“Jerry!” called his wife rather sharply. “Please don’t do all the exploring in one day. Nora must change her things and come down stairs. She may want something to eat after her journey.” Mrs. Ted’s tone of voice was plainly against that cabinet.
“All right, Ted, I’ll subside,” replied the jolly man. “The fact is——” he whispered to Nora, “our Ted hates ghosts; and every time I talk about this here upright coffin, she objects,” and he gave one of his boyish twisted yelps, as if he wanted to yell but didn’t dare so gurgled instead, and it was very plain he said this out of pure mischief; nevertheless, it did cause the little girl to clench her small fists and start suddenly.
“Come right down stairs,” insisted the hostess imperatively. “I’m very sure, Nora dear, you will find something more interesting in Vita’s cake box than you could dig out of that dusty hole.”
“Vita! What a queer name!” exclaimed Nora, following Mrs. Manton out from the interesting attic.
“Her whole name is more than that. It’s Vittoria, but since she does our cooking and is both vital and vitaminous, we cut it down to an easy word implying both,” explained Ted. “You see, Nora, we are keen on short cuts.”
The little girl was thinking something like that. In fact, she was so fascinated with the realities of her visit she had almost lost the last shred of faith in her picturesque dreams. “If I had ever named a cook,” she was deciding, “I should surely have given her Susan or Betsy or maybe Jennie. But Vita means more and makes you think of good victuals.”
The open stairs were built winding from the big field stone hearth in the first room, clear up to the attic chamber, and, as they descended, Nora looked about the quaint, rustic place in rapturous admiration. Indeed, no dream of her great life series had ever included this. Gone with the Jim-Aunt Elizabeth idea was going the rag-rug four-poster plan, that had seemed almost indelibly outlined on her whimsical picture plate. She sighed a little, as she felt she should, on the “grave of her dreams;” but there was Jerry calling from the open door:
“Here you are, Nora! Come and meet Cap.”
“Cap! A boy!” she asked excitedly.
“Not the regular kind, but he’s some boy just the same.” Jerry was clapping his hands like a boy himself, just as a big shaggy dog bounded down the path and up the few steps to the square porch.