Part 19 (2/2)

”Didn't she save me any cake?” she asked at length. ”Did Phil go to the wedding?”

”There wasn't any wedding, Susan, or any cake,” answered Mrs. Whiting.

”No one was invited but Miss Liza. They stood up in the parlor and Mr.

Drew married them. Then they went off to Green Valley, where her husband lives.”

”Maybe she will ask me to come to see her there,” said Susan hopefully.

”Perhaps she will,” said Grandmother. ”It may be the making of her, Susan,” she went on, half to herself. ”She certainly was full of whims and crotchets, and would try the patience of any one but a saint like Miss Liza. Your Grandfather always said that all she needed was hard work, and I think she will have it now, for her husband was a widower with three children and an old mother, too. It may make a woman of her.

I hope so, I'm sure. I know things won't be so hard for Miss Liza, and I'm glad of that.”

And Grandmother beat her batter with such determination that her cheeks grew pink and her little white curls bobbed up and down in time with the beating.

”Is Flip coming with Miss Liza?” asked Susan.

”Um-um,” was all Grandmother answered.

So Susan put away her little bowl and went into the front hall to call upon her friend the newel post.

”You ought to be dressed up for Thanksgiving,” decided Susan, stroking her friend's bulky form. ”Which do you like best, pink or blue? Pink, did you say? Then s...o...b..ll shall wear a blue ribbon and you shall have a pink one on your neck to celebrate the day.”

Susan spent some time selecting and arranging the ribbons to suit the taste of all concerned. She then found the table set for Thanksgiving dinner, so she posted herself in the front window where she could look all the way down the lane to the gate and report to Grandmother the moment old Nero's Roman nose was visible.

She watched and watched, and at last they came jogging along, Miss Liza well wrapped up against the cold November air that had a ”feel” of snow in it, and Grandfather wearing his fur-lined gloves for the first time this season, Susan observed.

In came Miss Liza, while Grandfather drove on to the barn, and to Susan's delight Miss Liza carried a big bundle which she placed in the little girl's outstretched arms.

”It's Flip,” Susan repeated joyfully. ”I know it's Flip. It's my Flip.”

Yes, it was Flip, but a Flip so changed, so beautified, so transformed that only the members of her own family would have known her.

In the first place, her face and hands, which had grown a dingy brown, had become several shades lighter, producing a fresh, youthful appearance heretofore sorely lacking. Her bald head had blossomed out in a beautiful crop of worsted hair, in color a rich garnet-brown.

”Miss Lunette always used that color for her worsted hens,” Miss Liza explained, ”and I thought it would make real pretty-looking hair for Flip.”

Susan was delighted with the effect. She smiled radiantly at Miss Liza.

But when she examined her child's complete new wardrobe, she put Flippy down on the couch, and flung her arms first around Miss Liza and then about Grandmother's neck.

For Flippy wore a new set of underwear, even to a red flannel petticoat trimmed with red crocheted lace. She wore a brown cloth dress, elaborately decorated with yellow feather-st.i.tching. But, most beautiful of all, about her sloping shoulders was a dark-blue cape, lined with scarlet satin and edged with narrow black fur; upon her head was tied a dark-blue fur-trimmed cap to match, from under which her garnet worsted hair peeped coyly; and, oh, crowning touch! about her neck upon a ribbon hung a black fur m.u.f.f.

Susan's excitement and delight were such that even Thanksgiving dinner seemed of little importance compared with this unexpected trousseau of Flippy Whiting. Susan did manage to sit still in her chair at the table, but she turned every moment or two to smile happily upon Flip, who returned her glances with proud and conscious looks.

”One square inch of turkey for Miss Susan Whiting,” announced Grandfather, when at last her turn came to be served, ”and a thimbleful of mashed potato, one crumb of bread, and an acorn cup of milk. And that is all the dinner you get, if I have anything to say about it.”

And Grandfather brandished the carving knife and looked so severe that Susan went off into a fit of laughter in which every one joined.

<script>