must be off, or I shall miss Jackson, and he’s the man I want”; and,
throwing down two dollars instead of one, Mr. Bemis hurried
away, with a vague impression that Boo had swallowed a dozen
brass buttons, and Miss Bat had been coasting somewhere in a
bath-pan; but catching Jackson was important, so he did not stop to
investigate.
Armed with the paternal permission, Molly carried her point, and
oh, what a dreadful evening poor Boo spent! First, he was decoyed
upstairs an hour too soon, then put in a tub by main force and
sternly scrubbed, in spite of shrieks that brought Miss Bat to the
locked door to condole with the sufferer, scold the scrubber, and
depart, darkly prophesying croup before morning.
“He always howls when he is washed; but I shall do it, since you
won’t, and he must get used to it. I will not have people tell me he’s
neglected, if I can help it,” cried Molly, working away with tears in
her eyes–for it was as hard for her as for Boo; but she meant to be
thorough for once in her life, no matter what happened.
When the worst was over, she coaxed him with candy and stories
till the long task of combing out the curls was safely done; then, in
the clean night-gown with a blue button newly sewed on, she laid
him in bed, worn out, but sweet as a rose.
“Now, say your prayers, darling, and go to sleep with the nice red
blanket all tucked round so you won’t get cold,” said Molly, rather
doubtful of the effect of the wet head.
“No, I won’t! Going to sleep now!” and Boo shut his eyes wearily,
feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.
“Then you’ll be a real little heathen, as Mrs. Pecq called you, and I
don’t know what I shall do with you,” said Molly, longing to
cuddle rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed
looking after as well as his body.
“No, no; I won’t be a heevin! I don’t want to be frowed to the
trockindiles. I will say my prayers! oh, I will!” and, rising in his
bed, Boo did so, with the devotion of an infant Samuel, for he
remembered the talk when the society was formed.
Molly thought her labors were over for that night, and soon went to
bed, tired with her first attempts. But toward morning she was
wakened by the hoarse breathing of the boy, and was forced to
patter away to Miss Bat’s room, humbly asking for the squills, and
confessing that the prophecy had come to pass.
“I knew it! Bring the child to me, and don’t fret. I’ll see to him, and
next time you do as I say,” was the consoling welcome she
received as the old lady popped up a sleepy but anxious face in a
large flannel cap, and shook the bottle with the air of a general
who had routed the foe before and meant to do it again.
Leaving her little responsibility in Miss Bat’s arms, Molly tired to
wet her pillow with a few remorseful tears, and to fall asleep,
wondering if real missionaries ever killed their pupils in the
process of conversion.
So the girls all failed in the beginning; but they did not give up,
and succeeded better next time, as we shall see.
Chapter 9 The Debating Club
“Look here, old man, we ought to have a meeting. Holidays are
over, and we must brace up and attend to business,” said Frank to
Gus, as they strolled out of the schoolyard one afternoon in
January, apparently absorbed in conversation, but in reality waiting
for a blue cloud and a scarlet feather to appear on the steps.
“All right. When, where, and what?” asked Gus, who was a man of
few words.
“To-night, our house, subject, ‘Shall girls go to college with us?’
Mother said we had better be making up our minds, because
everyone is talking about it, and we shall have to be on one side or
the other, so we may as well settle it now,” answered Frank, for