The Tangled Threads Part 29

murmured Mrs. Wentworth happily.

In the orphan asylum that same evening there was even greater excitement. Mrs. Wentworth's handwriting was not of the clearest, and her request for "two" children had been read as "ten"; and since the asylum--which was only a small branch of a much larger inst.i.tution--had recently been depleted until it contained but five children, the matron was sorely perplexed to know just how to fill so generous an order. It ended in her writing an apologetic note to Mrs. Wentworth and dispatching it the next morning by the hand of the eldest girl, Tilly, who was placed at the head of four other jubilant children, brushed, scrubbed, and admonished into a state of immaculate primness.

At half-past nine o'clock the driver of the big carry-all set five squirming children on to their feet before the front door at "Meadowbrook," and rang the bell.

"Here you are," he called gayly, as Hannah opened the door. "I've washed my hands of 'em--now they're yours!" And he drove briskly out of the yard.

Hannah neither moved nor spoke. She simply stared.

"Here's a note," began Tilly, advancing shyly, "for Mis' Wentworth."

Mechanically Hannah took the note and, scarcely realizing what she was doing, threw open the door of the parlor--that parlor which was sacred to funerals, weddings, and the minister's calls.

The children filed in slowly and deposited themselves with some skill upon the slippery haircloth chairs and sofa. Hannah, still dazed, went upstairs to her mistress.

"From the asylum, ma'am," she said faintly, holding out the note.

Mrs. Wentworth's eyes shone.

"Oh, the children! Where are they, Hannah?"

"In the parlor, ma'am."

"The parlor? Why, Hannah, the parlor is no place for those two children!" Mrs. Wentworth started toward the door.

Hannah coughed and uptilted her chin.

"They ain't two, ma'am. There's as much as half a dozen of 'em."

"What!"

"There is, ma'am."

"Why, Hannah, what--" The lady tore open the note with shaking fingers, and read:

_My dear Madam_: You very generously asked for ten children, but I hope you will pardon me for sending only five. That is all we have with us now, owing to several recent adoptions from our ranks--you know we are never very large, being only a branch of the Hollingsworth Asylum. The children were so crazy, though, at the idea of a trip to the country, that I am sure each child will have fun enough--and make noise enough, also, I fear--for two, so in the end you may think you've got your ten children, after all. You must be fond of children to be willing to give so many a two-weeks' vacation, but you don't know what a lot of good you are doing. If you could have seen the children when I read them your note, you would have been well repaid for all your trouble.

I wish there were more like you in the world. Yours respectfully,

AMANDA HIGGINS.

"Hannah," faltered Mrs. Wentworth, dropping into her chair, "they did n't read my note right. They--they've actually sent us the whole asylum!"

"Well, it looks like it--downstairs," returned Hannah grimly.

"Sure enough, they _are_ downstairs, and I must go to them," murmured Mrs. Wentworth, rising irresolutely to her feet. "I--I 'll go down.

I'll have to send all but two home, of course," she finished, as she left the room.

Downstairs she confronted five pairs of eyes s.h.i.+ning out at her from the gloom.

"Good-morning, children," she began, trying to steady her voice.

"There is--er--I--well--" She stopped helplessly, and a small girl slid to the floor from her perch on the sofa and looked longingly toward the hall.

"Please, ma'am, there's a kitty out there; may I get it?" she asked timidly.

"Please, have you got a dog, too?" piped up a boy's voice.

"An' chickens an' little pigs? They said you had!" interposed a brown-eyed girl from the corner.

"An' there's hammocks an' swings, maybe," broke in Tilly; "an' please, ma'am, may n't we go outdoors and begin right away? Two weeks is an awful short time, you know, for all we want to do," she finished earnestly.

Four pairs of feet came down to the floor with a thump and eight small boots danced a tattoo of impatience on the parlor carpet--the small girl was already out in the hall and on her knees to the cat.

"Why, yes,--that is--you see, there was a mistake; I--" Mrs. Wentworth stopped suddenly, for as soon as the "yes" had left her lips the children had fled like sheep.

She stepped to the front door and looked out.

A boy was turning somersaults on the gra.s.s. Three girls had started a game of tag. Watching all this with eager eyes was a boy of eight, one foot tightly bound into an iron brace. It was on this child that Mrs.

Wentworth's eyes lingered the longest.

"Poor little fellow! Well, he shall be one of the two," she murmured, as she hurried out to Hannah.

"When they going, ma'am?" began Hannah, with an a.s.surance born of long service.

"I--I haven't told them; I--well, I waited for Mr. Wentworth,"

confessed her mistress hastily. Then, with some dignity: "They can just as well have to-day outdoors, anyway."

It was nearly noon when Mr. Wentworth drove into the yard, gave his horse into the care of Bill, the man-of-all-work, and hurried into the house.

"Mary, Mary--where are you?" he called sharply. Never before had James Wentworth broken the serene calm of his home with a voice like that.

"Yes, dear, I 'm here--in the dining-room."

Mrs. Wentworth's cheeks were flushed, her hair was disordered, and her neck-bow was untied; but she was smiling happily as she hovered over a large table laden with good things and set for six.

"You can sit down with them, James," she exclaimed; "I'm going to help Hannah serve them."

"Mary, what in the world does this mean? The yard is overrun with screaming children! Have they sent us the whole asylum?" he demanded.

Mrs. Wentworth laughed hysterically.

"That's exactly what they have done, dear. They took my 'two' for a 'ten,' and--and they did the best they could to supply my wants!"

"Well, but--why don't you send them home? We can't--"

"Yes, yes; I know, dear," interrupted the woman hastily, the happy look gone from her eyes. "After dinner I am--that is, you may send all but two home. I thought I 'd let them play awhile."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the man; "send them home?--I should think so!" he muttered, as his wife went to call the children to dinner.