Susan nodded soberly. Much nicer than Susan Whiting, she thought, as she remembered slapping and pushing and knocking Gentilla down.
But she brightened when Grandmother added:
“Hurry now and dress yourself. We are all invited over to Mrs. Vane’s for tea, Grandfather and all. And you are going to wear your new dress with the little pink flowers. I put the last stitch in it for you not five minutes ago.”
[CHAPTER IX—HICKORY DICKORY DOCK]
It was a stormy autumn afternoon, and Phil sat in his rocking-chair before the red coal fire watching the clock upon the mantelpiece. He hoped it would strike soon and tell him what time it was, for he was expecting company, and he felt that he had already waited quite long enough.
He looked round the nursery and saw that everything was in its place, spick and span and ready for visitors, too. The big dapple gray rocking-horse stood in his corner, his fore feet impatiently lifted and an eager gleam in his brown glass eye. No doubt he was anxious to do his part by giving the visitor as many rides as she wished.
The tin kitchen, with its gay blue oven, was polished until it sparkled and glittered like precious stones. The kitchen was a favorite toy with Phil. He never tired of making strange little messes of pounded crackers and water, that smelled of the tins they were cooked in, and tasted no one but Phil could say how, for no one but he would eat them.
His big electric train, running on real tracks, a present from Great-Uncle Fred, was nicely set up in the middle of the floor, and looked as if it could take you to Jericho and return in one afternoon. Little black Pompey in a red-and-white striped minstrel suit, high hat on head, looked anxiously from the cab of the engine, for, as engineer, was he not responsible for the safety of a whole family of paper dolls who occupied an entire passenger car and who seemed not at all concerned at the delay in starting?
The nodding donkey, the dancing bear, the flannel rabbit with only one ear, stood stiffly on parade. The box of tin soldiers and sailors lay invitingly open.
Yes, everything was ready, even to the big sailboat that leaned against the wall, canvas spread to catch the first salt breeze. And best of all, there stood the low nursery table covered with a spotless white cloth, a sight which promised such a pleasant ending to what was sure to be a pleasant afternoon that Phil treated himself to a violent rocking as a way of working off his emotion.