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                            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-ring, and your jolly Vienna coffee-pot; and, Betty,
take your chafing-dish—we’ll need two; Millicent, you’re responsible
for the spoons, and Jessie, knives. Lazy Daisy will take a hammock, and
I’ll take one, too; and I’ve packed lots of sofa-pillows, and I hope
Helen will take her banjo. I’ve lost my most important list, so I may
have forgotten something. But I’ve packed towels, hand and dish, and a
scrub-brush and a tack-hammer—and isn’t that all we need to keep
house?—except this good-for-nothing little bundle, my own, my only
Timmy Loo. Will you go with us, honey?” Marjorie picked up the bundle in
question, who wagged his absurd moppy, silvery ears and his still more
absurd moppy, silvery tail, and accepted the invitation with a few
staccato barks of joy.

“That means yes, of course,” said Betty; “his French accent is so
perfect, even I can understand it. Well, good-by, Timmy; I’ll see you
later. Can you take him on the train, Marjorie?”

“No; he’ll have to ride in the baggage-car. But I’ve explained it all to
him, and he doesn’t mind; and he’ll keep an eye on our trunks and
wheels.”

Timmy Loo barked again and blinked his eyes acquiescently, and Betty
gave him a final pat on his funny little nose and ran away home.

“I must go, too,” said Marguerite, rising as she spoke and picking a
full-blown rose from the trellis above her head.

A careless observer probably would have called Marguerite the prettiest
of all the Cooking Club girls. She was small, slender, and graceful,
with a rose-leaf complexion and sea-blue eyes, and a glory of golden
hair that the girls called her halo. She was visionary and romantic, and
her special chum was Nan Kellogg, who was lounging in the hammock with
her hands clasped behind her head and her eyes closed. Nan was a
dark-haired, olive-skinned Southern girl, with a poetic temperament and
a secret ambition to write verse.

“Come, girl,” said Marguerite, dropping rose-petals, one by one, on
Nan’s nose. “What are you dreaming of?”

“Oh,” said Nan, opening her eyes, “I was thinking what gay old times
we’re going to have down there. I’m _so_ glad we’re going! Marjorie,
you’re _such_ a darling, I shall dedicate my first book of poems to
you.”

“Do,” said Marjorie; “but don’t write them while we’re down at Long
Beach. What shall we do if you go off on a poetic flight when it’s your
turn to boil the potatoes?”

“Oh, I sha’n’t boil potatoes; they’re too prosaic. Omelet soufflé is the
very plainest thing I shall ever cook.”

Grandma Bond groaned.

“Margy,” she said despairingly, “I _hope_ you packed the medicine-chest
I gave you.”

“Oh, yes, grandma; and your bundle of old linen and salve for burns, and
your arnica-flowers for bruises, and your sticking-plaster for cuts, and
your toothache drops, and your Balsam Balm. Oh, the hospital department
will give you a vote of thanks, engrossed and framed. Now go on home,
Nan and Daisy; I know you’ll miss the train.”

“Yes, we must go. Good-by, grandma.” For all the girls insisted on
sharing Marjorie’s grandma, and the dear old lady’s heart was big enough
for them all. “Good-by, grandma; give us a parting word.”

Grandma’s eyes twinkled as she replied: “Well, I advise you to remember
that too many broths spoil the cook.”

Six merry laughs greeted this speech, and Nan replied: “Indeed they do,
and I won’t allow more than three kinds of soup at any one meal. Now I’m
off, Marjorie; I’ll meet you at the train—and oh, Duchess, I ’most
forgot to ask you. Brother Jack says, can he and Ted come down and spend
a day with us?”

“No, indeed!” cried Marjorie. “We are not going to allow a boy in sight
all the time we are there. Tell them we’re sorry to refuse, but we’re
not running a co-educational institution, and only girls need apply.”

“I did tell him that, but he begged me to ask you again—”

“No,” said Marjorie, laughing but positive; “tell him we turn a deaf
ear—I mean sixteen deaf ears—to his entreaties, and harden our eight
hearts to his appeal. There is no use, girls; if the boys come down
they’ll spoil everything; don’t you think so?”

“Yes,” said each girl, but with such varying accents that Mrs. Bond
laughed heartily, while Marguerite shook her yellow curls and protested
that she didn’t want the boys anyway, even if they _did_ bring candy.

Then she and Nan went home, and Jessie Carroll said: “We’ll have plenty
of candy, Marjorie, for father will send it down whenever I want him
to.”

“Oh, Jessie, that will be fine! It will be just like boarding-school
when the boxes come from home,” said Hester Laverack, who had returned
from Helen and her refractory tea-things. Hester was an English girl who
had only been in America about a year, and was not yet quite accustomed
to the rollicking ways of the rest of the club. “I think,” she went on
slowly, “I may take my camera down, if you like; it’ll be rather good
fun to take pictures of us all.”

“Yes, indeed; you must take your camera,” said Marjorie. “What larks!
We’ll have jolly pictures. And if Helen takes her banjo we can sing
songs and have concerts, and—oh, dear, the time won’t be half long
enough!”

“Send me up a picture of the group when you’ve spoiled your dinner in
the cooking, and haven’t anything to eat,” said grandma, slyly.

“Now, Grandma Cassandra, you mustn’t talk like that,” said Marjorie;
“but you can’t dampen our spirits with your dire prognostications; we
have too much confidence in our own capabilities. Skip along, girls; I’m
going to get ready now, and we’ll all meet at the station.”

The crowd scattered, and Millicent Payne said: “Well, I’m the last
little Injun, and I reckon I’ll go too, and then there’ll be none.”

Millicent Payne was Marjorie’s dearest friend and chum, and lived next
door; at least, she was supposed to, but she almost lived at the Bonds’.
Millicent was a delightful girl to know; she was so clever and bright,
and took such an interest in anything that interested anybody else—such
a kind, whole-hearted interest, that was neither curious nor critical.
And she had such funny little tricks of imagination. If, for any reason,
her surroundings were not quite what she wished they were, she
immediately created for herself an environment that suited her better,
and, quite oblivious of facts, lived and moved among her fancies. She
was devoted to stories and fairy-tales, and would repeat them in an
irresistibly funny manner, becoming at times so imbued with the spirit
of fantasy that she seemed a veritable witch or pixy herself.

“Run along, Millikens,” called Marjorie. “Come back when you’re ready,
and we’ll go down together.”




                               CHAPTER II


                              ON THE ROAD

THE clock in the railroad station announced high noon, but of all the
party only Marjorie and Millicent were there to hear it. Nan Kellogg had
fulfilled her own prophecy by coming down fifteen minutes earlier, and
then going back home for her cuckoo-clock, which was one of her pet
possessions, and which she decided she couldn’t be parted from for two
whole weeks. She came flying back, and entered the station by one door
just as Betty Miller came in at the other.

“Oh,” said Nan, breathlessly, “I thought of course I’d be the last one
here. Where are the other girls? But since they’re not here, won’t you
hold the clock, Marjorie, and let me run back home and—”

“No,” said Betty, decidedly. “You can_not_ go back for anything else.
Follow the example of your clock and stop running for a while.”

“Has it stopped? I was afraid it would. Never mind; I can set it going
after we get there. But I do want to go back and—”

“Nan Kellogg, you’ll be put in chains if you are so insubordinate,”
broke in Marjorie. “I am commander of this expedition, and I order you
to sit down on that bench and not move until the train comes.”

Nan laughed, but sat down obediently, holding her precious clock; and
then Helen appeared with her banjo, and Hester with her camera.

“Have you checked your wheels, girls?” asked Betty.

“Yes, with our trunks,” said Helen. “Mr. Bond is keeping watch over them
until the train comes; and he is holding Timmy Loo, who is a most
important-looking animal just now, dressed in a new red ribbon and a
baggage-tag.”

“Oh, he’s delighted with his prospective journey,” said Marjorie. “I
told him he had the entire charge of our trunks and wheels, and he feels
the responsibility. Oh, here’s Jessie. Now we’re all here but
Marguerite. Where is she, Nan?”

“Who? Daisy? Oh, she’ll be here in a minute. I think she waited to learn
how to make soup.”

“She’ll be in it if she doesn’t hurry,” said Nan. “I think I’ll go and
poke her up.”

“Don’t do it!” cried Betty. “You’ll miss her, and then we won’t have
either of you. Here she comes now, grinning like a Chessy cat.”

Dainty Marguerite, in her fresh white duck suit and pink shirt-waist,
came in, smiling radiantly.

[Illustration: “‘MR. BOND IS HOLDING TIMMY LOO.’ SAID HELEN.”]

“Girls,” said she, “Aunt Annie was at our house, and she taught me a new
soup. It’s wonderful, and I’ll make it for you, if you want it, the
first thing.”

“Of course we want it the first thing,” said Nan. “Did you suppose we
thought it was a dessert?”

“Come, girls!” called Mr. Bond, from the platform, as the train that was
to have the honor of carrying the party puffed into the station and came
noisily to a standstill. “Are you ready? All aboard! Good-by, Margy
dear; don’t set the house afire. Who is the Matron of this crowd,
anyway? I’d like a word with her.”

Marjorie looked at the girls. “I think Marguerite is,” she said. “She’s
the youngest and smallest and rattle-patedest. Yes, she shall be our
Matron.”

“Very well, then, Matron Daisy, I consign these young barbarians to your
care, and I put them and my house in your charge, and I shall expect you
to render me an account when you come back.”

“Don’t scare me, Mr. Bond,” pleaded Marguerite, shaking her yellow
curls. “If the responsibility proves too much for me I shall run away
and leave them to their fate. But I think I can manage them, and I’ll
rule them with a rod of iron.”

And then the bell rang, and Mr. Bond jumped off the train just in time;
and he waved his hat, and the girls waved their handkerchiefs from the
windows, until they were whisked away out of his sight.

“Now, my children,” said Marguerite, highly elated at her absurd title
of Matron, “you are in my care, and I must look after you. Why, where
are Nan and Helen?”

Sure enough, only six of the girls were to be seen; but just at that
moment the two missing ones were escorted through the now wabbling
doorway by an official. They were rather red-faced, and explained that
they had seated themselves in the smoking-car by mistake, and the
brakeman had kindly brought them back to their friends.

“I am shocked,” said Marguerite, severely. “Sit down there at once, and
after this follow my directions more closely.”

Then the eight girls were quickly paired off, and the general chatter
was broken up into dialogues.

Mindful of her position as Matron, Marguerite kept a watchful eye on her
charges. To be sure, the watchful eye was so bright and merry that as a