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CHAPTER XI
THE DUNNS

"Marjorie," said Mrs. Sherwood, one morning, "do you know where Mrs.

Dunn lives?"

"Yes, Grandma; down the river-road, toward the blacksmith's."

"Yes, that's right; and I wish you would go down there for me and carry a small basket. There isn't any one else I can send this morning and I have just heard that she is quite ill."

"They're awfully poor people, aren't they? Are you sending them something nice?"

"Yes; some food. Mrs. Dunn scalded her hands severely last night, and I fear she will not be able to work for several days. So if you will carry them these things for their dinner, I will try to get down there myself this afternoon."

"Of course I will, Grandma; I'm glad to help the poor people. May I ask

Molly to go with me?"

"Why, yes; I don't care. If there are two of you, you can carry more things. Run over after her, and I'll have the baskets ready by the time you get back."

With a hop and a skip, Marjorie took the shortcut across the fields to Molly's house. It was a beautiful summer morning, and Marjorie didn't stop more than half a dozen times, to watch the crows or the bees or the clouds or a hop-toad.

She captured Molly, and after waiting for that dishevelled young person to scramble into a clean frock, the two girls hopped and skipped back again.

Marjorie was somewhat inexperienced in the practical matters of charity, and looked with surprise at the large quantity of substantial viands.

"There is a large family of the Dunns," observed Grandma, "and they're all blessed with healthy appetites. These things won't go to waste."

"Are there children?" asked Marjorie.

"Yes, indeed, four of them. You must see how Mrs. Dunn is and find out if she's badly hurt. Ask her what she wants especially, and tell her I am coming this afternoon, and I'll carry it to her."

The girls trotted away with the well-filled baskets, and Grandma Sherwood looked after them a little uncertainly, as she saw how preoccupied they were in their own conversation, and remembered how careless Marjorie was, and how prone to mischief.

"Thim scalawags'll be afther havin' a picnic wid thim baskets," prophesied Eliza, as she too watched the children's departure.

Grandma Sherwood laughed. "I hardly think they'll do that," she said; "but they're liable to set down the baskets, and go hunting for wild flowers or something, and never think of their errand again."

But, on the contrary, the children were quite interested in their mission.

"Your grandma is an awful good woman," observed Molly.

"Yes, she is," agreed Marjorie; "it's lovely of her to send all these good things to poor people. It must be awful to be so poor that you don't have enough to eat!"

"Yes, but it must be lovely when the baskets come in."

"But they don't always come in," said Marjorie.

"They must," declared Molly, with an air of conviction; "if they didn't, the poor people would have nothing to eat, and then they would die; and you know yourself, we never hear of anybody dying of starvation around here."

"No; not around here, maybe. But in China they drop off by millions, just from starvation."

"Well, they wouldn't if your grandmother was there. She'd send baskets to every one of them."

"I believe she would," said Marjorie, laughing; "she'd manage it somehow."

By this time they had reached the Dunns' domain. At least they had come to a broken-down gate in a tumble-down fence, which Marjorie knew was the portal of their destination. In their endeavors to open the rickety gate the girls pushed it over, and nearly fell over, themselves.

But carefully holding their baskets they climbed over the pile of fallen pickets and followed the grass-grown path to the house.

And a forlorn enough house it was. Everything about it betokened not only poverty but shiftlessness. Marjorie was not experienced enough to know how often the former is the result of the latter, and her heart was full of pity for people who must live in such comfortless surroundings. The little old cottage was unpainted, and the front porch was in such a dilapidated condition that one step was entirely missing and several floor-boards were gone.

"It's like walking a tight-rope," said Marjorie, as she picked her way carefully along what she hoped was a sound plank. "But it's rather exciting. I wonder if we can get in."

There was no bell, and she tapped loudly on the door.

Almost instantly it was opened by a child whose appearance almost made

Marjorie scream out with laughter.

A little girl of about ten, dressed in a bright pink skirt and a bright blue waist, stood before them. This startling color combination was enhanced by a red sash, which, though faded in streaks, was wide and tied at the back in a voluminous bow. The girl's naturally straight hair had apparently been urged by artificial means to curl in ringlets, but only a part of it had succumbed to the hot iron. The rest fairly bristled in its stiff straightness, and the whole mop was tied up with a large bow of red ribbon.

This rainbow-hued specimen of humanity opened the door with a flourish and bowed to the visitors with an air of extreme elegance.

Marjorie looked at her in astonishment. The gorgeous trappings and the formal demeanor of the child made her think she must have mistaken the house.

"Is this Mrs. Dunn's house?" she inquired, with some hesitation.

"Yes; I'm Miss Dunn," said the child, with such a ridiculous air of affectation that Molly giggled outright.

"Yes," Miss Dunn went on, "I am the eldest daughter. My name is Ella.

They call me the Elegant Ella, but I don't mind."

"I am Marjorie Maynard and Mrs. Sherwood is my grandmother. She heard your mother was ill and she sent her these baskets."

"How kind of her!" exclaimed the Elegant Ella, clasping her hands and rolling up her eyes. "Won't you come in?"

As Marjorie and Molly had been with difficulty balancing themselves on the broken boards of the porch, they were glad to accept the invitation.

Their first glance at the interior of the cottage showed that the rest of the family and the ways of the house did not at all harmonize with the manner and appearance of the eldest daughter.

Everything was of the poorest, and there was no attempt at order or thrift.

Mrs. Dunn sat in a rockerless rocking-chair, her left hand wrapped in bandages and her right hand holding a book which she was reading.

As the girls entered she threw the book on the floor and smiled at them pleasantly.

"Walk right in," she said, "and take seats if you can find any. Hoopsy Topsy, get off that chair this minute and give it to the ladies! Dibbs, you lift Plumpy out of the other one, quick! There! Now you girls set down and rest yourselves! Did you bring them baskets for us? Lawsee! What a good woman Mis' Sherwood is, to be sure! Now ain't that just like her! She's so kind and gen'rous-hearted that she makes it a pleasure fer folks to get all scalted with hot water! Ella, you fly round and empty them baskets so's the young ladies can take them home again. But you set a while, girls, and visit."

"Are you much hurt, Mrs. Dunn?" asked Marjorie. "And how did it happen?"

"Hurt! Land sakes, I guess I am! Why, the hull kittle of boilin' water just doused itself on my hand and foot!"

"That's why Ma didn't rise to greet you," explained the Elegant Ella, and again Molly had hard work to keep her face straight as she noted the girl's comical efforts at etiquette.

"Aw, you keep still, Ella," said her mother; "you ain't got no call to talk to the young ladies."

But although Mrs. Dunn apparently tried to subdue her elegant daughter, yet it was plain to be seen that she greatly admired the flower of the family, and spoke thus merely from a pretended modesty.

"Ella's so fond of dress," said Mrs. Dunn, "that she jest don't hev time to bother with housekeepin'. So Hoopsy Topsy does it, and that's why we ain't so slick as we might be. But fer a child of eight, I must say Hoopsy Topsy does wonderful well."

Mrs. Dunn's pride in her offspring was unmistakable, and Hoopsy Topsy, who quite understood she was being complimented, smiled and looked happily self-conscious.

The novelty of the scene quite fascinated Marjorie. She had expected that abject poverty would leave its victims a despondent, down-hearted set of people; and instead of that she found them not only pleasant and amiable, but seemingly happy and care-free.

"My grandmother said, Mrs. Dunn," said Marjorie, "that if you would tell me of anything you specially want she would come this afternoon and bring it to you."

"My! ain't she good!" said Mrs. Dunn. "Well, if she don't mind, I'd like some old linen to wrap around the burns. You see, I am scalted pretty bad and it'll be a while 'fore I kin get to work again. But, of course, the children are right handy, an' ef we jest have a stove an' a bed we can scratch along somehow. Ella, she's more hifalutin. She'd like red plush sofys and lace curtings. But I say, 'Land, child! What's the use of worrying? If you can't have them things, you can't!' So, Ella, she makes the best of what she has, and I must say she doos have wonderful fine taste."

Marjorie looked at the Elegant Ella, and, though she didn't agree with Mrs. Dunn as to Ella's taste, she felt sorry for the poor child, who wanted the refinements of life, yet was doomed to live without them.

"It is of no consequence," said Ella, tossing her head; "we are very comfortable; and though I should like a piano, I am in no haste to procure one."

"Lucky you ain't," observed her mother, "as I don't see none runnin' this way. What's the matter, Dibbsy dear?"

Dibbs, who was a baby of four years, was sitting on the floor digging both his fists into his eyes. And though not audibly crying, he evidently was not entirely happy.

"Wants to know what's in de bastick!" he announced without hesitation.

"So you shall," declared his fond mother. "Hoopsy Topsy, lift Dibbs up so he can see what the young ladies brought."

Nothing loath, Hoopsy Topsy lifted up her brother, who at once forgot his grief, and, smiling broadly, began to investigate the baskets.

"Land sake, Ella," said Mrs. Dunn, "I told you to empty them baskets long ago. Whatever have you been a-doin' all this time?"

"I was retying my sash, Ma," exclaimed Ella, reappearing from the next room; "I think it has more of an air tied on the side."

"Ain't she the airy piece!" exclaimed the proud mother, looking at her daughter with undisguised admiration.

But it seemed to Molly and Marjorie that, if anything could be funnier than the Ella who first met them, it was the Ella of the retied sash!

Having arranged her finery to her satisfaction, Ella proceeded with her work of taking the things from the baskets, and, as she lifted out a large piece of cold beef, a delicious pie, some tea and sugar, and various parcels of bread and butter, and a jar of apple-sauce, the little Dunns all gathered round, quite unable to refrain from noisy expressions of glee and delight.

"Jiminy Christmas!" cried Hoopsy Topsy, quite upsetting Dibbs as she made a rush for the pie. And then Plumpy, the baby, wiggled his fat little self across the floor and joined the crowd about the pie, and aided by the Elegant Ella, in a few moments there wasn't any pie at all.

"Just look at them," said Mrs. Dunn, placidly; "you'd think they didn't have no manners! But they're that fond of pie, you wouldn't believe! They don't never get none, you know, and so it's a novelty."

"We'd like it if we had it every day," announced Hoopsy Topsy, with her mouth full.

"Pie ev'y day!" agreed Dibbs, as he contentedly munched his piece. The whole scene made a great impression on the two visitors, but they were affected quite differently. Marjorie felt a strong inclination to get away as soon as she could, for, though she felt very sorry for the poor people and was glad to give them things, yet the situation was not at all attractive, and having done her errand, she was quite ready to go.

Not so Molly. That active and energetic young person was dismayed at the untidiness and discomfort all about, and felt a strong desire at least to alleviate it.

"Mrs. Dunn," she said, "of course with your injured hand and foot you can't sweep. Mayn't I just take a broom and brush up a little? You'd be so much more comfortable."

"Land sakes, child, 'taint fer you to be sweepin' our house! Ella here, she can sweep; and Hoopsy Topsy's a good fist at it."

"I shall tidy up the room to-morrow," said Ella, with an air of haughty apology, "but to-day I have a hat to trim and I can't be bothered with household matters."

"Ella's just great on trimmin' hats," observed her mother, "and Mis' Green, she giv' her her last year's straw; and Ella, she'll trim it up so Mis' Green herself couldn't recognize it!"

Marjorie didn't doubt this in the least, and as Molly's suggestion had put an idea into her own head, she began to look upon an acquaintance with the Dunns as a new sort of entertainment.

CHAPTER XII
THE BAZAAR

"Mrs. Dunn," Marjorie said, "please let Molly and me fix up this room a little bit. Now, I'll tell you what: you and the children take these baskets of things out into the kitchen and put them away, or eat them, or do what you please. And then you all stay out there until we tell you you may come back. Ella can trim her hat if she chooses, and Hoopsy Topsy can take care of the children, and you can go on with your reading which we interrupted."

"Now, ain't you kind," said Mrs. Dunn; "I do declare that would be jest lovely! I ain't had a good rest like that in I don't know when! Hoopsy Topsy, you and Ella'll have to shove me out in this here chair. I can hobble some, but I can't walk."

With the children's assistance, Mrs. Dunn was transferred to the other room, her children followed, and Midge and Molly were left to their own devices.

"It's hopeless," said Marjorie, as she looked around at the untidy room.

"Not a bit of it!" declared Molly; "if I only had a decent broom instead of this old stub! Now, I'll sweep, Mopsy, and you find something that'll do for a duster, and we'll straighten up the place in less than no time."

Molly was a brave little housekeeper, and though Marjorie knew less about it, she was an apt pupil, and the whole performance seemed great fun. In less than an hour the two girls had quite transformed the room. Everything was clean and tidy, and Marjorie had scampered out and picked a bunch of daisies and clover to decorate the mantel.

"They haven't any pretty things," she said, as she scowled at the effect of her bouquet in an old cracked jar. "I'll tell you what, Molly, let's come back to-morrow and bring some little traps to decorate with. I can spare a number of things out of my own room; and Grandma will give me some, I know; and Uncle Steve will give me some, too."

"Yes, I can bring a lot," said Molly, with enthusiasm; "let's make this family all over. Let's make them be neat and tidy and thrifty."

"Do you suppose we can?" said Marjorie, doubtfully.

"Well, we can try," said Molly. "Now let's call them in, and then let's go home. It must be dinner-time, and I'm nearly starved."

They opened the door and found the Dunn family apparently happy and contented; and in no wise disturbed by the unusual occupation of their visitors.

"Come in," cried Marjorie, "come in all of you, and see how nice your room looks!"

"I can't come just now," said Elegant Ella, whose speech was rather indistinct by reason of several pins held in her mouth. "I'm trimming my hat, and if I leave it now I'll forget how I was going to arrange the feather."

"I think I won't move just at present," said Mrs. Dunn. "The gettin' out here hurt me more'n I thought it was goin' to, and now I'm landed, I guess I'll set a spell. I'm ever so much obliged to you fer all your kindness, and now you'd better run along home or your grandma'll be worried. You're mighty good children, and I'm glad to have that room swep' up; it must be a weight off en Ella's mind."

It did not seem probable that Ella ever had a weight on her mind in the way of housekeeping cares, but at the moment she was so absorbed in her hat-trimming that she paid no attention to her mother's remark.

It seemed hard that Molly and Midge had no one to appreciate the results of their labors, but Hoopsy Topsy was washing the dishes after the family meal, Plumpy was asleep on the floor, and Dibbs was playing out in the door-yard, with some battered old toys.

So, taking their baskets, Molly and Midge started homeward.

"I thought it would be fun to take things to poor people," said Marjorie, with an air of disappointment; "but those people are too aggravating for anything. They just accept what you bring and hardly thank you for it, and then they seem to want you to go home as fast as you can."

"That's so," agreed Molly; "but I don't care whether they like it or not. I think we ought to try to do them good. I don't mean only to take them things to eat, but try to make them more—more—"

"Respectable," suggested Marjorie. "But I suppose that Ella thinks she's more respectable than we are this minute."

"I s'pose she does; but we oughtn't to be discouraged by such things. I think mother'll give me some of my last year's dresses to give her, and then she won't have to wear that funny-looking rig she had on."

"She likes that," said Marjorie. "I don't believe she'd wear your dresses if you took them to her."

By this time the girls had reached the Sherwood house, and Grandma invited Molly to stay to dinner, which invitation the little girl gladly accepted.

At the dinner-table they told Grandma the whole story of the morning.

Mrs. Sherwood was greatly amused at their description of the Dunn family, and greatly surprised to learn of their efforts in the house-cleaning line.

"I want you to be charitable," she said, "and generously inclined toward the poor and needy. But I don't want you to adopt such unusual methods of dispensing your charity. After this, when you feel inclined to such energetic measures, come home first and ask permission. Then, if the plan seems to me feasible, you can carry it out."

"But, Grandma," said Marjorie, "the Dunns really need help. They can't seem to do anything and they haven't anything to do with."

"But you're too young, my child, to know what they do need. You must be content to help them under the direction of some one older than yourself. Mrs. Dunn, I fear, is not a thrifty or hard-working woman. She has not been here long, and I know little about her; but I've been told that she quite spoils that oldest child and makes the second one do all the work."

"The second one is named Hoopsy Topsy," said Marjorie, laughing; "and she's like her name. She's always tumbling down and racing about, with her dress torn and her hair in her eyes, like a perfect witch. The Elegant Ella is quite different. Truly, Grandma, they're a funny lot, and if you go there this afternoon, mayn't we go with you?"

"No," said Mrs. Sherwood, "I shall go by myself, to-day, and investigate the case. Perhaps some other time I may take you children."

The girls were disappointed, but when they found they couldn't go, they went out to Marjorie's porch to talk it all over.

"I think," said Marjorie, "it's our duty to do something for those children. Just think, Molly, we have everything we want, and they have nothing."

"I'll tell you what, Mopsy: let's sew and make things for them; dresses, you know, and aprons."

"I can't sew fit to be seen, Molly; and 'twould take me all summer to get one apron made. I'd rather give them things that we have. Why, I'd rather give Ella my best parasol than to try to sew anything for her!"

"Oh, don't give her that lovely parasol! We'll think of something else.

Suppose we invite them all to dinner; you one day, and I another."

"I don't believe Grandma would like that. And, anyway, that would only give them dinner for two days; we couldn't keep it up, you know. But, Molly, I'll tell you what! Let's have a fair, or a bazaar or something,—and make some money for them that way."

"Just the thing! That would be lovely. Where shall we have it?"

"Right here in this porch. Uncle Steve'll help, I know. And I'm sure

Grandma won't mind our doing that."

When Marjorie laid the plan before Mrs. Sherwood that lady quite approved of it.

"Now, that's something sensible," she said; "it will be very nice for you girls to make things, and have a pretty little fair, but don't go down there again and sweep rooms for those people. I'm very sorry for poor Mrs. Dunn, but in this neighborhood there are not many poor people, and as the farmers are all kind-hearted I do not think she will suffer for lack of food while her injuries keep her from her work."

"Isn't there any Mr. Dunn?" asked Marjorie.

"No; he died a few months ago. That is why she had to come here and live in that forlorn little cottage. She hopes to support herself and her children by going out to work each day, but until her burns get well of course she can't do that."

"I'm sorry for her," said Marjorie, decidedly, "and I hope we'll make a lot at our fair to help her along."

When they told Stella about the plan for the fair, she thought it all great fun. She did not seem to care much about the Dunns or their needs, and positively refused to visit the little old cottage, but she was ready to work for the fair with all her might.

There seemed to be no end to the pretty things Stella knew how to make. She was a clever little artist, and she painted cards, pictures, and trinkets of all sorts, which Molly and Midge helped to make up into various salable fancy articles.

Midge was ingenious, too, and every afternoon the three worked busily, making all sorts of things.

Dolls were a specialty; and they made funny Chinese-looking affairs by stringing peanuts together, and making queer little costumes out of Japanese paper-napkins. They made paper dolls, too, which Stella painted prettily, and they dressed some little china dolls and wooden Dutch dolls.

Uncle Steve brought them materials to make up; and a letter which Marjorie wrote to her mother resulted in the arrival of a big box filled with all sorts of pretty and curious things, which would doubtless find a ready sale.

Marjorie crocheted mats and strung bead chains, while Molly, whose tastes were practical, made sweeping-caps and ironing-holders by the dozen.

So enthusiastic did the girls grow over their plan that their elders became interested, and soon donations for the fair began to arrive from many of the neighbors.

As the day drew near, preparations went on more rapidly, and the affair took on larger proportions.

It was arranged that all the toys, dolls, and fancy things for sale should be displayed in Marjorie's porch. Carter had put up some long tables, which Grandma Sherwood had draped prettily with white and light green cheese-cloth.

The other parts of the big veranda were arranged with tables, where ices and cakes were to be served; and a pretty booth was devoted to the sale of home-made candies.

The verandas and grounds were made gay with flags and Chinese lanterns. Uncle Steve superintended these decorations, which insured their being beautiful and appropriate. A tent on the lawn sheltered some musicians; and in an arbor, lemonade was dispensed.

The day of the bazaar was clear and pleasant, and not too warm. Early in the afternoon, Stella and Molly arrived, and the two, with Midge, all in their fresh white dresses, flitted about from one booth to another, to make sure that everything was in readiness.

Several other girls and boys, and some ladies and gentlemen too, had been invited to assist in selling the things and to wait on the guests, so that when the bazaar opened at four o'clock in the afternoon a merry lot of young people were scattered about the grounds.

Marjorie was in her element. "Oh, Uncle Steve," she cried; "isn't it all perfectly lovely! And I think we'll make quite a lot of money, don't you?"

"I do, indeed, Mopsy. I'm only afraid, by the way the customers are flocking in, that we haven't provided enough refreshment for them."

And sure enough, though the hour was yet early, crowds of people were coming in at the gate.

The fame of the little fair had spread among the country people, and they all seemed determined to help along the good cause. Molly and Marjorie found their stock of wares rapidly fading away, while Stella, who was selling lemonade, could scarcely keep enough on hand to supply her customers.

"You must put up your prices, Mopsy," said her uncle; "that's the way to do when your stock is getting low."

So Marjorie doubled the price of everything she had left for sale, but even then the dolls and trinkets were willingly bought.

"What shall we do?" said Grandma, in despair. "It isn't seven o'clock, we haven't lighted the lanterns yet for the evening, and the ice cream is all gone! I never dreamed we'd have such a crowd."

"We'll light the lanterns, anyway," declared Uncle Steve, "for if the ice cream is gone they'll want to buy the lanterns next!"

And sure enough they did. When the people came in the evening and learned that everything was sold out but the lanterns, they declared they would buy them for souvenirs. So the merry guests walked about the grounds, carrying the lighted lanterns they had bought (at astonishing prices), and it lent a fantastic effect to the scene to see the lanterns bobbing about among the trees and shrubs on the lawn.

Marjorie was so sorry not to have wares to offer her would-be customers that she ran up to her room several times, gathering up books, pictures, or toys that she thought she could by any possibility spare. She would fly with them down to the porch, mark them at exorbitant prices, and in a few moments they would be sold to the amiable and generous buyers.

It was an unusual experience for a fancy fair, as often there are many unsold wares left to be auctioned off or sold at reduced rates.

When it was all over and the last guests had departed, swinging their lanterns, Marjorie, very tired but very happy, displayed a well-filled cash-box.

"How much do you suppose?" she cried gayly to Uncle Steve.

"Fifty dollars," guessed that jovial gentleman.

"Nonsense," cried Marjorie, "you know there's more than that! But I rather think you'll be surprised when I tell you that there's a little over two hundred dollars!"

"Fine!" exclaimed Uncle Steve. "That will keep the Elegant Ella in fans and sashes for some time!"

"Indeed, it won't be used for that," declared Marjorie. "We're going to give it to Grandma and let her use it for the Dunns just as she thinks best. Little girls can have a fair and earn the money, but it takes older people to manage the rest of it."

"That's true enough, Midge," said Grandma, "but you certainly shall have a share in the pleasure of bestowing it upon our poor neighbors."