She put her head in Johnnie's lap, as they sat together in the darkest corner of the room, and sobbed and cried, making as little noise as she possibly could.
Johnnie comforted her with soft pats and strokings; but did not dare to say a word, for fear Mrs. Worrett should wake up and find them out.
When the morning came, Elsie's one thought was, would Alexander come for them in the afternoon?
All day she watched the clock and the road with feverish anxiety.
Oh! if papa had changed his mind,—had decided to let them stay for a week at Conic Section,—what should she do?
It was just possible to worry through and keep alive till afternoon, she thought; but if they were forced to spend another night in that feather-bed, with those mosquitoes, hearing the blue shad rattle and quiver hour after hour,—she should die, she was sure she should die!
But Elsie was not called upon to die, or even to discover how easy it is to survive a little discomfort.
About five, her anxious watch was rewarded by the appearance of a cloud of dust, out of which presently emerged old Whitey's ears and the top of the well-known carryall.
They stopped at the gate.
There was Alexander, brisk and smiling, very glad to see his "little misses" again, and to find them so glad to go home.
Mrs. Worrett, however, did not discover that they were glad; no indeed!
Elsie and John were much too polite for that.
They thanked the old lady, and said good-by so prettily that, after they were gone, she told Mr. Worrett that it hadn't been a bit of trouble having them there, and she hoped they would come again; they enjoyed every thing so much; only it was a pity that Elsie looked so peaked.
And at that very moment Elsie was sitting on the floor of the carryall, with her head in John's lap, crying and sobbing for joy that the visit was over and that she was on the way home.
"If only I live to get there," she said, "I'll never, no, never, go into the country again!" which was silly enough; but we must forgive her because she was half sick.
Ah, how charming home did look, with the family grouped in the shady porch, Katy in her white wrapper, Clover with rose-buds in her belt, and everybody ready to welcome and pet the little absentees!
There was much hugging and kissing, and much to tell of what had happened in the two days: how a letter had come from Cousin Helen; how Daisy White had four kittens as white as herself; how Dorry had finished his water-wheel,—a wheel which turned in the bath-tub, and was "really ingenious," papa said; and Phil had "swapped" one of his bantam chicks for on of Eugene Slack's Bramapootras.
It was not till they were all seated round the tea-table that anybody demanded an account of the visit.
Elsie felt this a relief, and was just thinking how delicious every thing was, from the sliced peaches to the clinking ice in the milk-pitcher, when papa put the dreaded question,—
"Well, Elsie, so you decided to come, after all.
How was it?
Why didn't you stay your week out?
You look pale, it seems to me.
Have you been enjoying yourself too much?
Tell us all about it."
Elsie looked at papa, and papa looked at Elsie.
Dr. Carr's eyes twinkled just a little, but otherwise he was perfectly grave.
Elsie began to speak, then to laugh, then to cry, and the explanation, when it came, was given in a mingled burst of all three.
"O papa, it was horrid!
That is, Mrs. Worrett was just as kind as could be, but so fat; and oh, such a pig!
I never imagined such a pig!
And the calico on that horrid sofa was so slippery that I rolled off five times, and once I hurt myself real badly.
And we had a feather-bed; and I was so homesick that I cried all the evening."
"That must have been gratifying to Mrs. Worrett," put in Dr. Carr.
"Oh! she didn't know it, papa.
She was asleep, and snoring so that nobody could hear.
And the flies!—such flies, Katy!—and the mosquitoes, and our window wouldn't open till I put in a nail.
I am so glad to get home!
I never want to go into the country again, never, never!
Oh, if Alexander hadn't come!—why, Clover, what are you laughing for?
And Dorry,—I think it's very unkind," and Elsie ran to Katy, hid her face, and began to cry.
"Never mind, darling, they didn't mean to be unkind.
Papa, her hands are quite hot; you must give her something."
Katy's voice shook a little; but she would not hurt Elsie's feeling by showing that she was amused.
Papa gave Elsie "something" before she went to bed,— a very mild dose I fancy; for doctors' little girls, as a general rule, do not take medicine, and next day she was much better.
As the adventures of the Conic Section visit leaked out bit by bit, the family laughed till it seemed as if they would never stop.
Phil was forever enacting the pig, standing on his triumphant hind legs, and patting Elsie's head with his nose; and many and many a time,
"It will end like your visit to Mrs. Worrett," proved a useful check when Elsie was in a self-willed mood and bent on some scheme which for the moment struck her as delightful.
For one of the good things about our childish mistakes is, that each one teaches us something; and so, blundering on, we grow wiser, till, when the time comes, we are ready to take our places among the wonderful grown-up people who never make mistakes.
CHAPTER II.