# Dandelion Cottage/Chapter 19

Layout 4
CHAPTER XIX
The Unexpected Letter
THE next morning, Jean, with three large bananas as a peace offering, was the first to arrive at Dandelion Cottage. Jean, a wise young person for her years, had decided that a little hard work would clear the atmosphere, so, finding no one else in the house, she made a fire in the stove, put on the kettle, put up the leaf of the kitchen table and began to take all the dishes from the pantry shelves. Dishwashing in the cottage was always far more enjoyable than this despised occupation usually is elsewhere, owing to the astonishing assortment of crockery the girls had accumulated. No two of the dishes, with the exception of a pair of plates bearing life-sized portraits of "The frog that would a-wooing go, whether his mother would let him or no," bore the ​same pattern. There was a bewildering diversity, too, in the sizes and shapes of the cups and saucers, and an alarming variety in the matter of colours. But, as the girls had declared gleefully a dozen times or more, it would be possible to set the table for seven courses when the time should come for Mr. Black's and Mrs. Crane's dinner party, because so many of the things almost matched if they didn't quite. Jean was thinking of this, as she lifted the dishes from the shelf to the table, and lovingly arranged them in pairs, the pink sugar bowl beside the blue cream-pitcher, the yellow coffee cup beside the dull red Japanese tea cup, and the "Love-the-Giver" mug, beside the "For my Little Friend" oat-meal bowl. She had just taken down the big, dusty, cracked pitcher that matched nothing else, which, perhaps, was the reason that it had remained high on the shelf since the day Mabel had used it for her lemonade, when the door bell rang.
​Hastily wiping her dusty hands, Jean ran to the door. No one was there, but the postman was climbing the steps of the next house, so Jean slipped her fingers expectantly into the little, rusty iron letter-box. Perhaps there was something from Miss Blossom, who sometimes showed that she had not forgotten her little landladies.
Sure enough, there was a large white letter, not from Miss Blossom to be sure, but from somebody. To the young cottagers, letters were always joyous happenings; they had no debts, consequently they were unacquainted with bills. With this auspicious beginning, for of course the coming of a totally unexpected letter was an auspicious beginning, it was surely going to be a cheerful, perhaps even a delightful day. Jean hummed happily as she laid the unopened letter on the dining-room table, for of course a letter somewhat oddly addressed to "The Four Young Ladies at 224 Fremont Street, City," could be opened only when all four ​were present. When Marjory and Bettie came in, they fell upon the letter and examined every portion of the envelope, but neither girl could imagine who had sent it. It was impossible to wait for Mabel, who was always late, so Bettie obligingly ran to get her. Even so there was still some considerable delay for Mabel had to lace her shoes; but presently Bettie returned, with Mabel, still nibbling very-much-buttered toast, at her heels.
"You open it, Jean," panted Bettie. "You can read writing better than we can."
"Hurry," urged Mabel, who could keep other persons waiting much easier than she herself could wait.
"Here's a fork to open it with," said Marjory, "I can't find the scissors. Hurry up; maybe it's a party and we'll have to R. S. V. P. right away."
"Oh goody, if it is!" squealed Mabel. "I can wear my new tan Oxfords.
"It's from Yours Respectably—no, ​Yours Regretfully, John W. Downing," announced Jean. "The man that was here yesterday, you know."
"Read it, read it," pleaded the others, crowding so closely that Jean had to elevate the letter above their heads in order to see it at all. "Do hurry up, we're crazy to hear it."
"My Dear Young Ladies:" read Jean in a voice that started bravely but grew fainter with every line. "It is with sincere regret that I write to inform you that it no longer suits the convenience of the vestrymen to have you occupy the church cottage on Fremont Street. It is to be rented as soon as a few necessary repairs can be made, and in the meantime, you will oblige us greatly by moving out at once. Please deliver the key, at your earliest convenience to me at either my house or this office.
"Yours Regretfully,
"John W. Downing."
For as much as two minutes no one said ​a word. Jean had laid the open letter on the table. Marjory and Bettie with their arms tightly locked, as if both felt the need of support, re-read the closely written page in silence When they reached the end, they pushed it toward Mabel.
"What does it mean in plain English?" asked Mabel, hoping that both her eyes and her ears had deceived her.
"That somebody else is to have the cottage," said Jean, "and that in the meantime we're to move."
"In the meantime!" blurted Mabel, with swift wrath. "I should say it was the meantime—the very meanest time anybody ever heard of. I'd just like to know what right 'Yours-Respectably-John-W.-Downing' has to turn us out of our own house. I guess we paid our rent—I guess there's blisters on me yet—I guess I dug dandelions—I guess I——"
But here Mabel's indignation turned to grief, and with one of her very best howls ​and a torrent of tears, she buried her face in Jean's apron.
"Bettie," asked Jean with her arms about Mabel, "do you think it would do any good to ask your father about it? He's the minister, you know, and he might explain to Mr. Downing that we were promised the cottage for all summer."
"Papa went away this morning and won't be home for ten days. He has exchanged with somebody for the next two Sundays."
"My pa—pa—papa's away, too," sobbed Mabel, "or he'd tell that vile Mr. Downing that it was all the Mill—ill—igans' fault. They're the folks that ought to be turned out, and I just wuh—wuh—wish they—they had been."
"Why wouldn't it be a good idea," suggested Marjory, "for us all to go down to Mr. Downing's office and tell him all about it. You see, he hasn't lived here very long and perhaps he doesn't understand that we have paid our rent for all summer."
​"Yes," assented Jean, "that would probably be the best thing to do. He won't mind having us go to the office because he told us to take the key there—but where is his office."
"I know," said Bettie. "Here's the address on the letter, and the dentist I go to is right near there, so I can find it easily."
"Then let's start right away," cried eager Mabel, uncovering a disheveled head and a tear-stained countenance. "Don't let's lose a minute."
"Mercy no," said Jean, taking Mabel by the shoulders and pushing her before her to the blue-room mirror. "Do you think you can go any place looking like that? Do you think you look like a desirable tenant? We've all got to be just as clean and neat as we can be. We've got to impress him with our—our ladylikeness."
"I'll braid Mabel's hair," offered Bettie, "if Marjory will run around the block and get all our hats. I'm wearing Dick's straw ​one with the blue ribbon, just now, Marjory, You'll find it some place in our front hall if Tommy hasn't got it on."
"Bring mine, too," said Jean, "it's in my room."
"I don't know where mine is," said Mabel, "but if you can't find it you'd better wear your Sunday one and lend me your everyday one."
"I see myself lending you any more hats," said Marjory, who had, like the other girls, brightened at the prospect of going to Mr. Downing's. "I haven't forgotten how you left the last one out-of-doors all night in the rain, and how it looked afterwards, when Aunty Jane made me wear it to punish me for my carelessness. You'll go in your own hat or none."
"Well, I guess," said Mabel, meekly, "you'll probably find it in my room under the bed, if it isn't in the parlour behind the sofa."
"Now remember," said Jean, who was ​re-tying the bow on Bettie's hair, "we're all to be polite, whatever happens, for we mustn't let Mr. Downing think we're anything like the Milligans. If he won't let us have the cottage when he knows about the rent's being paid—but I'm almost sure he will let us keep it—why, we'll just have to give it up and not let him see that we care."
"I'll be good," promised Bettie.
"You needn't be afraid of me" said Mabel. "I wouldn't humble myself to speak to such a despisable man."