“Here’s a doll for every day,” said Mr. Blake. “Tear off one each morning until there is only one left, and that is the day we go to the country.” And Father set Lydia on his shoulder and wheeled gayly about the room.
“Come to lunch, you ridiculous pair,” said Mother, laughing at them. “Lydia, you haven’t asked yet where you are going, and so I’ll tell you. You are going up to Hyatt, where the children have their summer home, and our little house is just over the way from Friend Morris’s big house. And you can see Mary Ellen and Sammy and all of them every day if you like, and Father’s going to paint his masterpiece, and we’ll have the nicest summer we’ve ever had in all our lives.”
And Mother, out of breath, with cheeks as pink as Lucy Locket’s rosy hat, joined her “ridiculous pair” in a second dance of joy down the room and back to the luncheon table again.
For the next ten days Lydia was as busy as a bumble-bee. She packed and unpacked her new little traveling-bag no less than a dozen times. She trotted about on errands until Father took to calling her “Little Fetch-and-Carry.” She spent a great deal of time instructing Lucy Locket how to behave on the train, and she tenderly cared for the invalid Miss Puss, who was slowly recovering her former high spirits.
Day after day she tore off the paper dolls and put them away in a box for “Lucy to play with on the train,” and when at last there was only one doll left, Lydia placed a kiss upon her tiny paper cheek.
“You are the nicest one of all,” she whispered, “because to-day we go.”
And go they did, Father carrying a heavy suitcase and Lydia’s little bag, Mother with Miss Puss in a wicker basket, and Lydia bearing the proud Lucy Locket, decked in her finest and on her very best behavior. Lydia waved good-bye to Tony, the iceman, and stopped to tell Joe, the one-legged newsboy, who had a paper-stand on the corner under the Elevated Road, that she would be away all summer. Then after a short ride underground she found herself on the train, really bound for the country.
It is to be hoped that Lucy Locket and Miss Puss behaved on that train ride as well as they ought, for Lydia, with her nose pressed against the window-pane, was so interested in all she saw that she quite forgot her charges, and could scarcely believe it when Father said, “There’s the river, Lydia. We get off station after next.”
But sure enough, at station after next there stood Alexander ready to lift her down the high steps of the train, and to drive them all home along the River Road behind Friend Morris’s fine gray horses, Owen and Griff. Friend Morris was already settled for the summer, and she was watching for them on the steps of her broad veranda, overlooking the river, as Alexander swung round the drive and up to the door in fine style.
Lydia leaned from the carriage for a peep at her own house just across the road. She saw a low, white cottage, whose tiny porch, with a bench at either end, she decided at once would make a good place to play dolls. The vines over the porch fluttered a welcome to her, the trees waved and beckoned her to come, and Lydia could scarcely wait to eat her supper at Friend Morris’s before running over and visiting every nook and corner of the little house. It was not very large inside, but what of that when two big porches, one upstairs and one down, ran across the back of the house that overlooked the river.