooden shoes, whom she used to see watering long webs of linen bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, or driving pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they went.

Presently “Randa,” as she called her stout maid, came to tell her that “Master Thorny couldn’t wait another minute”; and she went in to breakfast with a good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce in upon Mrs.