The Story of the Big Front Door | Page 3

to be having a good time all to themselves,
gathered in sociable groups. The clematis and honeysuckle swung
softly in the breeze, making graceful shadows, and the maple trees
stretched out long arms and touched each other gently now and then. At
the back of the house on the kitchen steps sat Aunt Sukey, a person of
dignity and authority. Her hands were folded over her white apron and
her eyes rested with satisfaction on the rows of peach preserves that
represented her morning's work.
"Mammy," as the children called her, was a family institution, and
could not be spared, though her last nursling was fast outgrowing her.
No preserves tasted like Sukey's, and no one could, on occasion, make
such rolls.
"Yes," she remarked, continuing her conversation with Mandy, the
cook, who was stepping around inside, "they's mischevious of course,
but I can remember when Mr. Frank and Mr. William was a heap
worse."
"Law, Aunt Sukey, I wouldn't want to see 'em if they was any worse
than that Ikey Ford! It looks like the children has been up to twice as
many pranks since he come," replied Mandy.
"He don't take after his pa, then; Mr. Isaac was as nice, quiet-mannered
a boy as you ever see, when he used to go with Mr. Frank. But pshaw!
all that triflin' is soon over. Look at Miss Zélie: seems like it warn't no
time since she was climbin' fences and tearin' her clothes, till I'd get
clean discouraged tryin' to keep her nice. Oh! they's fine children, I
don't care what you say; and Louise is the flock of the flower. She is
like Miss Zélie, with her dark eyes and shinin' hair."
"Miss Zélie herself sets more store by Carl than any of the rest," said

Mandy, coming to the door.
"That's cause he favors his ma's family and has a look like his uncle
Carl. You know Miss Zélie married Miss Elinor's brother. He used to
come here for his holidays when she was a little girl no bigger 'n
Bess,--that was after Mr. Frank married Miss Elinor,--and they was
always great friends. It looks like it's mighty strange that Miss Elinor
and Mr. Carl should be taken, and old Sukey left."
There was silence for a minute; then as Sukey wiped her eyes she
continued, "I've nursed 'em all from Mr. William down, and I knows
old master's grandchildren is bound to turn out right."
It was almost sunset when Aunt Zélie--tall and fair, like Bess's favorite
heroines--came and stood in the front door, wondering where the
children were. She was not left long in doubt, for hardly had she settled
herself to enjoy the pleasant air when there was a sudden rush from
somewhere and she was surrounded by a laughing, breathless little
company. The outlaws of the morning were scarcely to be recognized.
Little John and the sheriff of Nottingham were attired in the freshest of
white dresses, with pink bows on their Gretchen braids, while Robin
and the Friar were disguised as a pair of bright-faced modern boys, and
with them was little Helen, a dignified person of eight, who carried a
doll in her arms.
"Auntie, did you know that somebody is coming to live in the Brown
house?" Louise asked, as they drew their chairs as close as possible to
hers. At this time in the day she was their own special property, though
there were people who complained that they always monopolized her.
"Yes, your father heard that a relative of old Mrs. Brown's was going to
take the house, but that is all I know," she answered.
"Carl and Ikey saw a cross-looking woman with a feather duster. I do
hope there will be some nice children," said Bess.
"All boys," Carl added briefly.

"Boys? No, indeed! Girls are much nicer, aren't they, Ikey?" and Louise
looked at him mischievously over her shoulder.
Ikey's shyness or his politeness, perhaps both, would not allow him to
reply.
"They are both nice when they are nice," said Aunt Zélie. "Being a girl
myself, of course I like girls, and so does this individual," patting the
head against her shoulder.
"Oh, I like some girls!" Carl conceded graciously.
"I wish there would be a little girl for me to play with," remarked Helen
plaintively, for it was the trial of her life that she was considered too
little to be made a companion of by the other children except on special
occasions.
"It is a fortunate thing that the house is to be occupied," said Aunt Zélie,
"for Mr. Jackson, the agent, told Frank that it looked as if some one had
been camping out in the garden. The grass was trampled down and I
don't know what damage done."
If she had