Charles explained blushingly that he had temporarily deserted his wife because he found it so pleasant to be considered a bachelor.
“The ladies,” said Charles, waving a hand toward the fat cook and the two neat maids “make so much of a single man. And I like being made much of—any man does.”
“And where,” demanded Mrs. Charles, “are my children?”
The neat maid who had carried the milk upstairs was able to lead her to her family; and Mabel learned that Lizzie had sent a note explaining that she couldn’t come; but the messenger had failed to deliver the note. Mrs. Charles had been later than usual in starting her cleaning work on the train and the train had started, carrying her to Chicago.
“And I thought,” said she, “I might as well make the most of a free ride while I was about it; so I went all the way, bought my provisions in town and got the noon train back.”
Charles hitched the school horse to the school wagon. With his sharp elbows sticking out and his sandy hair on end, he perched on the front seat and drove his family home that evening. He remained in the employ of Doctor Rhodes, but the two neat maids no longer “made much of him.” As for the fat cook, she told him exactly what she thought of a man who deserted a good wife and four fine children for the sake of flattering attentions from other ladies. And crestfallen Charles promised to mend his ways.
[CHAPTER XI—MABEL STAYS HOME]
The girls teased Mabel considerably for the next few days. One afternoon she went to her room and was decidedly startled to find a dozen almost human objects seated on the floor, their backs braced against the wall. They were pillows stuffed into middy blouses. A large placard held forth by two stuffed sleeves read: “We are orphans. Please stay with us until Lizzie comes.”
A night or two afterwards she found her bed occupied by four more almost human middy blouse orphans, and one morning a lovely picture of a very stout young person pushing a wide baby carriage full of plump infants appeared on the assembly room blackboard. Under it was printed “Missing: One Lizzie.”
Mabel suspected that Henrietta and Maude Wilder were at the bottom of these outrages; and her suspicions were probably correct. But there were other offenders. Whenever little Jane Pool met her in the corridor she would cock a wicked black eye at her and say: “Hello, Lizzie,” or “How’s Lizzie today?”