But after a little they quieted down, and when Mrs. Blake and Miss Martin peeped in at them, this peaceful scene met their eyes. Sammy was lying flat on the floor, lost in a picture-book of cowboys and Indians galloping madly over the Western plains. Polly was wheeling lazy Miss Puss up and down the hall. Over in a corner, sure that no one was looking at him, little Tom had turned his back upon the world, and was comfortably rocking Lucy Locket to sleep as he swayed to and fro in the little rocking-chair. In the closet, Lydia was proudly showing her Quaker dress to the admiring Mary Ellen. When she spied her mother—
“May I put it on?” she asked. “Mary Ellen thinks it’s almost as good as a Red Cross nurse.”
“Would you like to dress up as a nurse yourself this afternoon, Mary Ellen?” asked Mrs. Blake, who read a longing in Mary Ellen’s eye.
And in a twinkling you wouldn’t have known happy Mary Ellen. For a big cooking-apron covered her from neck to heels, and, with a Red Cross cap on her head, you couldn’t have found a better nurse if you had searched the whole world over. Polly was turned into a fine lady, in a silk dress, a lace cap, and three strings of beads about her neck. Such flauntings and preenings, such bowing and curtsying as the three little peacocks indulged in, what time they weren’t admiring themselves in the mirror! They looked up to see Mr. Blake laughing at them in the doorway. He made a low bow and shook them by the hand as if they had been real grown-up people.
“Aren’t you going to do anything for the boys?” he asked, for Sammy and Tom were looking on with envious eyes. “Come upstairs with me, boys. I’ve a trunkful of things to wear.” And so he had, to use when he was painting pictures.
Such shouting and laughing as now floated down from the studio! The little girls sat at the foot of the stairs, and every now and then they would creep a step higher. At last the door opened and they started up with a rush, but it was only Father speaking to Miss Martin.
“Do you mind if I put paint on their faces?” he asked.
“Not a bit,” said Miss Martin, who was used to all kinds of antics on the part of her brood, and who never said “no” when she could possibly answer “yes.”
“But not on their mouths, Father,” called Mother. “We haven’t had the real party yet.”
Then the door closed again, for hours and hours it seemed to Lydia and Polly and Mary Ellen, though Mother said it was only ten minutes by the clock.