Part 5

"He's not really a bad boy," her Uncle Heath told Eleanor, "but he is spoiled, and has been made to believe that every one should yield to him, so he has become very selfish and cannot imagine any rights that conflict with his wishes."

"Rock isn't that way."

"No, he has a wise mother."

Rock was Mr. Heath Dallas' stepson. He and Eleanor were great friends, and she looked forward with great delight to seeing him again. She was planning many happy times with him and with her Cousin Florence who lived not far from Mr. Heath Dallas. She asked her uncle if he thought Rock had had the whooping-cough. "Suppose he hasn't," she said.

"To be sure, I hadn't thought of that. I am pretty sure he has though, and at any rate, we'll take it for granted, and if he hasn't we can settle the question before he gets home."

"I could go to Aunt Nellie's, you know."

"Yes, but I hope we can keep you with us till your papa and mamma return."

Eleanor gave a little satisfied sigh. Her uncle had driven out from town to take her back with him, and she was about to take leave of good Mr. and Mrs. Snyder. Ada, attired in her grey traveling dress, and carrying her muff, was ready to go, and Sylvy had pressed so many cakes, apples and such things upon the child that she had to leave half of them behind her. To Sylvy, even the shortest journey demanded a supply of eatables.

The doctor had made every effort to discover the whereabouts of Bubbles, but had received no news of her from any of the hospitals.

"If she is still with the gipsies, she would hardly have reached the city yet," Eleanor was told for her comfort. "You may find her in Baltimore when you get there," the doctor said further, and Eleanor was obliged to be satisfied with this for the present.

As they passed the gate of her own home, Eleanor hugged Ada closer and looking up at her uncle said, "I never want to see my home again, Uncle Heath, until mamma is in it."

He smiled down at her. "You probably will not, dear child. We shall keep you with us as long as we can."

"I hope there won't be any children in the cars," continued the child, "for I might give them the whooping-cough."

"We are going to have the little compartment at the end of the parlor car, and we can be all to ourselves in there."

"Oh, can we? I've always wanted to travel in that little room, Uncle Heath. Did you get it on purpose?"

"Not exactly, but being a railroad man, I had it placed at my disposal."

It was nearly dark when they reached the city. Eleanor looked out at the stiff rows of houses, secretly glad that her home was not in one of these. She did not wonder that her Cousin Florence always said that she could not bear the city. "Uncle Heath," she said, "are all cities like Baltimore, with so many, many houses all alike, with no gardens at all and hardly any trees anywhere? I don't see why they can't have a little bit of a garden in front of them, or porches to the houses, or something. Cities are very ugly, aren't they?"

"Most of them are, but some do have a section where you can see pretty gardens and porches and many trees. Washington, you know, is very attractive, and so are parts of Philadelphia."

"Yes, I know Washington is, but I most forget Philadelphia, I've not been there for so long."

"We must go there some pleasant day."

"Rock too?"

"Yes; but here we are. Run in quickly."

The door was thrown open by Aunt Dora herself, who almost lifted Eleanor off her feet in the energy of her embrace. "You dear little midget," she exclaimed, "you did come all safe and sound, didn't you?"

"Yes, I came, and so did Ada. I was so glad to see Uncle Heath."

"I knew you would be. Are you cold? No, your hands are quite warm, and oh, yes; how do you do, Ada? I've not seen you for a long time," and the doll's hand was gravely shaken by Aunt Dora, to Eleanor's delight. "Let us go right upstairs," continued Aunt Dora, holding Eleanor's hand closely in hers. "You are to have a little room next to mine. It isn't very big, but I think you and Ada will fit into it without much crowding."

"It isn't Rock's room?" said Eleanor, with a remembrance of her late trials in some such direction.

"No, he has a room back of mine. I am so glad to get home again and to have you come to us right away. It seems so very lonely without any children in the house. I can hardly wait till Rock's holiday begins, to have him with me again. I know he is counting the days."

"Yes, he wrote to me that he was. He makes a little mark on his calendar every day."

"Yes, I know; the dear child. I have been planning a number of things for the holidays, but first I must tell you about your papa; he is really getting better, and I think if he will only consent to stay long enough, that he will come back quite well." She stooped to kiss Eleanor, and then continued: "You were a dear child not to write to them of your worries."

"How did you know?"

"A little bird told me."

"Rock?"

"Maybe. We might call it a rock wren."

"Oh, Aunt Dora, has Rock had the whooping-cough?"

"Yes, several years ago."

"Did you know I had it?"

"Yes, your Uncle Heath wrote me that you had, and I have been thinking ever since, just suppose that Ada should take it!" Aunt Dora raised her hands in comic distress, and Eleanor looked gravely at her doll as if there were danger in that direction.

"Never mind," said her Aunt Dora; "she will not take it, I am sure. Now we will go down to dinner, if you are ready, and to-morrow I know the first person you will want to see."

"Florence?"

Aunt Dora nodded yes. "She is to come over to luncheon and the next day we will go out to do our Christmas shopping."

"Oh!" Eleanor was delighted, and she skipped downstairs by her aunt's side, looking very unlike the forlorn little figure waiting on the roadside for the butterman.

After dinner her uncle played dominoes with her and then her aunt took her upstairs and read a lovely fairy tale to her, and after she was snugly tucked in bed she had to have many good-night kisses before she was satisfied.

_CHAPTER VIII_

_Shopping_

Two such happy little girls they were who met the next morning; and for the first fifteen minutes they talked and laughed so hard that they nearly whooped themselves speechless for the rest of the day to make up for it, and when Eleanor, with very red weeping eyes and a puffed face found breath her first words were, "Isn't it perfectly splendid that I have the whooping-cough, too?"

And Florence, between whoops, spluttered, "Splendid."

"This is the first time I ever knew it to be cause for congratulation," said Aunt Dora laughing. "Now, this is market day, so, I am going to leave you to your own devices. I may be back before luncheon, and I may not. Meantime, make yourselves perfectly at home. You can play in the library or in Rock's room or anywhere, but in the parlor." Then she left them.

"You must see my lovely new Ada; she is a darling. Aunt Dora gave her to me, and she is such a comfort," said Eleanor. "I brought Celestine too."

"And I brought Rubina," said Florence; "she has a new hat."

"I think we'd better play in the library," said Eleanor. "It has such a nice bay window and we can have that for one house and the place over by the mantel for the other house. It is so perfectly lovely to see you again, Florence." And they, forthwith, proceeded to establish themselves for a morning's play, chattering as fast as their tongues could run, so that lunch time came before they were aware of it, and then, after all, Aunt Dora did not come home, but sent some dainties from the market and with their dolls they had luncheon at a small table in the library.

"Isn't it fine to have Rubina and Celestine together again?" said Florence. "Did Bubbles take Floridy Alabamy away with her? Poor Bubbles, I do hope your uncle will find her."

"I hope so too," returned Eleanor with a sigh. "Yes, she took her doll, but she is such a forlorn looking creature; that horrid Donald got hold of her one day and pretended she was a witch and must be burned at the stake. Bubbles found it out just in time to save her, but her hair was singed off, and she has to wear a cap all the time."

"Aren't boys horrid?" said Florence in a disgusted tone.

"Some boys," returned Eleanor; "Rock isn't."

"No, he isn't, but Dimple, I should think you would be glad to leave that Cousin Ellen family. Sister says she doesn't think that relations are a bit nice."

"Why, Florence, we are relations."

"Yes, I know. I don't suppose she means that none of them are nice. I think she means that they are so likely to think they can pick you to pieces and find fault with you just because they are relations. Most of mine are that way. You know Cousin Ellen is my mamma's cousin, too, and I never did like to see her when she used to come to our house."

"Oh, well," said Eleanor with a satisfied sigh, "we don't have to think about her any more."

Nevertheless, she did much thinking on account of Cousin Ellen and her family, that very evening. Just after dinner her Aunt Dora said: "We must make out our shopping lists, Dimple, for we are going to start out early to-morrow."

"Let me see your purse, Dimple," said Uncle Heath, looking up from his evening paper.

Eleanor obediently went upstairs and brought down her little netted purse; it had in it one dollar and two quarters.

"How many Christmas gifts do you expect this to buy?" asked Uncle Heath smiling.

"Why, let me see;" Eleanor began to count on her fingers; "mamma, one, and papa, two; you and Aunt Dora and Rock and Florence and Bubbles, I should like to get Bubbles a new doll, and I do want so much to send just a little something to Mrs. Snyder. Then I should like something for Miss Reese and I always give Sylvy a present. How many does that make? Ten, I believe."

Her uncle chinked her coins in his hand, and looked at his wife with a smile. "Then, you will have just fifteen cents apiece. I'm afraid you cannot buy very magnificent things with that amount."

"And how about your cousins, the Murdochs?" asked Mrs. Dallas quietly. "They will have no papa to buy them gifts this year, and I am afraid it will be rather a sad Christmas for them." Eleanor's speaking face clouded, and she gave a long sigh, before she said, "I don't love them very much, Aunt Dora, but--Uncle Heath, must I give them Christmas gifts? That would make five more, you know, and--no, I don't love them enough."

"Suppose, instead of being merely ill and away from you, your papa should be gone from this earth, and that, in consequence, the lovely Christmas you always have had should be a very sad one this year."

"Yes, I know," replied Eleanor thoughtfully, "but I'd have you and Uncle Heath and Aunt Nellie and all of them to give me Christmas gifts."

Her uncle laughed. "Her wounds are too recent for her to be worked upon in any such way, Dora. How much money did you say you had in your purse, Dimple?"

"A silver dollar and two quarters."

Her uncle handed the small purse back to her. "Look again; I'm afraid you don't know how to count."

Eleanor emptied the purse into her lap, and lo! instead of only one dollar there were five. She gave a scream of delight. "Oh, Uncle Heath, how dear you are. Do you truly mean this all for me?"

"What a question. What is in your purse is yours, isn't it? I told you that you didn't know how to count." And this was all the satisfaction she could get from him, although there was no doubt that Uncle Heath had slipped in the extra dollars.

"Now, I can get a doll for Bubbles, for we must find her," she said. "Now I shall have fifty cents instead of fifteen; no, I shall have more than that." She fingered the money absently. "Aunt Dora," she said after a pause, "I will get something for Cousin Ellen and all of them. To be sure they were not very nice to me, but I said hateful things, too, and I'd feel better about it if I were to send them something. I could spend twenty-five cents on each of them, you know, and, even then, I'd have more than I thought I should have for every one else."

Her Aunt Dora smiled. "What did I tell you, Heath? Well, dear, I think that will be a very good plan, and I am sure that we can find some very pretty little gifts to-morrow, perhaps for even less than twenty-five cents. Now, I tell you what I should do: I should spend the most, as you ought to do, upon your father and mother, and then get Bubbles her doll. After that we can spend the rest of the money upon the remaining persons."

This suited Eleanor exactly, and she said so. But just at this moment came a ring at the door and a telegram was handed to Mr. Dallas. He read it and looked up brightly at Eleanor. "Bubbles is found," he said; "she is at the hospital from which I have just received this telegram. I left word at each one of them that I was to be informed if a child of her description should come in. It seems she is not in a very bad state, but has a broken arm."

"Oh," Eleanor clasped her hands, "dear Uncle Heath, can we go get her right away?"

"Why, no, I'm afraid not."

Eleanor looked disappointed. "Why not?"

"First, because it is after visiting hours, and second, because a little girl with the whooping-cough would hardly be admitted into the ward of a hospital."

"Oh, I forgot that."

"She will be well taken care of, dear," said Aunt Dora. "I am very glad she is in so safe a place. To-morrow, before we do any of our shopping, we will stop at the hospital and learn how she is. It is much better to allow her to remain there till she is able to be moved safely, than to try to take her away now. You know we cannot tell yet just how she may be."

Eleanor agreed that it was best to wait. "But I hope she will be well by Christmas," she said.

As it proved, Bubbles was not in so desperately bad a condition. She had, indeed, been with the gipsies, some of whom she met as she was trudging along toward Sylvy's, after having missed seeing Mr. Snyder. The bright wagons and gay dresses attracted her and she lingered by the way to watch this troupe of wandering people. One of the men was training a restive young horse which came dashing down the road, and as Bubbles tried to get out of the way, she was struck by another horse which had become excited and had broken loose. A broken arm and some bruises were the result for Bubbles. It was at first feared that she might be injured internally, but after a week's nursing, it was found that she was not, and a portion of the encampment having been started on ahead, Bubbles was sent with them that she might sooner reach the city and be placed in a hospital where she could receive attention and communicate with her friends. She had sent word by one of the gipsy boys to Sylvy of her whereabouts but the message failed of delivery.

The two little girls waiting outside in the carriage while Mrs. Dallas made her call, greeted her eagerly, when she came out, and listened with the greatest interest to the report, asking all manner of questions. "Wasn't she glad to see you? Is she very sick? What is the matter besides the broken arm? Did the gipsies take her there? How long has she got to stay?" The questions came tumbling over one another till Mrs. Dallas declared she did not know which to answer.

"One at a time," she said laughing. "She was perfectly delighted to see me, poor little soul; she looks quite weak and miserable but she will have every care. I saw the head nurse, and she told me that Bubbles is in no danger. She has a broken arm and had a big lump on her head which made her delirious for several days. The gipsies were very kind to her and took her to the hospital. She will probably be out in a couple of weeks."

"By Christmas?" Eleanor asked.

"Yes, I hope so, at least, if she improves as they think she will. She sent her love to you and Florence, and she said that one of the gipsy children had stolen her doll, so we shall get her one to-day, instead of waiting to give it to her at Christmas. I think she would rather have that than anything else. She is perfectly content, now that she knows we are near her, and that she is to come to our house as soon as she is able. I promised that I would go to see her as often as I could."

Eleanor gave a deep sigh. "I'm so thankful," she said. "Poor little Bubbles." The child was not looking very bright, and Mrs. Dallas concluded that the shopping expedition should be very short that day.

They did their shopping in rather a funny way, for Aunt Dora thought it was not best for them to go into the shops themselves, and so, she selected the articles and brought them out to the carriage that Eleanor might approve them before they were sent home. Of course in every case she was entirely satisfied, and when they came to Florence's present that young person turned her head and shut her eyes tight that she might not get even a glimpse of the game that Aunt Dora had selected. But when it came to the present for Aunt Dora here was a quandary, till Aunt Dora suggested that they should stop before the shop where the purchase was to be made and she would send a salesman out to wait upon them while she went on to another shop where they could call for her. This plan worked very well and a pretty little candlestick for her writing desk was carefully placed among the packages in the small basket which was provided for the articles which they were to take home themselves.

The first purchase was the doll for Bubbles, and Florence suggested that it should be as much like Eleanor as possible, therefore, a fair creature with light flowing locks and blue eyes was chosen.

For her father, "a book which will make him laugh," Eleanor decided upon. "And for my blessed mamma something very lovely," and after looking at many things, a very dainty, fluffy tie was chosen because Aunt Dora said it would be easy to send it by mail. The rest of the purchases were put off till another time, and the next morning after the doll had been left at the hospital for Bubbles they continued their shopping, getting a game for Rock, a cup and saucer for Uncle Heath, a bright necktie for Sylvy, a pretty booklet for Miss Reese, and a comical little match-safe for Mrs. Snyder, "so she will think of me every time she lights her lamp," Eleanor said. After this, the Murdoch family had to be disposed of, and this took the rest of the morning, so that Eleanor returned home with an empty purse but with a well satisfied feeling at having provided for every one.

The next day was to be spent with Florence, and when Eleanor put her head on her pillow that night, although she was a very tired little girl she had before her a pleasant anticipation and no regrets. Her last thought before going to sleep was, "I am glad I got something for Cousin Ellen and the children," and she fell asleep at peace with the whole world.

When she awoke the next morning the ground was covered with snow and her aunt met her with: "I wonder if it is prudent to send the whooping-cough out of doors to-day. A fresh snow is liable to give fresh cold. Shall you be much disappointed, Dimple, if I ask you to stay at home to-day?"

"I did want to go so much," she said wistfully.

"I know you did, but although it is not very far to Florence's house, the cars will not take you there, and even if they did, I should not want you to go that way. You would best stay at home, I think, and we can make a new dress and a hat for Bubbles' doll."

At this Eleanor's face brightened and when Uncle Heath volunteered to stop at Mr. Graham's and ask if Florence could come and spend the day with Eleanor, if an opportunity occurred to send her around, Eleanor was quite satisfied. "I am glad Aunt Nellie has a carriage," she said, "for Florence will be so much more likely to come. I think it was very nice for Aunt Nell to let us go shopping in the carriage, for I couldn't have gone at all any other way."

About noon the jingle of sleigh-bells announced the approach of a sleigh, and looking out of the window there Eleanor saw Florence and her eldest sister. Florence was seen to hop out and then the sleigh drove off. Eleanor ran down into the hall to greet her cousin. "Hurry, Florence," she said. "I am so glad you came. We are dressing Bubbles' doll, at least, we are making a new dress for her, and a hat and coat. Come right upstairs."

"I can stay till three o'clock," Florence told her, "and then mamma will stop for me, and she wants you to go for a little ride in the sleigh. Should you like to?"

"Of course," Eleanor answered. "I was just wishing that I could go when I heard your bells jingling. Dr. Sullivan sometimes takes me with him at home, but not very often."

"We don't often have sleighing," returned Florence. "At least, not to last very long. I am glad we have some while you are here. Oh, Dimple, there are so many mysteries at home; I can hardly wait till Christmas. We are going to have a tree. Are you?"

"Yes, Aunt Dora says she is glad to have the excuse to have one; it seems so much more Christmassy."

They spent the next hour or two in helping to make the doll clothes, or, at least, they thought they were helping, though it must be confessed that Aunt Dora did most of the work. At three o'clock the sleigh came jingling up, and they had a fine drive out through the park and Eleanor came home with more color in her cheeks than they had worn for some weeks.

_CHAPTER IX_

_At Christmas_

The next day Eleanor was able to go over to her Aunt Nellie's, for the sun was shining brightly, and the pavements were cleared of snow. Florence and her other cousins greeted her warmly. They were all much excited over the approach of Christmas, and Eleanor was piloted up to the nursery, "Because," said Florence, "there is so much going on downstairs, and some of sister's friends will be down in our room. Mamma has gone out, but she will be back directly." And they proceeded to establish themselves and set to work industriously to finish some embroidery which each had to have ready for Christmas. They had hardly begun to work, however, when Mrs. Graham appeared, and Eleanor scurried her bit of linen out of sight, but Florence arose to the occasion with: "Mamma, Dimple and I have been talking about the Christmas party that we always have. We were wondering how we could manage it this year when we all have the whooping-cough. We have a lovely plan, though."

"Have you?" said her mother, sitting down and drawing off her gloves. "Let us hear it."

"Why," answered Florence, looking very wise as she threaded her needle, "we think it would be nice to have a whooping party."

Her mother laughed. "That's a queer sort of party. Do you mean to play Indian?"

"No, I mean we can have all the little girls and boys that are having the whooping-cough and that can't go to school or anywhere."

"And how many do you suppose that will be?"

"I don't know. I know four or five. May we have it, mamma?"

"Why, I don't know. I shall have to think about it. I suppose I should have to furnish lozenges and cough syrup for refreshments."

Florence laughed; it struck her as a very funny sort of refreshment, but she knew her mother was joking, although she added quite seriously, "We should have to be careful not to have anything very rich, you know. I think, after all, you'd best think of something else, for, a room full of children whooping and choking one after another, would be rather an unpleasant scene. Don't you think something else would be more amusing? You and Dimple put your thinking-caps on and we'll see what can be done to amuse you during the holidays."