CHAPTER XXVII
SOMEBODY ARRIVES
Archie was standing at the foot of the stairs. Bluebell thought him a most agreeable man. He always treated her with deferential indulgence.
“Did Aunt Melissa send for me?” cried Bluebell, running down-stairs with Georgiana on her shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am, she did.”
“And who’s come, Archie? Oh, is it father and the baby?”
“It is a very fine gentleman, and a little girl considerable smaller than you.”
“Good-by, Libbie. My father’s come!”
Doctor Garde’s little girl made rapid progress to the gate which united Mrs. Biggar’s and Miss Calder’s grounds. Archie kept at her heels.
“Did they just get there, Archie?”
“Just a minute ago. And besides the gentleman and little girl there was”--
“Oh, it’s Liza! Liza’s come too! It was Liza’s house where we used to live, you know.”
“No, there wasn’t any lady.”
“Then it’s somebody else; and maybe it isn’t my father and the baby, either?”
She paused in disappointment.
“Oh, the gentleman’s your father. I heard Miss Calder call him. Mr. Doctor Garde is the gentleman’s name,” said Archie, punctiliously.
Bluebell plunged up the side veranda. But here her new manners seized on her. What would father say if she ran in and grabbed him around the neck? And there was Rocco. She had learned enough to be a great pattern and example to Rocco.
The doctor was sunk in a haircloth chair in the dim parlor. Roxana sat on Miss Melissa’s knee, half afraid of her in this new place which imaged its wonders in her swelling black eyes.
Through the open folding-doors came a correct figure in cool muslin-gingham; the bare brown arms and collar-bones looked natural, but the face had a new expression.
“Is this Bluebell?” said father, extending his hand.
“Yes, sir.”
The young lady took his hand and kissed him. She did give the silent Rocco an extra squeeze, but her back was towards father and the fervor was hid from him. She drew her chair quite close to him, too, but in every other respect preserved the strictest propriety.
“And you rode all the way on horseback with the baby,” said Miss Calder in a pleased flutter. “That must have been charming at this season of the year.”
“Yes,” said father. “I boxed the movables and had them sent by railway.”
“I am so glad you are here, Maurice.” Miss Melissa reached for her handkerchief. “You have no idea how much brighter the house has been since I brought Melissa home with me.”
The doctor looked pleased. He also looked faintly disturbed.
“And I am sure you will not regret the change in--as to--I mean from a financial point of view, for all our friends are prepossessed in your favor already.”
“As to that,” said the young man, “I’ll have to prove myself able to do something, as I did at the Rocky Fork.”
“Yes; and I am sure you will indeed.”
“Papa, how is Liza?”
The doctor started, and looked queerly at his little girl.
He said, however, “She’s quite well.”
“I am learning to play the piano.”
His little girl made this announcement with the exact accent and expression of Miss Libbie Biggar.
“Are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He rubbed a finger across his forehead and looked at Miss Melissa. The delicate lady smiled.
“Don’t you think she has improved very much?”
“Ye-es,” said the doctor, “certainly.”
He looked at his little girl.
“You may entertain your father awhile if he will excuse me, Melissa,” said Miss Calder, putting Rocco down. “I want to have a few changes made about tea. And if you want to go to your room, Maurice, Melissa knows where it is.”
So Aunt Melissa went out, and Bluebell longed so much to tangle and squeeze Roxana that she was fain at least to draw her seat beside Miss Calder’s vacant arm-chair, into which the baby had mounted on all-fours and wiggled about into a sitting posture.
“Are you glad to see B’uebell, Rocco?”
“Uh--uuh,” responded Roxana, still trying to take her bearings in these strange waters.
“You mustn’t say that--it isn’t polite,” said Bluebell, shaking her head.
Father’s square, serious face set itself to study her. His clothes looked plain compared to the clothes she had seen gentlemen wear in Sharon. They really had a woodsman look. But who could see father’s resolute chin over his black neckcloth and not instinctively love him? His little girl did not state the matter in these words. Her impressions were instantaneous and languageless. The baby did look so funny, too. Bluebell wished one of her new dresses was small enough for the little sister. It was only that she did not want them to be behind herself in advantages.
“Have you been real well, papa?”
“That isn’t polite,” said father slowly.
His little girl turned red. She was beginning to think his steady look meant disapproval, after all, when she had tried _so_ hard to learn deportment.
“What! To ask if you have been well?”
“To call me ‘papa’ when you know I want to be called ‘father.’”
Bluebell’s face and ears tingled.
“Libbie Biggar always says papa and mamma when she talks about her father and mother. They’re dead.”
“Who’s Libbie Biggar?”
“Oh, she is such a nice little girl! She lives next door, and has the most toys you ever saw. A little stove and dolls and dishes, and a music-box that plays four tunes.”
“Do you like her better than you do Tildy?”
“I don’t believe I do. But she has such _pretty_ manners, and she is _so_ ladylike!”
Father smiled.
“Her grandma is very good to her. And there are lots of other little girls. I had a party.”
“I’m afraid Miss Melissa has been spoiling you.”
“Oh, no! She wanted me to get acquainted. Some of them wore _beautiful_ dresses. We had ice-cream. Do you know what ice-cream is, father?”
“I have tasted it.”
“Well, we had ice-cream. And Libbie Biggar just stamped her foot because I didn’t want to dance a French Four. I didn’t know how.”
“She must have pretty manners,” said father.
Bluebell colored again.
“Oh, she has. She knows how to do so much better than I do.”
“Come here,” said father, extending his hands.