Mary-Gusta | Page 9

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.
Mrs. Hobbs led her into the little room off the parlor, the "back
settin'-room," and, indicating the haircloth and black walnut sofa
against the wall, whispered to her to sit right there and not move.
"Mind now," she whispered, "don't talk and don't stir. I'll be back by
and by."
Mary-'Gusta, left alone, looked wide-eyed about the little back
sitting-room. It, too, was changed; not changed as much as the front
parlor, but changed, nevertheless. Most of the furniture had been
removed. The most comfortable chairs, including the rocker with the
parrot "tidy" on the back, had been taken away. One or two of the
bolt-upright variety remained and the "music chair" was still there, but
pushed back into a corner.

Mary-'Gusta saw the music chair and a quiver of guilty fear tinged
along her spine; that particular chair had always been, to her, the bright,
particular glory of the house. Not because it was beautiful, for that it
distinctly was not; but because of the marvellous secret hidden beneath
its upholstered seat. Captain Marcellus had brought it home years and
years before, when he was a sea-going bachelor and made voyages to
Hamburg. In its normal condition it was a perfectly quiet and ugly chair,
but there was a catch under one arm and a music box under the seat.
And if that catch were released, then when anyone sat in it, the music
box played "The Campbell's Are Coming" with spirit and jingle. And,
moreover, kept on playing it to the finish unless the catch was pushed
back again.
To Mary-'Gusta that chair was a perpetual fascination. She had been
expressly forbidden to touch it, had been shut in the dark closet more
than once for touching it; but, nevertheless, the temptation was always
there and she had yielded to that temptation at intervals when Mrs.
Hobbs and her stepfather were out. And the last time she had touched it
she had broken the catch. She had wound up the music box, after
hearing it play, but the catch which made it a perfectly safe seat and not
a trap for the unwary had refused to push back into place. And now
there it was, loaded and primed, so to speak, and she was responsible.
Suppose--Oh, horrible thought!--suppose anyone should sit in it that
afternoon!
She gasped and jumped off the sofa. Then she remembered Mrs.
Hobbs' parting command and stopped, hesitating. Mr. Hallett, standing
at the end of the hall, by the front door, heard her move and tiptoed to
the sitting-room.
"What's the matter, little girl?" he whispered, soothingly.
"No-nothin'," gasped Mary-'Gusta.
"You're sure?"
"Ye-yes, sir."

"All right. Then you set down on the sofa and keep still. You mustn't
make any noise. The folks are comin' now. Set right down on the sofy,
that's a good girl!"
So back to the sofa went Mary-'Gusta, trembling with apprehension.
From her seat she could see