Dick and Dolly

So again the acorn cups and leaves came into use, and the four drank unlimited cups of tea, and ate all sorts of things, Arabella having apparently recovered from her indisposition.

“Now, we’ll go to the fairies’ ball,” said Pinkie, as with a sweep of her hand she cleared the table of dishes and viands and all. “What shall we wear?”

“I’ll wear red velvet,” said Dolly, whose tastes were gay, “and a wide light-blue sash, and gold slippers.”

“You’ll look lovely,” declared Mrs. Constantine. “I’ll wear spangled blue satin, and a diamond crown.”

“Then I’ll have a diamond crown, too,” said Dolly.

“No; you have a ruby one. We don’t want to be just alike.”

“Yes, I’ll have a ruby one, and my daughter can have a diamond one, and your daughter a ruby one, – then we’ll be fair all around.”

“Yes, that’s fair,” agreed Pinkie; “now let’s start.”

They carried the dolls with them, and going a little farther into the wood, they selected a smooth, mossy place where fairies might easily dance if they chose.

“We must fix it up for them,” said Pinkie; “so they’ll want to come.”

Eagerly the two girls went to work. They picked up any bits of stick or stone that disfigured the moss, and then, at Pinkie’s direction, they made a circular border of green leaves, and what few wild flowers they could find.

A row of stones was laid as an outside border, and a branch of green was stuck upright in the centre.

“Now it looks pretty,” said Pinkie, with a nod of satisfaction. “Let’s sit down and wait.”

“Will they really come?” asked Dolly, as with Araminta and Arabella they seated themselves near by.

“Oh, no, I s’pose not,” said Pinkie, with a little sigh. “I’ve done this thing so many times, and they never have come. But it’s fun to do it, and then I always think perhaps they may.”

But they waited what seemed a long time, and as no fairies came to dance, and the shadows began to grow deeper, Dolly said she must go home.

“Yes, I must too,” said Pinkie, looking troubled.

“See here, Dolly,” she said, as they walked along; “don’t you want to come here and play with me again?”

“’Course I do,” exclaimed Dolly. “Every day.”

“Well, you can’t do it, unless you keep it secret. You mustn’t tell anybody, – not anybody in the world.”

“Not even Dick and the aunties?”

“No, not anybody. If you tell, we can’t play here.”

“Pinkie, are you a fairy, after all?” said Dolly, looking at her earnestly.

She was quite unable, otherwise, to think of any reason to keep their acquaintance secret.

“Well – maybe I am,” said Pinkie, slowly.

“And that’s why you haven’t any name!” exclaimed Dolly, rapturously. “But I didn’t s’pose real fairies were so big, and so ’zactly like little girls.”

“Real fairies aren’t. I’m just a – just a sort of a fairy. Oh, Dolly, don’t ask questions. Only, remember, if you tell anybody about me, we can’t play here in the woods any more. Will you promise?”

“Yes, I’ll promise,” said Dolly, solemnly, awed by Pinkie’s great earnestness.

And then they separated, and Dolly ran home with her dolls.

CHAPTER VIII

A SECRET

Dolly was very quiet after she reached home. She was greatly puzzled at the events of the afternoon.

“Of course,” she thought, “Pinkie couldn’t be a fairy. She is just as much a live little girl as I am. And yet, why should any nice little girl, – and she surely is a very nice little girl, – want our acquaintance kept secret?”

Dolly remembered a little girl in Chicago, who loved to have “secrets,” but they were very simple affairs, usually a new slate pencil, or a coming birthday party. She had never heard of such a foolish secret as not telling your name!

And so, the thought would come back; what if Pinkie should be a real fairy? To be sure, she had always thought fairies were tiny folk, but she had never seen one, so how could she know?

And Pinkie was so well versed in making a fairies’ dancing ground, and she appeared so mysteriously, – apparently from nowhere at all! Oh, if it should be! And then, that would explain the secret part of it, – for fairies always want to be kept secret. But on the other hand, that pink kilted dress of starched linen! Fairies always wore gauzy robes, and carried wands, and had wings. Well, yes, that was the popular notion, but who had seen them, to know for sure?

These thoughts chased through Dolly’s mind as she sat at the supper table, and Aunt Rachel soon noticed the child’s absorption.

“What’s the matter, dearie?” she asked; “aren’t you well?”

“Oh, yes, Auntie; I – I was just thinking.”

“I know what’s the matter with Dollums,” said Dick, a little shamefacedly. “It’s ’cause Jack Fuller and I played leap-frog and things she didn’t like, and so she went off by herself, and was lonesome. I’m sorry, Dolly.”

“Why, Dick Dana!” exclaimed his twin; “it wasn’t that a bit! I’m glad you had fun with Jack, and I didn’t care a spick-speck! I had a lovely time myself.”

“Where were you, dear?” asked Aunt Abbie.

“In the wood, with my two big dolls,” said Dolly, truthfully, but she had a strange feeling of dishonesty.

She had never had a secret before; had never told anything except the whole truth; and the part truth, as she had told it now, troubled her conscience.

Yet she had promised Pinkie not to tell about her, so whether Pinkie was fairy or little girl, Dolly felt herself bound by her promise.

“Auntie,” she said, after a pause, “are there really fairies?”

“No, child, of course not. You know there aren’t.”

“Yes, I s’pose so. But if there were any, how big would they be?”

“Don’t ask silly questions, Dolly. There are no such beings as fairies.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Aunt Rachel,” put in Dick. “You know, just because we’ve never seen any, – that doesn’t prove there aren’t any.”

“But how big would they be, Dick?” persisted Dolly.

“Oh, little bits of things. A dozen of them could dance on a toad-stool, I expect.”

That settled it in Dolly’s mind. Of course Pinkie wasn’t a fairy then, for what Dick said was always so.

But Aunt Abbie changed the situation. She had more imagination than Aunt Rachel, and she idly fell into the discussion.

“I’m not sure of that, Dick,” she said. “I always imagine fairies to be about our own size. You know Cinderella’s fairy godmother was a grown-up lady.”

“Oh,” said Dolly, her eyes shining with interest. “Then do you think, Aunt Abbie, that there could be a little girl fairy, about as big as me?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so; if there are fairies at all. But I’m not sure that there are.”

“Would you believe it if you saw one?”

“Yes, if I were awake, and sure I was not dreaming.”

Dolly stared at Aunt Abbie, as if fascinated by her words. Then Pinkie might be a fairy, after all!

“You’re a queer child, Dolly,” said Aunt Rachel, looking at the little girl’s perplexed face. “And when you find your fairies, don’t bring them in the house, for there’s no knowing what tricks they may cut up. They’re said to be mischievous little people.”

“Of course they’re little,” argued Dick. “I think you’re mistaken about Cinderella’s godmother, Aunt Abbie. I think she was a little mite of a lady.”

“Perhaps so, Dicky. I’m not much of an authority on fairy lore, I’ll admit.”

And then, somehow, the matter was dropped, and nothing more was said about fairies or their probable size.

But a little later, when the twins were alone in their playroom, Dolly reopened the subject.

“Dick,” she began, “why do you think fairies must be little?”

“Dolly, what’s the matter with you and your fairies? Why are you bothering so much about ’em all of a sudden?”

“Oh, nothing; I just want to know.”

“It isn’t nothing! Have you been seeing fairies, or what? You’ve got to tell me all about it.”

“I can’t, Dick.”

“You can’t? Why not, I’d like to know! We never have secrets from each other. You know we don’t.”

“But I can’t tell you about this. I promised.”

“Well, unpromise then! Who’d you promise?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Look here, Dolly Dana, who could you promise not to tell me anything? Was it Pat or Michael?”

“No.”

“Then who was it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Pooh, what a silly! Why, Dolly, we’re twins, – we always have to tell each other everything.”

“I know it, Dick, and I want to tell you, awful, but you know yourself it’s wrong to break a promise.”

“Well, you might tell me who you promised it to.”

“That’s part of the secret.”

“Oho, it is a secret, is it? Well, Dolly Dana, if you’ve got a secret from me, you can keep it, —I don’t care!”

This was too much for Dolly’s loyal little twin-heart.

“I don’t want to keep it, Dick; I want to tell you! But I promised her I wouldn’t, so what can I do?”

“Get her to let you off your promise. I s’pose it’s Hannah or Delia.”

“Maybe I can do that,” and Dolly’s face looked a little brighter.

“Well, do; and don’t talk any more about it, till you can tell me all of it, whatever it is. Dolly, it isn’t anything wrong, is it?”

“No; I don’t see how it can be wrong.”

“Then let up on it, till you’re ready to talk square. I never had a secret from you.”

“I know it; and I’ll never have one from you again!”

So peace was restored, and Dolly said no more about fairies. But after she was tucked up in her own little white bed that night, she lay awake in the darkness for a long time, trying to puzzle it all out. One minute it would seem too absurd to think a little girl was a fairy; the next minute, it would seem just as absurd for a little girl to appear in the woods like that, and refuse to tell her name, and insist that their acquaintance be kept a secret! That was exactly what a fairy would do!

So, after reasoning round and round in a circle, Dolly fell asleep, and dreamed that she was a fairy herself, with a pink linen dress, and a pair of wings and a golden wand.

The next afternoon Jack Fuller was again at Dana Dene to play with Dick, and again Dolly trotted off to the woods. She found Pinkie sitting on a flat stone, waiting for her. The same pink linen frock, the same straw hat, with pink rosettes on it, and the same sweet-faced, curly-haired Pinkie. Dolly was so glad to see her, and fairy or mortal, she already loved her better than any little girl she had ever known.

But Pinkie was not so gay and merry as yesterday. She looked troubled, and Dolly’s sensitive little heart knew it at once.

“Come on,” she said, taking hold of Pinkie’s hand; “let’s play.”

“All right,” said Pinkie, “I’ve brought my own dolls, this time.”

And sure enough, there were two dolls as big and beautiful as Arabella and Araminta. Pinkie said her dolls’ names were Baby Belle and Baby Bess, and, as it seemed the most natural thing to do, they began to play tea-party at once.

But Dolly wanted, first, to settle the matter of the secret.

“Pinkie,” she said, “you’re a really, truly little girl, aren’t you?”

“’Course I am,” said Pinkie, smiling. “I just said I was a fairy for fun.”

“Yes; I know it. But I want you to let me tell about you at home. It’s silly to make a secret of it.”

“Well, tell ’em, I don’t care. I’m not coming here to play any more, anyway.”

Now Dolly looked dismayed. “Why not?” she asked, and went on without waiting for an answer. “I won’t tell my aunts, if you don’t want me to, but I must tell my brother Dick. He’s my twin, and we never have secrets from each other. Why, here he comes now!”

Running toward them across the field, they saw the two boys.

“Is that your brother with Jack Fuller?” asked Pinkie, and with this recognition of Jack, Dolly’s last faint hope that Pinkie might be a fairy, vanished.

“Yes; I wonder what they want.”

The boys had really come in search of Dolly.

Dick had felt himself rather selfish to play with Jack, while Dolly had only her dolls for company, so he had proposed that they go and find her, and then all play together some games that she would like. Jack had agreed willingly enough, so they made for the woods, whither Dick had seen Dolly go, wheeling her two big dolls.

“Hello, Phyllis Middleton,” cried Jack, as he spied Pinkie. “What are you doing here?”

The secret was out!

Dolly felt a blank pall of despair fall over her heart. Pinkie, then, was Phyllis Middleton, the daughter of the Middletons whom Aunt Rachel detested, and would have no dealings with! Indeed, Dolly had been forbidden to speak to any of the Middletons. And then, as Dolly’s thoughts flew rapidly on, she realised that Pinkie had known all this, and that was why she said if Dolly knew her name they couldn’t play together any more!

Poor Dolly! Not only to lose her new-made friend, but to learn that the friend was really a naughty little girl, who had deliberately done wrong.

“Hello, Jack!” said Phyllis. “I know I ought not to come here, and I’m not coming again.”

“Well,” said Dick, throwing himself down on the ground; “is this your secret, Dollums?”

“Yes,” said Dolly, almost ready to cry. “This is my Pinkie, and I love her, and now she’s the little girl Aunt Rachel said we couldn’t play with.”

“Why not?” cried Dick, who had forgotten the Middleton ban.

Phyllis took up the story.

“I don’t know the beginning of it,” she said; “but my mother, and Miss Rachel Dana don’t like each other, and won’t go to each other’s houses. And when I heard a little girl had come here to live, I wanted to come over, but mother wouldn’t let me.”

“And Aunt Rachel forbade me to go to your house, too,” put in Dolly. “I think it’s awful for grown-up ladies to get mad like that.”

“They’ve been mad for lots of years,” said Jack Fuller. “I’ve heard my mother talk about it to the other ladies. They call it the Dana-Middleton feud.”

“What was it about?” asked Dick.

“Nobody knows,” replied Jack. “At least, none of us children. Of course, when there weren’t any children at the Dana house, we didn’t care anything about it; but now, it’s pretty if you two can’t play with the Middletons! Why, they go to our parties and our school and our Sunday school, and our picnics and everything! I guess Miss Dana and Mrs. Middleton’ll have to make up now.”

“They won’t,” said Phyllis, mournfully. “I heard mother and father talking about it. And they said I mustn’t come over here, or speak to Dolly or anything. And then, yesterday, I did come over here to the wood, – it’s right next to our last orchard, – and Dolly and I had such fun, I thought I’d come every day, and not tell anybody. But after I went to bed last night, I thought about it, and I know it’s wrong; so I’m not going to do it any more. I just came to-day to tell Dolly so. And after I go home, I’m going to confess to mother about it.”

Phyllis’s eyes were full of tears, and as she finished speaking, and Dolly’s arms went round her, both girls cried in their mutual affliction.

The boys were highly indignant at the whole situation.

“It’s a shame!” cried Dick. “If Aunt Rachel wants to be mad at Mrs. Middleton, let her; but I don’t see why they shouldn’t let Phyllis and Dolly be friends. Have you got any brothers, Phyllis?”

“Only a little one, six years old,” was the reply. “There’s just the two of us.”

“And you live just next house to us,” went on Dick. “You and Dolly could have lovely times together. I’m going to ask Aunt Rachel myself if you two can’t be friends.”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” said Phyllis, wiping her eyes. “She wouldn’t give in, and, even if she did, my mother wouldn’t.”

“Well, I’m going to try it, anyway,” stoutly persisted Dick. “It can’t do any harm, and if Aunt Rachel should give in, she might persuade your mother, you know.”

Phyllis looked a little hopeful at this, but Dolly said:

“Aunt Rachel won’t let me play with you; I know it. She has said so a dozen times, and she’s awful stubborn. But I’m glad you told, Pinkie, ’cause it wouldn’t have been right for us to play together and not tell.”

“No, I know it,” agreed Phyllis. “I would have told you yesterday, only it was so funny when you thought I was a fairy! I thought I’d pretend I was one, and that would take away the wrong. But it didn’t, and when I thought all about it, I knew we couldn’t keep on that way.”

The Dana twins were conscientious children, and they were both glad when Phyllis talked like this; for it had been a shock to Dolly to discover Pinkie’s deceit, and she felt relieved to learn that it was only impulsive and quickly repented of. But this didn’t alter the sad fact that the two little girls could not be playmates.

“It’s just horrid!” said Dolly, her tears welling up afresh. “We could have such lovely times together! Playing dolls, and tea-parties, and everything. I think Aunt Rachel is mean!”

“I think so, too,” said Jack Fuller, “and I do believe you could coax her into letting you two girls play together, even if the grown-up ladies don’t make up.”

“Maybe we could,” said Dick, hopefully, but Phyllis shook her head.

“Mother wouldn’t, even if Miss Dana did,” she repeated. “I was a naughty girl to come here at all. I wish I hadn’t; then I wouldn’t have known how nice Dolly was.”

Again the little girls wept, and the boys looked at them helplessly.

“Well, anyway,” said Dick, at last, “I’m going home to have a try at it. I’m going straight to Aunt Rachel and tell her all about it. It may make a difference, now that you girls really have met.”

“All right,” said Phyllis, but she showed no hope of Dick’s success.

“I say,” exclaimed Jack, “let’s all go! I mean, let’s take Phyllis, and all go to Miss Rachel and ask her about it. If she sees the two girls crying to beat the band, it may soften her some.”

It seemed a daring proposition, but the twins approved of it.

“Oh, do,” cried Dolly, eagerly. “Come on, Pinkie, let’s go right now.”

“I can’t,” said Pinkie, firmly. “Mother told me never to go to Miss Dana’s house for anything at all.”

No amount of coaxing would prevail, and matters seemed at a deadlock, until Dick exclaimed:

“Then you stay here, and I’ll go get Auntie Rachel and make her come out here right now.”

“It won’t do any good,” moaned Phyllis.

“I know, about your mother. But maybe, if Miss Rachel gives in first, she can persuade your mother.”

“Maybe,” said Phyllis, worn out with the conflict. “Go on if you want to.”

And Dick went.

CHAPTER IX

PHYLLIS

“Aunt Rachel,” said Dick, marching to the library, “will you do something for me?”

“Probably I will, my boy. What is it?”

“I want you to come and take a walk with me.”

“But it’s nearly supper-time, Dicky; quite time for you to go and brush your hair, and put on a fresh collar. Where’s Dolly?”

“Oh, Aunt Rachel, please come, – it’s very important!”

Noticing the serious expression on Dick’s earnest little face, Aunt Rachel became frightened.

“What is the matter, Dick?” she exclaimed. “Has anything happened to Dolly? Has she hurt herself?”

“No; she hasn’t hurt herself; but come, please, Aunt Rachel, – do!”

Throwing a light shawl round her, Miss Rachel went with Dick, quite sure that some accident had befallen Dolly. It was quite a little walk to the woods, and Dick began to wonder whether Phyllis would have waited, or whether she would have become scared and gone home. She seemed like a timid little thing, and Dick well knew that Miss Rachel’s anger was a formidable thing to brave. He felt far from calm himself.

“Where are you taking me?” said Aunt Rachel, as they crossed the orchard.

“To the woods,” replied Dick, briefly; “Dolly is there.”

And Aunt Rachel said no more, but walked rapidly along by Dick’s side, her mind full of horrible imaginings of Dolly, perhaps fallen from a tree, or in some other dreadful plight. When she reached the wood she saw the two little girls, seated on the flat stone, their arms about each other, and their faces red and tear-stained. Indeed, the big tears even now rolled down Dolly’s cheeks, as she saw the stern expression that came over Aunt Rachel’s face.

“Phyllis Middleton!” exclaimed the angry-looking lady; “what does this mean? You know you are forbidden to step foot on my property!”

“Yes’m,” began Phyllis, timidly, but Dick took the helm.

“Aunt Rachel,” he said, “I asked you to come out here, ’cause Phyllis wouldn’t go to the house. And I want to ask you to let her be Dolly’s friend; they love each other a heap.”

Then Aunt Rachel’s wrath was turned toward her niece.

“Dolly,” she said, severely, “you know I positively forbade you to speak to Phyllis Middleton.”

“Yes, Auntie; b-but I didn’t know it was Phyllis, when I first spoke to her.”

“Well, you know it now. Come away from her at once. Phyllis, go straight home, and don’t ever dare come here again.”

The case was hopeless.

Phyllis withdrew herself from Dolly’s embrace, and rose to go away.

Jack Fuller stood by, unable to help, and very nearly crying himself in sympathy with the two forlorn little girls.

Aunt Rachel, in her surprise and indignation, had seated herself on the edge of a big stone, opposite Dolly and Phyllis, and sat with frowning face, waiting for the unwelcome visitor to depart.

In her extremity of despair, Dolly had an inspiration. With a cry of, “Oh, please, Auntie Rachel!” she sprang at her aunt, and threw her arms around the neck of the irate lady. She squeezed her until she nearly choked her; she showered kisses on her face and neck; she whispered in her ear, “Please, dear Auntie, oh, please let me have her for my little friend; I love her so! Please, Auntie!”

Dick, anxiously watching Miss Rachel’s face, saw a change. Not only did it become warm and red from the strangling hugs she was undergoing, but he felt sure there was a relenting expression in her eyes.

Partly out of gratitude for this, and partly from a desire to further Dolly’s cause, he too rushed at his aunt, and added his affectionate demonstrations to those of his sister. His arms somehow found room, too, round her neck, and he industriously kissed the other side of her face, while he cried, “Please, Auntie Rachel, even if you don’t like the Middletons, please let Phyllis and Dolly be friends! Please, Auntie!”

So cyclonic was the beginning of this performance, and so vigorous its continuance, that Miss Rachel was soon on the verge of physical collapse, and wildly waved her hands, in a futile endeavour to shake off the besiegers.

Phyllis and Jack were appalled at the scene, and were almost uncertain whether the attack was really affectionate or of a hostile nature.

“For gracious’ sake, Dolly, do stop!” cried Miss Rachel, at last, as her glasses flew off, and her carefully arranged coiffure became a wreck. “Dick, let go of me!”

“Yes, Auntie,” he said, kneeling at one side, and possessing himself of one of her hands, while Dolly did the same with the other; “but, Auntie, do say yes, won’t you?”

“Won’t you, Auntie?” echoed Dolly; “won’t you, Auntie? Please, dear Auntie Rachel, won’t you? Please!”

The words, repeated so often, seemed to become meaningless, but not so the beseeching expression on the two upturned, pleading little faces.

Aunt Rachel looked at them, – Dick’s eager hopeful gaze; Dolly’s tearful, despairing eyes, – and her hard heart melted.

She put an arm round each of the quivering little bodies, and said softly:

“Wait a minute, dears, let me think it over.”

If Miss Rachel needed further incentive, the joy that flashed into the twins’ faces must have given it to her, for she went on almost immediately:

“You cannot understand the grown-up part of this; you cannot be told about why Mrs. Middleton and I are not on friendly terms; but this I will grant. If Phyllis’s mother will let her be Dolly’s friend, I shall be glad to have it so. If Phyllis is allowed to come to Dana Dene, Dolly may also visit her and you may play together all you like. There is really no reason why you children should suffer for the sake of your elders, and I see that clearly now. Come here, Phyllis.”

Phyllis rose and went to Miss Rachel, who looked her over with evident interest.