It made a nice little song, and Lydia was singing it to herself as they went up the steps of the little brick house that was to be her home.

Once inside, Mrs. Blake led the way down the hall and opened the door.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"THIS IS YOUR BEDROOM, LYDIA"_]

"This is your bedroom, Lydia," said she, watching the brown eyes grow bigger and bigger as they gazed. Lydia looked round the room, and then she looked up at her new mother, and then she looked round the room again. It was hard to believe that this was all for her. For she saw a little white bed, and beside it a white cradle just big enough for Lucy Locket. There was a little bureau and a book-case full of picture-books.

On a low table stood a work-basket, and near by a little rocking-chair held out its arms as if saying, "Come and sit in me." And over in the corner was the doll carriage, only waiting to give Lucy Locket a ride.

But Lydia was walking slowly around the room, for halfway up the wall there were pictures, pictures of people Lydia knew very well.

"There's Red Riding Hood," said she, "and her mother with the basket.

And here she meets the wolf, and here is grandmother's house with the wolf in bed. And here are the Three Bears and Goldilocks, and there she goes running home to her mother. And here is Chicken Little, and Henny Penny, and all of them. Mean Foxy Loxy!" said Lydia.

Lydia's pleasure in the room was so keen that Mrs. Blake felt well repaid for her effort in making it ready for the little girl. She smiled at Lydia's raptures, and opened the little closet door.

"You might put your hat and coat away," said she, "and then perhaps Lucy Locket wants to go riding or to sleep in the cradle."

"I think she wants a ride," said Lydia.

But when she peeped under the blue-and-white cover, there was some one already taking a nap in Lucy Locket's carriage. Who but Miss Puss Whitetoes who opened her eyes sleepily at Lydia and shut them tight again. Then she wiggled her little pink nose. That meant, "I'm sleepy."

She winked one ear. That meant, "Go away." So Lydia tucked the cover about her, and put Lucy Locket to bed in the new cradle. Lucy was a good child and soon fell fast asleep, and then Lydia rode the sleeping Miss Puss up and down the hall until she woke, and, springing out of the carriage, whisked upstairs like a flash.

Lydia followed, and found Mother at work in the kitchen, briskly beating eggs in a big yellow bowl and taking peeps now and then into the oven which gave out savory smells whenever the door was opened.

"Will it be pie and ice cream to-night, Mother?" asked Lydia, remembering the words of Mary Ellen.

"No," said Mrs. Blake with a laugh; "Indian pudding to-night."

"That's what Sammy would like," said Lydia, sniffing hungrily. "He's going to shoot Indians or be an Indian chief when he grows up. He doesn't know which."

In the studio a fire was blazing and crackling, and Lydia lay down on the rug to watch it and wait for Father to come home. Her head was whirling with all the pleasant happenings of the day. Even the flames seemed to have merry faces that smiled and nodded to her as they rose and fell.

"Red and orange and yellow fairies, and little blue ones too," thought Lydia. "And they dance and they dance and they never stop. I wonder if they ever go to bed?" And with that Lydia shut her eyes and sailed off to sleep herself.

Miss Puss jumped down from the window-sill and sat before the fire to wash her face. But though she was busy she kept her eyes wide open, and every now and then she changed her place, because the fire was crackling harder than ever, and little yellow sparks were flying about. Suddenly an extra big spark lighted on the rug close beside Lydia. The little yellow light grew larger and larger, and soon it began to creep closer and closer to the sleeping little girl.

And what did wise Miss Puss do then?

Out into the kitchen she ran where Mother was making the Indian pudding.

"Meow! Meow!" said Miss Puss, pulling at Mrs. Blake's ap.r.o.n with her paw. "Me-o-ow!"

"What is it, Miss Puss?" said Mother. "I never heard you cry like that before."

"Meow!" answered Miss Puss, and back she ran into the studio. Mrs. Blake followed, and just in time, for the corner of the rug was blazing merrily, and Lydia was still sound, sound asleep.

It took only a moment to lift Lydia out of danger and to stamp down the flame, and luckily Mr. Blake came home in time to help. Lydia was neither frightened nor hurt, and indeed rather enjoyed the excitement, while every one was so proud of Miss Puss that they couldn't praise and pet her too much.

After dinner, Mother, and Father, with Lydia on his lap, sat watching Miss Puss enjoy, as a reward, a saucer of cream for her supper.

"We must give her some fish to-morrow," said Mr. Blake. "That's what p.u.s.s.ies like to eat, eh, Lydia?"

"Every time I see that hole in the rug I shall remember what Miss Puss did the very first night Lydia came to us," said Mother, leaning forward to give Lydia's hair an affectionate smooth.

"We'll write a poem about it," said Mr. Blake.

"This hole is to remind the Blakes That for their own and Lydia's sakes, Miss Puss must dine on richest cream And little silver canned sardine."

"That's lovely!" interrupted Lydia, clapping her hands, "and here's some more:

"Because she saved me from burning up, She is better than any doggy pup."

"Well," said Mr. Blake, holding the satisfied Lydia off at arm's length to look at her, "why didn't you tell me before that you were a poetess?

You've given me a shock." And to her delight he fanned himself as if quite overcome.

"I didn't know it myself until just this minute," said Lydia, trying to be modest under this praise. She settled back in his arms and reached out for Mrs. Blake's hand.

"Isn't it nice?" said she happily, looking from one face to the other.

"Aren't we going to have good times? I am. I know I am. They've begun now."

"I feel sure you are right, Lydia," answered Mrs. Blake promptly. "Now that you've come, I know we shall all have the very best times we've ever had in our lives. Just wait and see."

CHAPTER IV-A Picture and a Party

Lydia's good times began every morning when she opened her eyes and leaned over the edge of the bed to see how Lucy Locket had spent the night in her new white cradle.

And all day long Lydia was so busy that at night she had been known to fall asleep on Father's lap upstairs, and not remember a single thing about going to bed at all. After breakfast she dried the dishes for her mother, and no one could dust a room any better than could Lydia Blake.

Then out to market with Mother, and home again to wheel the doll carriage up and down the sunshiny street.

And who do you think rode in the carriage? It really belonged to Lucy Locket. But when day after day Miss Puss Whitetoes snuggled down on the cushions and held up her paws so that Lydia could fasten the carriage strap, Lydia couldn't resist giving sly Miss Puss a ride. And Lucy Locket didn't mind at all. She was a great sleepy-head, and liked nothing better than to lie in her cradle. Sometimes, too, Lydia would prop her up in the front window and wave to the smiling Lucy every time she wheeled the carriage past the house. At first Miss Puss would sit up straight like a baby, with her paws folded in front of her, but little by little her eyes would close and she would slip down until all you could see was one gray ear. And by that time Lydia herself was ready to go into the house.

And her afternoons were busy too. For one day Mr. Blake said,

"Lydia, would you like to give a present to Friend Morris?"

Yes, indeed, Lydia would.

"I can make nice horse-reins on a spool, Father," said she, proud of her accomplishment.

"I know you can," said Mr. Blake. "But I was wondering if Friend Morris wouldn't like a picture of you dressed like a little Quaker girl. Mother will make the dress, just like the one Friend Morris wore when she was a little girl. I will paint the picture, and you shall give it to her. I believe Friend Morris would like that present."

"I think she would too," said Lydia, who herself liked the idea of dressing up. "It's much nicer than horse-reins."

So Mother made a little gray dress, with a white kerchief, and a white cap. And over the cap Lydia wore a little gray Quaker bonnet.