



Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed
Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from
page images generously made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library (https://www.hathitrust.org)





                            EIGHT GIRLS AND
                                 A DOG




[Illustration: “‘WELL, YOU _ARE_ A PROPER-LOOKING LOT!’ MRS. LENNOX
EXCLAIMED AS THE GIRLS FILED IN.”]




                         S^{T}. NICHOLAS BOOKS

                                 EIGHT
                               GIRLS AND
                                 A DOG

                           _BY_ CAROLYN WELLS

                   NEW YORK • THE CENTURY CO • MCMIV




                          Copyright, 1902, by
                            THE CENTURY CO.
                                  ———
                       _Published October, 1902_

                           THE DEVINNE PRESS




                                   TO

                         LOUISE FRANCES STEVENS




                                CONTENTS

                                 CHAPTER                 PAGE
                 I PILLOWS AND PITCHERS                     3
                II ON THE ROAD                             22
               III THE FUN BEGINS                          41
                IV THE “WHITECAP”                          63
                 V THE ENCHANTED PRINCESS                  82
                VI HESTER’S DINNER                         99
               VII THE INDIAN CALLER                      121
              VIII FRITTERS AND SALAD                     137
                IX GENIUS BURNS                           151
                 X THE PLAY’S THE THING                   168
                XI A SUCCESSFUL PERFORMANCE               187
               XII THE BOYS’ ENTERTAINMENT                200
              XIII HIDE-AND-SEEK                          213
               XIV WILLING SERVICE                        231
                XV HILARIOUS HOSPITALITY                  244
               XVI A WELCOME INVITATION                   256




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                         PAGE
           “Well, you _are_ a proper-looking   _Frontispiece_
             lot!” Mrs. Lennox exclaimed as
             the girls filed in

           “Mr. Bond is holding Timmy Loo,”                25
             said Helen

           Marjorie and Millicent ordering                 51
             things alternately

           Millicent declared she looked like              61
             Tweedledee prepared for his fight
             with Tweedledum

           “Who are you?” she said in a low,               93
             mysterious whisper

           “This is the only correct and                  113
             elegant way to fill a swing-lamp”

           Timmy Loo                                      133

           The gem of the collection                      235




               NOTE.—A portion of this book was published
               in the “St. Nicholas Magazine”
               under the title of “Hilarity Hall.”




                            EIGHT GIRLS AND
                                 A DOG




                               CHAPTER I


                          PILLOWS AND PITCHERS

‟IS there any way to pack pillows in pitchers?” said Marjorie, framing
herself in the front doorway, one hand grasping recklessly the handles
of three large pitchers, and both arms full of sofa-pillows.

The group on the veranda looked up at her doubtfully.

“Yes,” said brilliant Nan. “Have your pitchers bigger than your pillows,
and the thing is done.”

“But the pillows are bigger than the pitchers.”

“Then pack the pitchers in the pillows,” said Betty.

“Why, of course! Betty, you’re a genius!” And Marjorie disappeared with
her burdens, while the girls on the veranda fell to chattering again
like half a dozen shirt-waisted magpies.

Now I know that a story with eight heroines is an imposition upon even
the gentlest of readers; but you see there were eight girls in the Blue
Ribbon Cooking Club; and when their president, Marjorie Bond, proposed
that they go down to Long Beach and spend a fortnight all by themselves
in her father’s cottage, the whole club rose up as one girl and voted
aye.

Objections were disposed of as fast as they were raised. Permission? The
girls were sure that the sixteen parents concerned could be persuaded to
see the matter in a favorable light. Expense? That should be divided
equally among them all. Trouble? Would be more than compensated by the
fun. Luggage? Not so very much required; the house was completely
furnished, except with linen and silver, and each girl should take her
share. Burglars? That idea caused some apprehension; but when Marjorie
said that Uncle Ned and Aunt Molly would be right next door, plans were
suggested sufficient to scare any reasonably cautious burglar out of his
wits. And so the preliminaries had been arranged, and the date decided
upon, and the day had come.

It was Thursday morning, and they were to leave on the noon train; and
now, although ten o’clock had struck, six sailor-hatted girls were
gathered on the Bonds’ veranda, hurriedly making final arrangements and
frantically trying to remember what were the most important things they
had forgotten.

“It’s like a fire,” Jessie Carroll was saying; “you know people always
save their old trash and leave their best things to burn up. Now I’m
sure I’ve packed just the very things we won’t want and left at home the
things we’ll need most. And that reminds me—Nan, can’t I put my best
hat in your box? I just _had_ to take my down comfortable, and it was so
puffy it wouldn’t leave room for anything else.”

“Oh, don’t take your best hat,” cried Betty Miller; “we’re not going
down to Long Beach to dress up and be giddy. It’s so late in the season
none of the summer boarders will be there, and we’re just going to wear
flannel frocks all day, and tramp in the woods and loll in the hammocks
and get brown as berries and hungry as hunters and uncivilized as—as
Hottentots.”

“Yes, Betty; but remember somebody has to cook for these hungry
Hottentots,” said Mrs. Bond, smiling.

“Aren’t you afraid, girls, that you’ll get tired of cooking? And you’ll
find that there’s a great deal of work connected with housekeeping if
you do it all yourselves.”

“Oh, no, indeed, Mrs. Bond,” said Nan Kellogg. “I just love to cook, and
I don’t mind housework a bit. Mamma thinks it will be good training for
me.”

“Such doings!” exclaimed Grandma Bond, a lovely old lady of the
silver-haired, apple-cheeked variety. “Living on chafing-dish foolery
for two weeks! You’ll all be ill or starved to death in three days, and
you’ll wish yourselves back in your comfortable homes.”

“Not we, grandma!” cried Betty. “We have a gas-stove and a range besides
our beloved chafing-dish, and we won’t starve. But if Nan makes our
Welsh rarebits I’ll not promise that we won’t be ill. Her concoctions
are the stuff that dreams are made on. Oh, here’s Helen. What’s your
misfortune, my pretty maid?”

Helen Morris came up on the veranda and dropped into a big wicker chair
and fanned herself with her hat.

“Girls, I’m exhausted! You know I said I’d take all the things for
afternoon tea, but I had no idea there were so many. Why, I’ve packed a
whole barrel and they’re not all in yet. To be sure, it’s mostly
tissue-paper and excelsior; but I was so afraid they’d break. And I
couldn’t get the tea-cozy in at all, or the Dresden cups; I’d hate to
break _them_.”

“Yes,” said Betty, sympathetically; “_don’t_ break the tea-cozy,
whatever you do, if it’s that pretty yellow satin one. But you’ve no
ingenuity, Nell; why don’t you wear it down on your head? Then you’ll
look like a drum-major.”

“I will if you’ll all obey my orders. Well, this won’t do for me. I must
go back and reason with those tea-things. I just ran over a minute
because I saw you all here. If I can’t get them into the barrel I’ll
have to take a cask besides. Good-by. I’ll meet you at the train. What
time do we start?”

“Twelve-ten,” replied Hester Laverack. “I’ll go home with you, Helen,
and help you pack your china.”

“Yes, do,” said Betty; “two heads are better than one in any barrel.”

But the two heads were already bobbing down the walk, and didn’t hear
Betty’s parting shot.

“Nell’s crazy,” remarked Millicent Payne, who always did everything
leisurely, yet always had it done on time. “I do hope her barrel will go
safely, for her tea-cups and things are lovely.”

“Shall we have tea _every_ afternoon?” asked Marguerite Alden, a fragile
wisp of a girl who looked as if a real strong ocean breeze would blow
her away. “I’m so glad! I don’t care for the tea at all, but the having
it with all us girls together will be such fun, only—I do hate to wash
up the tea-things.”

“Girlies,” said Mrs. Bond, “I think it would be much better all round if
you’d hire a neat little maid to wash your dishes for you. You can
probably find one down there, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to have help
when you discover what dish-washing for eight means.”

“I think it would be heaps better, Mrs. Bond,” said Marguerite. “I don’t
see how we can have any fun if we have to work all the time.”

“Lazy Daisy!” said Betty. “You won’t do any more than your share. But we
won’t let the interloper do any of our cooking; I insist on that.”

“All right, Betty,” said Marguerite, or Daisy, as the girls called her,
though she wished they wouldn’t; “and you may be chief cook.”

“No,” said Betty, “I’m not chief cook—Marjorie is that. I’ll be the
first assistant. I’ll prepare the vegetables for her, and be a—a
peeler.”

“Hurrah for Betty the Peeler!” said Marjorie, appearing again in the
front door. “And what am I?”

“You’re the cook,” said Millicent.

“But we’re all cooks.”

“Yes, I know; but you’re head cook, chief cook—cook plenipotentiary, or
any title you prefer.”

“Then I’ll be cook,” said Marjorie, “just plain cook.”

“Indeed, you’ll be more than a plain cook,” said her mother, laughing,
“if you attempt all the fancy dishes in all those recipe-books I saw you
stowing away in your trunk.”

“Oh, they weren’t all recipe-books. Some of them were delectable tales
to be read aloud at the twilight hour. I could only take light
literature, as the box weighs about a ton now. So I was forced to leave
out ‘Advice to Young Maidens’ and Carlyle’s ‘French Revolution,’ for I
really hadn’t room.”

“I hope you took ‘Rollo Learning to Work,’ for I’m sure we’ll need it.”

“No, Betty, I didn’t; but I packed ‘First Aid to the Injured’ and ‘Alice
in Wonderland’; we can struggle along with those.”

“There’s a circulating library down at Long Beach,” said Nan Kellogg;
“we can get books there.”

“Now look here, my rising young authoress,” said Betty; “you’re not
going down there to read all the time, or write, either. So you may as
well make up your mind to it, milady, first as last. We’ll have no
bookworms or blue-stockings. ‘Cooks, not Books,’ is our motto. Now,
Duchess, look over your lists for the last time; I’m going home to lock
my trunk, and then I’m going to don my war-paint and feathers.”

“I am, too,” said Nan; “and I want to go down to the station an hour
before train-time, so as to have ample leisure to come back for what I
forget.”

“Good idea,” said Marjorie, approvingly. The girls called her “Duchess”
because she had a high-and-mighty way of giving orders. Not an
unpleasant way—oh, dear, no! Marjorie Bond was the favorite of the
whole village of Middleton. Her stately air was due to the fact that she
was rather tall for her sixteen years, and carried herself as straight
as an arrow. She could have posed admirably for a picture of Pocahontas.
Her dark, bright eyes were always dancing, and her saucy gipsy face was
always smiling; for Marjorie had a talent for enjoyment, which she
cultivated at every opportunity. The girls said she could get fun out of
anything, from a scolding to a jug of sour cream. And that latter fact
suggests Marjorie’s pet accomplishment, which, though prosaic, afforded
much pleasure to herself and her friends. She was a born cook, and by
experiment and experience had become a proficient one. Two years ago she
had proposed the Cooking Club, and though not very enthusiastic at
first, every one of the eight members would tell you now that nothing in
Middleton was ever quite so much fun as the Cooking Club.

“I’m sure I’ve thought of everything,” said the Duchess, wrinkling her
pretty brows over a handful of scribbled lists. “You’re to bring the
forks, Nannie, and a pair of blankets and a table-cloth, and don’t
forget your napkin