Chapter 6

WHAT FLOSSIE DID

In the great hall, at the Barnet house, the butler stood puzzling over the letters which the postman had left.

He dared not meddle with them, but he paused for a moment to study them as they lay upon his salver, while he wondered if the handwriting upon either envelope were in the least familiar.

The little French maid, peering over the baluster, laughed softly.

"M'sieur is curious, but he should not delay. The lettairs, it may be, of importance are, and the madam already waiting is."

With a soft, yet merry laugh, the maid returned to dress her mistress's hair, and the burly butler stalked up the stairway, angry that Marie should have seen him studying the letters, and annoyed by her saucy laugh. "That girl is always 'round," he muttered.

It was Saturday morning, and although it was October, it was as warm as a June day.

Mrs. Barnet was in the hands of the French maid, and could not be disturbed while her hair was being dressed.

Flossie wondered what she could find to play with.

She wished that Saturday had been a schoolday.

Usually she found the baby amusing, but Uncle Harry's little daughter was out for an airing.

The kitten skurried down the hall and Flossie caught her, and ran off to the music-room. She managed to clamber up on to the stool with pussy in her arms, and reached for the music, which she opened.

"Now that's a _very_ nice song, kitty," she said, "but you needn't sing it; you can just practise the 'comfrement. Now one, two, three, begin!"

She held the kitten's paws, and forced them to press the keys.

"Me-u! Me-u!" squeaked wee pussy.

"You going to sing and play, too? Why, that's fine," said Flossie, "only you don't get the tune right."

"Me-u! Me-u!" wailed the white kitten.

"Now pussy darling, you're real sweet to _try_, but you don't sing the tune right; it didn't sound like _that_ when Uncle Harry sang it last night. We'll sing it together, and maybe you'll learn it. Put your left paw on _do_, and your right paw on _mi_; now sing."

What a droll duet it was! Franz Abt's beautiful song was never before thus rendered.

"I love thee, dearest, thee alone, Love thee, and only thee!"

sang Flossie, while little pussy, regardless of time or sentiment, sang "me-u! me-_ow_! me-u! _me-u_!"

"Our voices don't _har-mer-lize_, pussy, I know they don't. You'll just have to practise alone. That's what Mollie Merton's mamma said last night when Uncle Harry and Aunt Vera sang together. She said: 'Oh, how beautifully their voices _har-mer-lize_.' Now that's just what our voices _don't_ do, so I'll put you right on to the keys, and you can practise the _'comfrement_ alone."

Flossie ran to the window to see if any of her playmates were in sight, while the kitten, left to amuse herself, walked slowly across the keyboard, and sat down upon the lower bass notes.

The French maid paused in the doorway.

"Ah, it is the petite beast that the bad music makes. I will the feline terrible remove, before she more mischief does do."

"Don't take the kitten out, Marie," cried Flossie, "I'm making her practise her lesson."

"Eh, bien! In this great mansion where all do so much learning have, even the petite cat must an education get! What more astounding could one behold?"

"I want to make her learn the song Uncle Harry sang last night. Did you hear him sing, Marie? Wasn't his voice sweet?"

"Ah, well did I the music hear. The sweet sounds did up the stairway float, and I did say: 'He is one beau gallant! His voice the rock would melt! Many hearts he must broken have before he loved Madame Vera who now his wife is.'"

"I don't know what you mean, Marie," Flossie said, "but I do know I _love_ him, and I love to hear him sing."

"Oh, I could listen the day and the night when he music makes," the maid replied, and Flossie was satisfied.

A moment later Mollie, in great excitement, ran over to call for Flossie.

"Oh, do you know, Dorothy's mamma told my mamma that there's to be a great party at the stone house, and all of Dorothy's friends are to be invited. Now aren't you glad I came over to tell you?"

"When is it to be? I guess I am glad, Mollie Merton, and so will everybody be. When is the party to be?" she repeated, her blue eyes shining, and her little feet restlessly dancing.

"I don't know just when, but I guess it's pretty soon, and it's to be different from any party we ever went to. I don't know just _how_ different; that part is a secret, but we are to know as soon as the invitations are ready."

"Oh, we _'most_ can't wait," said Flossie.

Of course the delightful news travelled, and by Monday morning every child in town knew that there was to be a grand party at the great stone house, but no one could find out just what sort of party it was to be. Even Dorothy could not enlighten them. "It's to be fine," she said, "and different from any party I ever had, but mamma doesn't wish me to tell anything about it."

"Won't she let you tell Nancy?" questioned Katie Dean.

"Nancy knows _now_!" declared Reginald; "just look at her!"

Indeed Nancy's dark eyes were merry, and her voice rippled with laughter, as she said:

"I _do_ know, and I'm going to keep the secret, but it's the hardest one I ever tried to keep."

At recess they walked arm-in-arm, talking of the party instead of playing games. They were chattering so gaily that they heard no one approach, and when suddenly Patricia Lavine peeped over the wall, they were startled, and wondered how she could have appeared without any one having seen her coming.

"Why, Patricia! Where'd you come from?" said Mollie.

"Oh, I was walking along and came over because I heard you talking. Whose party is it going to be?" she asked.

"Dorothy is to have the party," said Jeanette, "but why aren't you in school?"

"Why aren't _you_?" Patricia asked with a saucy laugh.

"It's recess time at _our_ school," said Nina.

"Well, it's recess time at _ours_, too," Patricia replied.

"But you're a long way from your school," Reginald said.

"Am I?" queried Patricia, "well, I don't have to go to school every single day, as _some_ folks do," she retorted.

"I know 'most all the tables now, and I know a little geog-er-fry, and 'most half of the history, 'cause some of it I learned when I was in N' York. We had a el'gant school there, and ma says I learned so much that I needn't go to school every day now."

Little Flossie looked quite impressed, but the older girls were not so sure that Patricia had gained so much knowledge.

No one spoke, and Patricia thought that they were all much surprised at what she had said.

"There's to be visitors at our school to-day, and teacher said she was going to let them ask questions," she continued.

"Guess you stayed away so as not to tell all you know," said Reginald. Katie nudged him sharply, but he only twitched away, laughing because Patricia looked angry.

The little silver bell tinkled, and they turned to enter the cottage.

"Good-by," they called to Patricia, who stood at the gate.

"Good-by," she replied, then looking over her shoulder, she said:

"I'm glad I don't have to go to private school; it's too stupid."

"The horrid, rude girl," whispered Nina Earl, but Arabella surprised them all by saying:

"I think I'd like that Patricia What's-her-name; she isn't like everybody else."

Reginald heard what Arabella said, and in a loud whisper informed her that he wouldn't go to school if _all_ the girls were like Patricia.

Arabella would have answered him sharply, but they were entering the schoolroom, so she was obliged to be silent.

Later, when they were asked to write upon the little blackboard, Arabella looked for a chance to tease Reginald.

"If he does anything that I can laugh at, I'll laugh till he's mad as a hornet," she whispered.

It happened that Reginald was the first to go to the board.

Aunt Charlotte asked for a sentence which should contain but five words, and yet tell a bit of news.

Every hand was raised.

Dorothy intended to write: "Nancy is a true friend," while Nancy thought that this would be interesting: "Dorothy will have a party," but Reginald felt sure that he had thought of the smartest sentence, and his face beamed with delight when he was told that he might write it.

He glanced toward Arabella as he strutted to the blackboard, and boldly he wrote:

"Phido has a new collar."

It was funny, and Reginald wondered why even Aunt Charlotte looked amused. Every one knew Fido, and only that morning the little dog had followed Reginald and Katie half-way to school, the bell on his new collar tinkling all the way.

That Reginald should have spelled the name "_Phido_" made them laugh, but Arabella was not contented with laughing; she fairly shouted.

"Well, I don't care if you do laugh," he said, his eyes blazing as he looked at her; "you spell photo, just _p-h-o_, and why can't Fido be spelt _P-h-i_?"

When the room was again quiet Aunt Charlotte told Reginald and Arabella to remain for a few moments after school.

When the other pupils had gone, Aunt Charlotte turned toward the two who still kept their seats, and very gently she told Arabella how rude it was to laugh at another's error, and how equally rude for Reginald to reply in so saucy a manner.

"A little girl should be a little lady," she said, "and a small boy should surely be a little gentleman."

Then Reginald spoke.

Looking straight into Arabella's eyes, he said:

"I guess I'm a gentleman, so I'll 'pol'gize; if I was just a boy I _wouldn't_, though." Arabella was fully equal to a reply.

"I'm as much a lady as you are a gentleman, so I'll say I oughtn't to have laughed, but I _won't_ say I'm sorry."

It was late afternoon, and Flossie, on the piazza, waved her hand to her playmates as they ran down the walk to the gate.

They had played delightful games, they had talked of the fine party which they would soon enjoy, they had guessed and guessed what sort of party it was to be, and Dorothy, who knew all about it, had laughed merrily because their countless guesses were nowhere near right.

"I wish playmates didn't ever have to go home," said Flossie, as she ran into the house.

There was no one in the hall save the baby, who sat in her carriage. The maid had just brought her in from a long ride, and had left her for a moment while she chatted with the butler and the cook. Flossie loved the baby, and she ran to the carriage to kiss the sunny little face that smiled at her.

"Oh, you lovely, lovely baby," she cried, "are you glad to see me?"

For answer the little one cooed sweetly, and snatched at Flossie's curling hair.

"Mustn't pull so hard, baby," pleaded Flossie, and just at that moment the maid returned, and rescued Flossie's ringlets from the little dimpled hands.

"You give her to me," said Flossie.

"I'll sit on this rug and hold her. Uncle Harry said I could take this baby any time I want to, and I want to now."

The maid waited for no urging. Here was a chance for a few more moments of gossip. If Miss Flossie wished to take care of the baby, why not permit her to? Her Uncle Harry had given his permission, and as it was his baby, who could object?

For a few moments Flossie and the baby played upon the great hall rug. The bright-colored ball which Flossie had taken from her pocket was a pretty plaything, and the baby crowed with delight.

The butler and the maids were in the butler's pantry at the rear of the hall, but while their voices could be plainly heard, Flossie noticed nothing which they said until the maid spoke of the baby.

"She ees well, the petite belle, but upon her cheek the, what ees eet the doctaire did say?"

"Sure, Marie, 'tis a ould-fashioned rash, an' manny's the toime Oive seen ut on a babby's face, an' whoile the docthor makes a fuss about it, it's just nothin' at all, at all," responded Bridget.

"I'm thinkin' it don't pay to let it go an' not have the doctor see about it," growled the butler in a deep bass voice.

"An' ain't they seein' about it wid all their eyes, the ould docthor a-peekin' at the swate little thing t'rough his goggles, an' puttin' a wee bit t'ermom'ter into her mouth what for I do' 'no' unless 'tis ter foind out if it's near toime fer her ter be a-talkin'."

"He's very ugly, le m'sieur doctaire; if he was fine to behold it would be well. And what said he of the child? That at home she could not remain? If they do away take her M'sieur Harry will weep his fine eyes out."

"Oh, you little Frenchie!" exclaimed the butler with a jolly laugh, "you get things mixed. If it's nothing but a rash, as Bridget says, she'll stay here, but if it's measles she'll be hurried off up-stairs, and--"

"An' be _quarantained_, Oim tould," interrupted Bridget.

"Oh, Breejhay, what _ees_ that?" cried the little French maid, and Flossie waited to hear no more.

_Quarantined_! Oh, what a big word, and what _did_ it mean? Who was going to do _that_ to dear Uncle Harry's baby?

_No_ one! She would not let them!

Quickly she gathered the wee mite in her arms, wrapped the warm little cloak around her, and walking softly to the door, slipped out, the baby nestled close in her arms.

Across the lawn she trudged, past the summer-house, and on to the little clump of trees and shrubs which the children called the grove.

In a little nook between the tall hedge and the shrubbery she sat down, and took the baby on her lap. Fortunately it had no idea of crying; she loved Flossie, and she cooed contentedly.

And now the shadows were long, and the light breeze, growing stronger, swept in little chilly gusts across the treetops, and searching lower, tossed the small shrubs as if trying to discover Flossie's hiding-place.

She drew the baby's cloak closer around it, and bending lower, kissed it, and whispered lovingly:

"You're all safe with me, for I won't let that old doctor _quantine_ you. You're Uncle Harry's own baby, and I won't let anybody hurt you."