They entered the house by the kitchen door and ascended the back stairs to Mary-'Gusta's room. The shades in all the rooms were drawn and the house was dark and gloomy. The child would have asked the reason for this, but at the first hint of a question Mrs. Hobbs bade her hush.
“You mustn't talk,” she said.
“Why mustn't I?”
“Because 'tain't the right thing to do, that's why. Now hurry up and get dressed.”
Mary-'Gusta silently wriggled out of her everyday frock, was led to the washstand and vigorously scrubbed. Then Mrs. Hobbs combed and braided what she called her “pigtails” and tied a bow of black ribbon at the end of each.
“There!” exclaimed the lady. “You're clean for once in your life, anyhow. Now hurry up and put on them things on the bed.”
The things were Mary-'Gusta's very best shoes and dress; also a pair of new black stockings.
When the dressing was finished the housekeeper stood her in the middle of the floor and walked about her on a final round of inspection.
“There!” she said again, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Nobody can say I ain't took all the pains with you that anybody could. Now you come downstairs and set right where I tell you till I come. And don't you say one single word. Not a word, no matter what happens.”
She took the girl's hand and led her down the front stairs. As they descended Mary-'Gusta could scarcely restrain a gasp of surprise. The front door was open—the FRONT door—and the child had never seen it open before, had long ago decided that it was not a truly door at all, but merely a make-believe like the painted windows on the sides of her doll house. But now it was wide open and Mr. Hallett, arrayed in a suit of black, the coat of which puckered under the arms, was standing on the threshold, looking more soothy than ever. The parlor door was open also, and the parlor itself—the best first parlor, more sacred and forbidden even than the “smoke room”—was, as much of it as she could see, filled with chairs.