# Dandelion Cottage/Chapter 13

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CHAPTER XIII
The Unpleasantness Of Laura
EXCEPT for a few lively but good-natured squabbles between Marjory, who was something of a tease, and Mabel, who was Marjory's favorite victim, the little mistresses of Dandelion Cottage had always played together in perfect harmony; but with the coming of the Milligans everything was changed.
To start with, between the Milligan baby and the Milligan dog, the girls knew no peace. Mrs. Milligan was right when she said that the baby was a nuisance, for it would have been hard to find a more troublesome three-year-old. He pulled down everything he could reach, broke the girls' best dishes, wiped their precious petunia and the geraniums completely out of ​existence and roared with a deep bass voice if anyone attempted to interfere with him. The dog carried mud into the neat little cottage, scratched up the garden and growled if the girls tried to drive him out.
"But," said Mabel, disconsolately, in one of the rare moments when the girls were alone, "I could stand the baby and the dog, but I can't stand Laura."
"Laura certainly likes to boss," said Bettie, who looked pale and worried. "I don't just see what we're going to do about it. I try to be nice to her but I can't like her. Mother says we must be polite to her, but I don't believe mother knows just what a queer girl she is—you see she's always as quiet as can be when there are grown people around."
"Yes," agreed Mabel, "her company manners are so much properer than mine that mother says she wishes I were more like her."
"Well," said Marjory, ​uncompromisingly, "I'm mighty glad you're not. Your manners aren't particularly good but you haven't two sets. I think Laura's the most disagreeable girl I ever knew. Just as she fools you into almost liking her she turns around and scratches you."
"Perhaps," said Jean, "if her people were nicer—by the way, mother says that after this we must keep the windows shut while Mr. Milligan is splitting wood in his back yard so we can't hear the awful things he says, and that if we hear Mr. and Mrs. Milligan quarreling again we mustn't listen."
"Lisen!" exclaimed Mabel, "we don't need to listen. Their voices keep getting louder and louder until it seems as if they were right in this house."
"Of course," said Marjory, "it can't be pleasant for Laura at home, but, dear me, it isn't pleasant for us with her over here."
Badly-brought-up Laura was certainly not a pleasant playmate. She wanted to ​lead in everything and was only amiable when she was having her own way. She was not satisfied with the way the cottage was arranged but re-arranged it to suit herself. She told the girls that their garments were countrified, and laughed scornfully at Bettie's boyish frocks and heavy shoes. She ridiculed rotund Mabel for being fat, said that Marjory's nose turned up and that Jean's rather large mouth was a good opening for a young dentist. Before the first week was fairly over, the four girls who had lived so happily before her arrival, were grieved, indignant or downright angry three-fourths of the time.
Laura had one habit that annoyed the girls excessively, although at first they had found it rather amusing. Later, however, owing perhaps to a certain rasping quality in Laura's voice, it grew very tiresome. She transposed the initials of their names. For instance, Bettie Tucker became Tettie Bucker, Jeanie Mapes became Meanie Japes, ​while Mabel became Babel Mennett. It was particularly distressing to have Laura speak familiarly in her sharp, half-scornful tones, of their dear, departed Miss Blossom, whose name was Gertrude, as Bertie Glossom. Mr. Peter Black, of course, became Beter Plack, and Mrs. Bartholomew Crane was Mrs. Cartholomew Brane, to lawless young Laura.
"I don't think it's exactly respectful to do that to grown-up people's names," protested Bettie, one day.
"Pooh!" said Laura, "Mrs. Cartholomew Brane looks just like an old washtub, she's so fat—who'd be respectful to a washtub? There goes Toctor Ducker, Tettie Bucker. Huh! I'd hate to be a parson's daughter—they're always as poor as church mice. What did you say your mother's first name is?"
"I didn't say and I'm not going to," returned Bettie.
"Well, anyhow, her bonnet went out of ​style four years ago—I should think the parish'd take up a subscription and get her a new one."
"I wish, Laura," said exasperated Jean, another day, "that you wouldn't meddle with our things. This bedroom is mine and Bettie's and the other one is Mabel's and Marjory's. We wouldn't think of looking into each other's private treasure boxes. I've seen you open mine half a dozen times this week. The things are all keepsakes and I'd rather not have them handled."
"Huh! I guess I'll handle 'em if I want to. My mother can't keep me out of her bureau drawers and I don't think you're so very much smarter."
A day or two later, the girls of Dandelion Cottage were invited to a party in another portion of the town. The invitations were left at their own cottage door and the delighted girls began at once to make plans for the party.
​"Let's carry our new handkerchiefs," suggested Jean, going to her treasure box. "I believe I'll take mine home with me—I dreamed last night that the cottage was on fire and that mine got burned. Besides, I'll have to get dressed at home for the party and it would be handier to have it there."
"Guess I will, too," said Bettie.
"Great idea," said Marjory, taking her own box from its shelf. "I never should have thought of anything so bright. Let's all write to Miss Blossom and tell her that we carried our—Why! mine isn't in my box!"
"Neither is mine," cried Mabel, who had turned quite pale at the discovery. "It was there this morning—girls, did any of you touch our handkerchiefs?"
"Of course we didn't," said Jean. "See, here's mine with 'J' on it and there's no others in my box."
"Of course not," echoed Laura.
"Mine's here, all right," said Bettie, who ​had been struggling with her box, which opened hard. "Are you sure you left them in your boxes?"
"Certain sure," replied Mabel, "I saw it this morning."
"So did I see mine," asserted Marjory. "After I'd shown it to Aunty Jane I brought it back to put in my treasure-box."
"Laura," asked Jean, "was Marjory's handkerchief in her box when you looked in it this morning? I heard the cover make that funny little clicking noise that it always makes and just a minute after you came out of her room."
"I—I don't know," stammered Laura. "I didn't see it—I never touched her old box. If you say I did, I'll go right home and tell my mother you called me a thief. I'm going now, anyway."
The girls were in the dining-room just outside of the back bedroom door. As Laura was brushing past Jean, the opening ​of the new girl's blouse caught in such a fashion on the corner of the sideboard that the garment, which fastened in front, came unbuttoned from top to bottom. From its bulging front, dropped Bettie's bead chain, various articles of doll's clothing, and the two missing handkerchiefs.
"They're mine," cried Laura, making a dive for the things.
"They're not any such thing," cried indignant Jean. "I made that doll's dress myself and I know the lace on those handkerchiefs."
"They're my mother's," protested Laura. "I took 'em out of her drawer."
"They're not," contradicted Mabel, prying Laura's fingers apart and forcing her to drop one of the crumpled handkerchiefs. "Look at that monogram—'M B' for Mabel Bennett."
"It's no such thing," lied Laura, stoutly. "It stands for Bertha Milligan and that's my mother's name."
​"Give me that other handkerchief this instant," demanded Jean, giving Laura a slight shake. "If you don't, we'll take it away from you."
"Take the old rag," said Laura. "My mother gives away better handkerchiefs than these to beggars. I just took 'em anyway to scare Vargery Male and Babel Mennett, the silly babies."
After this enlightening experience, the girls never for a moment left their unwelcome visitor alone in any of the rooms of Dandelion Cottage. They stood her for almost a week longer, principally because there seemed to be no way of getting rid of her. Mabel, indeed, had several lively quarrels with her during that time, because quick-tempered Mabel, always strictly truthful herself, could not tolerate deceit in anyone else, and she had, of course, lost all faith in Laura.
The end came suddenly one Friday afternoon. Miss Blossom had sent to the girls, ​by mail, a photograph of her own charming self, and nothing that the cottage contained was more precious. After one of the usual tiffs with Mabel, high-handed Laura spitefully scratched a disfiguring moustache right across the beautiful face, ruining the priceless treasure beyond repair.
Even Laura looked slightly dismayed at the result of her spiteful work. The others for a moment were too horror-stricken for words. Then Mabel, with blazing eyes, sprang to her feet and flung the cottage door wide open.
"You go home, Laura Milllgan," she cried. "Don't you ever dare to come inside this house again."
"Yes, go," cried mild Bettie, for once thoroughly roused. "We've tried to be nice to you and there hasn't been a single day that you haven't been rude and horrid. Go home this minute. We're done with you."
"I won't go until I'm good and ready," ​retorted Laura, tearing the disfigured photograph in two and scornfully tossing the pieces into a corner. "Such a fuss about a skinny old maid's picture."
"You shan't stay one instant longer," cried indignant Jean, stepping determinedly behind Laura, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders and making a sudden run for the door. "There! You're out. Don't you ever attempt to come in again."
Bettie, grasping the situation, and the Milligan baby at the same time, promptly set the boy outside. She had handled him with the utmost gentleness, but he always roared if anyone touched him, and he roared now.
"Yah!" yelled Laura, "I'll tell my mother you pinched him—slapped him, too."
"Sapped him, too," wailed the baby.
"Well," said Jean, turning the key in the lock, "we'll have to keep the door locked after this. Mercy! I never behaved so dreadfully to anybody before and I hope I'll never have to again."