Chapter 7

Five oaks awoke to a new existence on the first morning after the arrival of its guests from New York—an existence of wild shouts, gleeful laughter, scampering feet and confusion. In the kitchen and the garden old Mr. and Mrs. Barrett no longer held full sway. For some time there had been a cook, a waitress, a laundress, and an experienced gardener as well. In the barn, too, there was now a stalwart fellow who was coachman and chauffeur by turns, according to whether the old family carriage or the new four-cylinder touring car was wanted.

Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, and the twins had not been at Five Oaks twenty-four hours before they were fitted to new clothing throughout. Mrs. Kendall had not slept until she had interviewed the town clothier as to ways and means of immediately providing two boys and four girls with shoes, stockings, hats, coats, trousers, dresses, and undergarments.

“‘Course ‘tain’t ‘zactly necessary,” Patty had said, upon being presented with her share of the new garments, “but it’s awful nice, ‘cause now we don’t have ter go ter bed when ours is washed—an’ they be awful nice! Just bang-up!”

No wonder Five Oaks awoke to a new existence! The wide-spreading lawns knew now what it was to be pressed by a dozen little scampering feet at once: and the great stone lions knew what it was to have two yelling boys mount their carven backs, and try to dig sharp little heels into their stone sides. Within the house, the attic, sacred for years to cobwebs and musty memories, knew what it was to yield its treasured bonnets, shawls, and quilted skirts to a swarm of noisy children who demanded them for charades.

Tom, Peter, Mary, Patty, Arabella, and Clarabella had been at Five Oaks two weeks when one day Bobby McGinnis found Margaret crying all alone in the old summerhouse down in the garden.

“Gorry, what’s up?” he questioned; adding cheerily: “‘Soldiers’ daughters don’t cry’!”—it was a quotation from Margaret’s own childhood’s creed, and one which in the old days seldom failed to dry her tears. Even now it was not without its effect, for her head came up with a jerk.

“I—I know it,” she sobbed; “and I ain’t—I mean, I are not going to. There, you see,” she broke off miserably, falling back into her old despondent attitude. “‘Ain’t’ should be ‘are not’ always, and I never can remember.”