Chapter TEN: Grandmother’s Story-Quilt

Each bedroom at The Lilacs was done in a different color. Jeannette and Elizabeth had one of the back bedrooms, overlooking the stream and orchard, while Aunt Elsie’s room, all pale pink with ivory furniture, was right next door.

Dr. and Mrs. Eaton had the yellow-and-white room, with its buff walls, white furniture, and daisy-strewn cretonne. This was one of the big front rooms, and from it opened a wee bit of a room, not much larger than a playhouse, which Cubby proudly claimed as her very own.

But Grandmother’s room the children all thought the very best of all. This was the other large front bedroom, opening from Cubby’s tiny nest. From the windows one could see the brick-pathed, old-fashioned flower garden, bordered with lilac hedges and syringa bushes, while right across the road was “White Birches,” the beautiful estate that had been closed for so many years, and whose velvety terraces sloped down to the crystal-clear waters of Willow Lake. It was the most beautiful estate in Meadowbrook, and the children never grew tired of admiring the beautiful grounds and little rustic bridge that spanned the Lake. Wonderful little summer-houses dotted the edge of the water, and one, more daring than the rest, rose like a monstrous white water-lily out of the very waters, and could be approached by boat or stepping-stones.

The children never tired of hearing about when Mother was a little girl, and had played with another little girl named Marie Deering, whose parents had owned White Birches for many years. Many years later the place was closed, and Mrs. Eaton lost track of her friend, to her great sorrow.

Wiggles and Jet had woven all kinds of romances about the place. They loved to play that it was an enchanted palace, and that, until the Fairy Prince, on his white charger, drank thrice of the magic waters of Willow Lake, the house would stand idle, with closed doors and drawn shades. But as soon as the prince quaffed the crystal waters, the palace would stir to life, and a beautiful princess would appear, who would graciously invite “Miss Elizabeth and Miss Jeannette” over to play dolls in the fascinating summer-houses, and to ride on the prince’s white charger.

It was an interesting fancy, and enlivened many a rainy day.

“O dear! why couldn’t White Birches be open, with a little girl to play with us now,” sighed Wiggles wistfully, as she pressed her nose against the pane in Grandma’s front window, and stared across at the “Enchanted Palace,” as they called it.

“Hurry up children, skip into bed,” said Grandma. “We don’t want you to catch cold, and it’s still very damp.”

“I just love your room, Grandma,” said Wiggles, as she scampered away from the window. “It’s so restful, and quiet-looking.”

It was a restful room, as Elizabeth said. The furniture was of French gray, with big cuddly wicker-chairs upholstered in the prettiest lilac-strewn cretonne. The walls were papered in the softest shade of lavender, with a deep border of lilac sprays. The children always called this “The Lilac Room,” while Mother’s was named “The Daisy Room,” and tall crystal vases filled with the starry yellow-and-white flowers stood on her dresser and table during all the summer months.

“The Rosery” belonged to Aunt Elsie, and was named from the baskets of roses that tumbled their crinkly petals down the pink walls from the border above.

Of course Jet and Polly Wiggles called their own particular sanctum “The Forget-me-not Room,” and Cubby insisted on calling her spot, “The Nest,” although, as the older girls pointed out, “Who ever heard of a bear-cub sleeping in a nest? It ought to be ‘The Den,’ or ‘The Cubby-Hole.’”

However, it was very convenient to have each room named, for Mother could say: “Trot upstairs and see if I left my gloves in the Nest. If not, I dropped them on the floor of the Rosery.”

Or Grandmother would call, “Will you see if I left my glasses on the Daisy bed?”

It was very comfortable to cuddle down in Grandmother’s downy bed, and to be tucked about with the huge quilt made of silk patchwork squares, which Grandma pulled out of her roomy closet.

Aunt Elsie and Mother brought their sewing and settled themselves comfortably in the wicker-chairs, while Grandmother knitted busily on a pink sweater she was making for the wee bear. Cubby, still feeling greatly disgraced, curled down in a little ball by her sisters, while Boots jumped on the arm of Grandmother’s chair, and watched her knitting with interest, occasionally stretching one lazy paw to catch at the wool in a languid effort at play.

“You said you’d tell us some stories,” reminded Jeannette, snuggling down with a little wriggle of content.

“I brought out my story-quilt purposely for you,” replied Grandma, with a little nod toward the patchwork covering that billowed about the children.

“Your story-quilt? Doesn’t that sound interesting? What do you mean?” asked Wiggles, gazing with eyes like full moons at the bright-colored silk and satin squares and triangles.

So Grandmother explained that almost every piece in that patchwork had a story connected with it, and how she had made the quilt herself out of left-over scraps of material that had an interest for her. “You choose any square you wish,” she advised, “and if it has any kind of a story at all, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Many of the silks looked odd to the children’s eyes, with the old-fashioned designs so different from those of the present day, while some of the materials were so old that the silk had worn into tattered ribbons.

Finally, after pausing undecided before several that looked interesting, Jeannette pointed to a square of white silk, with a pattern of scarlet checkerberries woven in it, and said, “I choose that one.”

“I must have been about Cubby’s age,” said Grandmother, “when I had that dress. Children in those days did not wear thin dresses, like you little ones do nowadays, except in hot weather, for the houses were not so well heated in the winter. Instead, we wore thick woolen dresses all winter, as soon as we could walk, that is, for everyday use, with silk ones for our very best, and over our dresses we usually wore black silk aprons.”

“Black silk aprons?” echoed Wiggles. “Why, Grandma, how funny.”

“It didn’t look at all funny then, my dear, when every one else was wearing them, too,” explained Grandmother, smiling at the children’s horror.

“We lived in those days in the center of the city, and I had a nice little room which opened from my parents’ room, down two little steps, for many of the old-fashioned houses had steps between one room and another.”

“Why was that, Grandma?” inquired Jeannette.

“I’m sure I don’t know, my dear. It always seemed a very foolish waste of footsteps to me, and a dangerous way of spraining ankles. For instance, in our home you had to go down two steps into the bathroom from the hall. To enter father’s library, you climbed up three steps from the double parlors, and, as I said, there were steps between Mother’s room and mine. Of course, if you opened a door suddenly, and forgot those little steps, you bumped your nose pretty badly.

“I remember my mother’s dressing me in this new white dress, with the sprays of berries on it, which was trimmed with rows and rows of narrow cherry-colored velvet ribbon; and putting on my long striped stockings that had cherry-colored stripes to match my frock, running round and round like peppermint stick-candy. It was really a very pretty outfit for those days, and I felt very much dressed up indeed. My flaxen hair was pulled straight back and held in place with a large round comb, and then frizzed out behind, just down to the collar of my dress.

“I know I felt very proud of myself, and looked in the long, gilt-edged mirror that hung in the parlor between two horsehair chairs, with a great deal of satisfaction.”

“Didn’t you feel dreadfully in such funny striped stockings, Grandmother?”

“Not half so funny as I would have felt if I had had to wear socks. I should have been shocked to wear such things, for they were unknown, and would have looked just as queer to our eyes as striped stockings look to yours.”

“May I pick out a square now?” asked Wiggles eagerly.

“Yes, it’s your turn next,” replied Grandma, catching Boots just in time, as he tangled her pink worsted in two playful paws and prepared to have a fine frolic.

“Him’s naughty puss-cat,” said Cubby severely. “Him ought to have him’s pawsies tied up, too.”

“So he should,” laughed Mother, “only I’m afraid he’d understand the reason even less than you did, and I think, Babykins, that your bandages may come off in another half-hour.”

“Have you decided yet?” asked Grandmother, as Wiggles paused uncertainly between two pretty pieces.

“I think I’ll choose this dark gray square with the bunches of scarlet cherries in it,” she said at last. “Has it a story, Grandma?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s another short one, a story about your own mother when she was a very tiny girl, and went to the World’s Fair at Chicago.”