Our Grass Rug and—Other Things
By Elizabeth Price
OUR house isn’t so very nice. We own it, of course, and that is a great deal, as mother has often reminded us when we grumbled. But we girls always thought there were some drawbacks even to that, because we couldn’t ask a landlord for new paper or fresh paint, and as for us—we never had money to spare for such superfluities. There are only four of us,—mother and Jack, Rose and me. We children have been busy all our lives trying to get educated, so we could keep mother in luxury after a while. In the meantime she had done with bare necessities, for the means that father had left wasn’t enough to take any liberty with. Mother has things spick and span. No palace could be more beautifully kept than our home, but the furnishing is nothing whatever to boast of. Our room was almost the worst of all, with its odds and ends of things. “Other girls have silver-backed hair-brushes!” wailed Rose one night, regarding her old one with a scornful glance. “Yes, and chairs that don’t tip one over,” I added, as I managed to save myself from a fall. “Isn’t it horrid to be poor, Meta?” said Rose. “It’s no joke.” I was very grim because I had bruised my hand on the rickety chair, and tomorrow was music-lesson day, as I remembered. It was then and there that we rebelled. Not so that mother could hear us—we weren’t mean enough for that! She’d have been only too glad to help matters if she could. So we had our indignation meeting by our two selves. We said we’d had enough of old furniture and cheap sash curtains, and we decided it was time to act. Having reached this decision, we proceeded to carry it out, and we surprised ourselves with the speed of our achievements. My hope lay in music, Rose’s in arithmetic. I trailed around the neighbourhood next day looking for scholars, and Rose betook herself straight down to the Cowans, who had been hunting for a “coach” for their twins. We had discussed the Cowan possibility some time before, but Rose declared then that she couldn’t spare a minute from the demands of her studies, while I knew it would keep me busy to be graduated on schedule time without doing anything outside. It makes a difference when you get interested in something for yourself. As soon as ever we girls viewed these occupations in the light of furnishings for our room, we felt sure we could squeeze them in—and we did. I got six beginners, and Rose captured the Cowans root and branch—four instead of two; for it seemed they were not proficient in mathematical pursuits, and their mother was delighted to get them off her distracted hands. All our friends know that Rose adores sums and problems, and she didn’t need any other recommendation. Well, we did it! It wasn’t easy, either. If my half-dozen aspirants for fame escaped shaking till their teeth chattered, it wasn’t because I didn’t ache to administer it. And Rose feared her hair would be white before the end of the term. You see, when there’s a certain amount of housework you feel obliged to do, and when your studies fairly clamour for attention the rest of the time, it sets your nerves all awry to keep the tempo for clumsy fingers that go just half as fast as they should; or to teach over and over again that four times five are always twenty. But I suppose all these trials helped us to appreciate our possessions when we did get them. They were just as sweet and dainty as we had hoped. We got two single beds—white enamel with brass trimmings—and a pretty mirror in a neat frame. Our old dressing table looked like new with fresh drapery, and there were full-length curtains to match. Two cunning white rockers, two other chairs, and a little round stand made us feel simply blissful. We painted our book-shelves with white enamel paint, and did our woodwork ourselves. Jack painted the floor a soft grey that would blend with anything, and after it was dry we laid on it one of our chief treasures. It was a grass rug in two shades of green, with a stencilled border and a general air of elegance that almost overpowered us. It was large enough35almost to cover the floor, and we stencilled green borders on our curtains and drapery in the same Grecian pattern. It seemed too good to be true, as we stood in the door and viewed the landscape o’er after we had it done. “It isn’t often that our dreams come true,” sighed Rose. “But this one has,” I assured her. She nodded happily. “Yes, and it’s just as nice as we thought it would be!” “Won’t it do our hearts good to ‘give notice,’ as the cooks say?” “I can hardly wait to tell those awful Cowans that they may get along as best they can. I’m so tired of them, Meta!” “I know you are. I wouldn’t mind the music so much if I had time. But it’s dreadful when your own studies drag like millstones about your neck. I’m not so clever at learning as you are, Rose. I have to work for what I get. So I shall tell them, next Tuesday, that I’ve decided not to teach any more till school’s out.” Jack stopped on his way down the hall to look over our shoulders. “Huh!” he said, if you know what that means. “Doesn’t it look lovely?” asked Rose, her face all full of dimples. Rose is as pretty as a picture, anyway, and when she smiles, you can’t help smiling back. Jack patted her cheek, and said, “It certainly does,” and then he passed on abruptly. “Something doesn’t suit him,” I declared as he shut his room door behind him. “I can’t imagine what it is, and it’s of no earthly use to ask him.” It wouldn’t have been. You can’t worm a thing out of that boy till he gets ready to tell. Mother came up the stairs just then waving a note in her hand. “It’s from Helen Hunt!” she announced joyfully. “She is going to spend a day and a night with us next week on her way to Grovesport. I shall be so glad to see her.” Mrs. Hunt and mother have been friends more years than Rose and I have lived, and they very seldom meet any more. So we girls were almost as glad as mother was, because that dear woman doesn’t have as many pleasures as she deserves. After we went to bed that night, we planned the surprise. The visitor should have our lovely new nest, and we’d go and camp in the shabby old guest-room. We knew it would please mother, for she hadn’t352had so pretty a place to entertain Mrs. Hunt in for many years. It did please her, too, so much that she almost cried, and she hugged us and thanked us till we felt very happy and self-satisfied. Jack was standing by, and he said “Huh!” again in that same queer tone. Then mother turned and hugged him, and Rose and I said to each other how strange it was that Jack should be jealous of his own sisters. - (Continued from page 351)