pantry for the help to use. We can get to the third floor that way without being seen or having to go to the front at all,” explained George.
“Good! You scout about first while we wait under the lilac bushes,” whispered John, pushing George into the open.
Soon the anxious watchers saw George scramble over the railing of the low balcony and carefully open the outside shutters that were generally kept closed when the dining-room was unoccupied. Then he disappeared through the open window, and shortly after reappeared to beckon his friends to follow him.
One at a time, Indian fashion, they rushed over the grass and climbed the balcony. When all but Jim were inside the room, they breathed easier, but Jim’s bowed legs could not scramble up and over the rail as agilely as the others had and they had to venture out again to haul him up and over by his arms.
Once safely sheltered by the darkened dining-room, they tiptoed toward the pantry. The swing door was hardly still upon the five figures that passed through, when ladies’ voices were heard as Mrs. Parke and Mrs. Davis came from the library to go out on the veranda and see where the children were.
In the pantry, on the table, stood a plate filled with iced cookies for afternoon tea. Chopped walnuts were thickly sprinkled on the icing and most tempting did the cakes smell. Naturally the children could not pass by without a sniff and that was their undoing.
“My, but I’m hungry after that trip from Washington!” sighed Jack, eying the cakes.
“We all are, I reckon! May as well carry these cookies with us as to wait to eat them later,” suggested George, looking to Martha for approval of the plan.
“May as well! Carry dish and all to the attic – it will save Mary the work of washing extra plates,” came from thoughtful Martha, but had Mary been present she would have scorned the helpful suggestion.
Quick as a flash, therefore, George and the dish disappeared up the back stairway followed by his four devoted friends.
Safely harbored in the large attic room, the hungry children sat and ate the delicious cakes, till but two – the very smallest and scorched ones – remained on the plate for the two ladies.
“They’ll want some with their tea,” suggested Martha generously, picking a large piece of walnut from the one she determined for her mother.
“But they are not fond of sweets like we are,” hinted Anne, wistfully smacking her lips.
“We’ve each had four – all but Jim; he had that broken half and three!” declared John manfully.
“And we must not overeat cakes – there will be bread and jam with tea, you know,” cautioned George.
“Set the dish outside the door and that will end the thing!” said Anne sensibly, as she picked up the plate and did as she suggested.
The door was closed and locked to insure safety to the two cakes, in case any one of the five friends felt like venturing forth and taking a look at them.
“Here’s the chest of clothes,” now called Martha, lifting the lid to display the strange-fashioned garments.
“Try on the flowered silk – and the powdered wig,” cried Anne eagerly, as she lifted the articles from the folds of paper.
While the girls dressed in the quaint garments, the two boys, George and Jack, arrayed themselves in clothes worn at the time of the Civil War. John and Jim assisted enthusiastically and the laughter sounding from the attic drew the attention of old mammy the nurse, as she was passing down the second-floor hallway. She smiled and looked up the stairway, wondering what the youngsters were doing to make such a noise.
“Ah rickon Ah’ll jes’ creep up an’ see ef der all right,” murmured mammy, dropping her mending on a chair and going up.
Outside the room door she spied the dish with the two small cakes in it. She picked this up with a surprised expression on her face, for she knew her daughter had baked delicious cakes for tea.
“Ah wonner! Rickon Ah’ll tek dis right down in de kitchen an’ fin’ out ef them cakes is all safe an’ soun’ befoh Ah do anudder thing.”
Old mammy followed her own suggestion, and the cook was shocked.
“What! Dem fine cakes gone an’ nuttin for tea – an’ dat fine comp’ny heah, too!”
“Now, Ah’m tellin’ yoh! Jes’ fix dem rapscalions fo’ onct! Tek dat ice cream yo fixed foh dinnah an’ serve it fer affernoon tea ’stead uv dose cakes. Tell Missus Parke why an’ den leave nuff ice cream fer de grown-ups fer dinner to-night!” advised old mammy.
The cook pondered this suggestion, and as a smile gradually spread over her wide face, she clapped her hands on the table.
“Jus’ what Ah’ll do. You jus’ wait an’ see!”
“Now, don’ go an’ deprive dem chilluns uv nuff to eat – Ah means some goodies,” warned old mammy.
“See heah, mammy! Dis end uv de wuk am mine – an’ yoh’s is takin’ care uv de baby. Dem little limbs ain’ goin’ t’ eat up all de fancy eatin’s Ah bake, an’ mek de missus b’live Ah forgot t’ prepare fer her comp’ny!”
So old mammy ascended the kitchen stairs again, fearing she had made a great mistake by warning her daughter in time that the cakes were gone and there was nothing for tea! As she shook her gray head over the conflicts between the cook and the children, she reached the second floor where the mending had been left.
A voice calling from the library changed her current of despondency, and she leaned over the balustrade to reply.
“Ah hear’n dem chilluns up in de attick, Mis Parke. Shall Ah tell ’em yoh wants ’em?”
“Oh, please, mammy! And see if they are all dressed and ready for tea. I wish to ring for the tray,” replied Mrs. Parke.
Mammy climbed the stairs once more and opened the door of the room whence sounds of merriment came. She stood in the doorway, taking in at a glance the extraordinary scene that met her eyes.
John was robed in a long black cloth draped over his shoulders. He had on a maid’s white bib and shoulder straps cut from an old apron. The black material was the remnant of a felt table cover, very popular a score of years before; but most of the wool embroidery had been eaten off by moths, so the gay colors could easily be hidden by the folds.
He stood by the window with the great book on “Life of George Washington” in his hands, reading aloud from it.
Right before him stood Jack Davis and Martha – one robed in old-fashioned clothes worn by Parke ancestors before the Civil War, and the other dressed in the lavender flowered Watteau silk gown of her great-great-grandmother.
George was “best man” in a black swallow-tail coat with velvet cuffs, collar and pocket lapels. The buttons were gold-embroidered on black velvet. A high stock collar and a pot-shaped beaver hat gave him quite a Colonial appearance.
Jim took the left-overs, and to make the best of the assorted items, donned as many of them as he could keep on. The effect was very funny, and caused the principals in the scene to burst out in laughter every time they took notice of his raiment.
The rehearsal of the Washington wedding scene was taking place when old mammy quietly opened the door and stood watching.
“You didn’t come up right that time, Martha; try it again. And, Anne, don’t stumble over her dress when you carry the train!” ordered George, waving back the two girls to try again.
“How can I carry her train and drop flowers on the path at the same time? And if we’re to do it again, you’d better pick up the flowers,” complained Anne.
“Here, Jim – Hercules, I mean! You’re the servant now and you must do the chores,” ordered George, pointing to some faded artificial flowers sprinkled on the floor before the black-gowned minister.
Martha backed away, catching her satin high-heeled shoe in the very long Watteau pleats as she did so, and frantically