"Oh, do," implored Bettie, flinging her arms about Mr. Black's neck.
"Please do," begged Henrietta, impulsively seizing a hand.
"Oh, do, do, do," shrieked Marjory, seizing the other hand.
"I'll wash all the dishes," promised Mabel, throwing her arms about Mr. Black's stout waist, "and everybody knows that that's a job I hate."
"I'll get fat," promised Bettie.
Now, Mr. Black was ever a warm-hearted and obliging man, with a wonderful love for children in general—his own little dark-eyed daughter had died in infancy—and for Bettie in particular. Even if the plan did seem a bit wild and venturesome (and Mr. Black himself was something of an adventurer, in the best sense of that word), it was not easy to say no with all those clinging arms about him, those eager, pleading young faces upturned expectantly to his. Moreover, few persons, Mr. Black least of all, were able to resist the appeal in Bettie's big, black, always rather pathetic eyes. And already, best argument of all, the slender little maid seemed to be improving under these new conditions.
"Well," capitulated Mr. Black, "it will take Dave some hours to get to Lakeville, and it may take considerable time for Saunders to find a boat or horses to come up here—we'll have to leave all that part of it to his discretion. It may be to-morrow morning before we are rescued. Now, I'll agree to this. We'll send him a list of everything we need. If we are still desirous of staying when the things come, and if there's nothing in my mail to call me to town, we'll stay. If we're tired of it, we'll just cart the stuff home again. We'll each make out a list——"
"On what, I'd like to know?" interrupted Mrs. Crane. "I've used all the wrapping paper to start fires."
Mr. Black, shaking off the clinging children, searched in the pockets of his clothes.
"Nothing doing," said he. "The only scrap of paper I can spare is already covered with memoranda."