Dandelion Cottage/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII
The Coming Of The Milligans
TO the moment of Grandma Pike's departure, all their neighbours had been so pleasant that the girls were deceived into thinking that neighbours were never anything but pleasant. Although they felt not the slightest misgiving as to their future neighbours, they had hated to lose dear old Grandma Pike, who had always been as good to them as if she had really been their grandmother, and whose parting gifts, sundry odds and ends of dishes, old magazines and broken parcels of provisions, gave them occupation for many delightful days. In spite of the lasting pleasure of this unexpected donation, however, they could not help feeling that, with Mr. Black away, Miss Blossom gone, Mrs. Pike living in another town and only disabled Mrs. Crane left, they were losing friends with alarming rapidity. Grief for the departed, however, did not prevent their taking an active interest in the persons that were to occupy the house next door, which Mrs. Pike's departure had left vacant.
"I wonder," said Marjory, pulling the curtain back to get a better view of the empty house, "what the new people will be like. It's exciting, isn't it, to have something happening in this quiet neighbourhood? What did Grandma Pike say the name was?"
"Milligan," replied Bettie.
"Kind of nice name, isn't it?" asked Jean.
"Yes," agreed Mabel, brightening suddenly. "I made up a long, long rhyme about it last night before I went to sleep. Want to hear it?"
"Of course."
"This one really rhymes," explained Mabel, importantly. Her verses sometimes lacked that desirable quality so when they did rhyme Mabel always liked to mention it. "Here it is:
As soon as a man named Milligan
Got well he always fell ill again—ill again—ill
Dear me, I can't remember how it went. There was a lot more but I've forgotten the rest."
"It's a great pity," said Marjory, drily, "that you didn't forget all of it, because if there's really a Mr. Milligan, and I ever see him, I'll think of that rhyme and I won't be able to keep my face straight"
"We must be very polite to the Milligans," said considerate Bettie, "and call on them as soon as they come. Mother always calls on new people; she says it makes folks feel more comfortable to be welcomed into the neighbourhood."
"Mrs. Crane does it too—we're the nearest, perhaps we ought to be the first."
"I think," suggested Jean, considerately, "we'd better wait until they're nicely settled; they might not like visitors too soon—you know we didn't."
"They're going to move in to-day," said Mabel. "Goodness! I wish they'd hurry and come; I'm so excited that I keep dusting the same shelf over and over again—I'm just wild to see them."
It was sweeping-day at the cottage when the Milligans' furniture began to arrive, but it looked very much as if the sweeping would last for at least two days because the girls were unable to get very far away from the windows that faced west. These were the bedroom windows, and, as there were only two of them, there were usually two heads at each window.
"There comes the first load," announced Marjory, at last. "There's a high-chair on the very top, so there must be a baby."
"I'm so glad," said Bettie. "I just love a baby."
Two men unpacked the Milligans' furniture in the Milligans' front yard, and each load seemed more interesting than the last. It was such fun to guess what the big, clumsy parcels contained, particularly when the contents proved to be quite different from what the girls expected.
"Somehow, I don't think they're going to be very nice people," said Mabel, "I b'lieve we're going to be disappointed in 'em.
"Why, Mabel," objected Jean, "we don't know a thing about them yet."
"Yes, I do too. Their things—look—they don't look ladylike."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Marjory, "you're so funny."
"Perhaps," offered Jean, "the Milligans are poor and the children have spoiled things."
"No," insisted Mabel, "they've got some of the newest and shiningest furniture I ever saw, but I b'lieve it's imitation."
"Oh, Mabel," laughed Jean, "I hope you won't watch the loads when I move. For a girl that's slept for three weeks on an imitation pillow, you're pretty critical."
Presently the Milligans themselves arrived. Mabel happened to be counting the buds on the poppy plants when they came.
"Girls!" she cried, rushing into the cottage with the news, "They've come. I saw them all. There's a Mr. Milligan, a Mrs. Milligan, a girl, a boy, a baby and a dog. The girl's the oldest. She's just about my size—I mean height—and she has straight, light hair. The baby walks and none of them are so very good-lookmg.
It did not take the newcomers long to discover that their next-door neighbours were four little girls. Mrs. Milligan found it out that very afternoon when she went to the back door to borrow tea. Bettie explained, very politely, that Dandelion Cottage was only a playhouse, and that their tea-caddy contained nothing but glass beads. When Mrs. Milligan returned to her own house, she told her own family about it.
"You might as well run over and play with them, Laura," she said. "Take the baby with you, too. He's a dreadful nuisance under my feet. That'll be a real nice place for you both to play all summer."
The girls received their visitors pleasantly; almost, indeed, with enthusiasm; but after a very few moments, they began to eye the baby with apprehension. He refused to make friends with them but wandered about rather lawlessly and handled their treasures roughly. Laura paid no attention to him but talked to the girls. She seemed a bright girl and not at all bashful, and she used a great many slang phrases that sounded new, and it must be confessed, rather attractive to the girls.
"Oh land, yes," she said, "we came here from Chicago where we had all kinds of money, and clothes to burn—we lived in a beautiful flat. Pa just came here to oblige Mr. Williams—he's going to clerk in Williams's store. Come over and see me—we'll be real friendly and have lots of good times together—I can put you up to lots of dodges. Say, this is a dandy place to play in—I'm coming over often."
Jean looked in silence at Bettie, Bettie at Mabel and Mabel at Marjory. Surely such an outburst of cordiality deserved a fitting response, but no one seemed to be able to make it.
"Do," said Jean, finally, but rather feebly, "we'd be pleased to have you."