Part 3 (2/2)
Chicken Little flung herself breathless upon the gra.s.s and explained between gasps.
”If it wasn't for that horrid practicing!” she finished.
”Never mind,” said Katy, ”Gertie can be fixing the store and I'll start right in on a hat. It'll take a lot of work I tell you--we're going to charge ten cents a hat.”
Chicken Little started reluctantly back to the house and still more reluctantly settled down on the old green-velvet piano stool to practice. There was not much music in her soul, and sitting still at anything was torture. She squirmed even when she read, and her brother Frank said she got into sixty-nine different positions by actual count during the sermon one Sunday. He had made her a standing offer of ten cents whenever she could sit perfectly still for five minutes, but so far his money was safe.
The moon-faced clock on the opposite wall ticked monotonously and Chicken Little's small fingers thumped stiffly at the five-finger exercises while she painfully counted aloud, partly to get the time and partly for company.
At the end of ten minutes she looked up at the clock in despair--surely it must have stopped! But no, the big pendulum was swinging faithfully to and fro. She tried scales, then she went back to exercises. She squirmed and wriggled and counted the big white medallions in the crimson body-brussels carpet. These medallions were her especial admiration, for each was bordered with elaborate curlicues, and contained a gorgeous basket of woolen flowers, the like of which never bloomed in any garden, temperate or tropical. There were fifteen of these across the room and twenty-five lengthwise.
The lace curtains were floral, too. She occupied five minutes trying for the hundredth time to decide, whether a delicate lace bloom with the circ.u.mference of a holly-hock was intended for a lily or a rose. The old steel engraving of General Was.h.i.+ngton's household hanging over the piano helped on a few moments more. The colored servant back of the general's chair had a fascination for her even greater than Martha Was.h.i.+ngton's mob cap and lace mitts. But, alas, even with the aid of these diversions she had only worried through twenty-five minutes.
Then she had an inspiration. ”Grimm's Fairy Tales” lay on the sofa open face downward where she had left it half an hour before. She propped the book on the music rack and started in once more on the exercises. The exercises, however, refused to combine with reading--the discords were painful even to Jane's ears so she tried scales which worked like a charm. Mechanically her hands rippled up and down the keys while her fancy fluttered off after ”Snow White” and ”Rose Red.” And the big clock was so neglected that it was five minutes past the hour before she thought to look at it again.
”Finished your hour, Daughter? Did you practice faithfully?”
Chicken Little considered a moment before replying.
”I didn't play the exercises much,” she said doubtfully.
”Well, you did the scales very nicely.”
Again Chicken Little paused.
Her conscience was p.r.i.c.king. On the chair beside her mother was a glowing pile of odd ribbons and old artificial flowers and her mother's kindness suddenly made the child realize that the Grimm hadn't been quite fair--she did not like the feeling of not playing fair. She twisted the handle of the door trying to muster up courage to confess, but Mrs. Morton was in a hurry to finish her letters.
”Run along now. Here are some things for you and here's the dime. I am busy, dear.”
And Chicken Little feeling that the Fates had excused her, flew off joyfully to join the girls.
The fence corner was swept and garnished. An old lumber pile and several soap boxes had been pressed into service for shelves and counters and were artistically covered with an old lace curtain. Gertie was just putting a vase of real flowers on a table as a finis.h.i.+ng touch, when Jane came up.
”Um-m, isn't that too sweet for anything, and see what I've got!”
”Look at this! It's most done,” Katy held up an adorable creation of white tulle and pink rosebuds which her nimble fingers had almost completed.
She dispatched Gertie and Chicken Little to Mrs. Smith's for more flowers while she trimmed away industriously. It was a very happy Sat.u.r.day. The fame of it spread throughout the neighborhood and the three little girls were kept busy snipping and fussing with the tiny headgear. Katy had natural style and taste and some of the little hats were really charming.
The boys dropped over once or twice to see what was going on. Finally, they were so fired by this business enterprise that they started a lemonade stand just outside the front gate, having painfully secured a capital of five lemons by dint of much coaxing of mothers and maids.
Their venture could hardly be called a success. They sold one gla.s.s for five cents, then Carol, who was always awkward, upset the whole pitcherful. The ice melted out of the second, and no customers appearing, the boys were drinking it up themselves, when Sherman gallantly proposed to treat the little girls. The supply was getting low by this time, but they carried over one rather skimpy and distressingly seedy gla.s.s to be divided among the three.
The young ladies were too grateful for this unexpected attention to be critical. Besides their exchequer was filling up beautifully.
”How much did you make? We've got thirty cents already,” said Katy.
”Gee, how'd you make such a lot?” Sherm looked impressed.
”Say, lend us a quarter, won't you?” urged Carol.
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