The House of Delight

Mother paused on her way past the playroom door, and listened. She knew Betsey did not have company, and yet there was a sound of three voices,—first a pleasant deep, bass voice, and then a pleasant silvery little voice, and then a pleasant low bark. Mother pushed open the door very softly and looked in.

There lay Betsey on the great fur rug, with her curly head propped up on her hand. Before her stood the low, broad Morris chair, divided into two rooms. Mother knew it must be a bedroom at the back, on account of the funny bed made of a box-cover, and covered with a gay patchwork quilt, Betsey’s very first piece of sewing. And nobody could possibly mistake the dining-room in front, with its large red pasteboard table, and little Mrs. Delight at one end, and her cute little husband at the other. Black Dinah stood by the table, smiling as usual, ready to serve a large platter of salad, and Dumpling Delight barked gruffly once in a while, because there were so many tantalizing smells in the air.

“Will you have a breaded chop, my dear?” asked Mr. Delight.

“Yes, thank you, William. Will you have some of the creamed oysters?”

“And some of dis yeah lobster salad?” inquired Dinah.

(“Mercy,” thought Mother, behind the door, “what a dinner!”)

“I’ll tell you what I wish,” said Mr. Delight with a deep cough, “I wish we could invite your sister Prudence and her husband to spend a week with us.”

“Where in name hebben would you put comp’ny, now, Massa Willyum? I ask you dat,” demanded Dinah.

“Yes, William!” echoed Mrs. Delight. “This house is certainly a tight fit for three, and with two extra ones!”

“I wish I could afford a larger house,” said Mr. Delight in a worried tone.

“My dear husband!” exclaimed Mrs. Delight. Betsey had to sit up straight on the rug and take Mrs. Delight around the table to kiss her husband affectionately. “I didn’t mean a word I said, William; I really didn’t.”

“There, there, my dear, I know you didn’t,” replied Mr. Delight soothingly.

But Mother suspected that Mr. Delight was worried just the same, so she softly pulled the door together and tiptoed away to the telephone. She smiled to herself as she called up the carpenter-shop.

“I want you to make my daughter Betsey a doll-house, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Just like the one you made for your little girl,—that had four rooms and six windows, and a big door between the rooms. And can you get it done for Betsey’s birthday? In four days?”

“I will get it done, paint and all,” promised Mr. Jones. And he did.

On the morning of her ninth birthday, Betsey came smiling to breakfast, expecting to see a pile of dainty white parcels at her plate.

“Your birthday present is up in the playroom, Betsey dear,” said Mother with a kiss.

“I’m afraid she won’t like it,” said Father.

Now, whenever Father said that,—“I’m afraid she won’t like it,”—Betsey’s present was sure to be very large and wonderful. Once it had been her shiny bicycle, once her new blue playroom, and once her darling black pony. So Betsey finished her breakfast in great excitement, hurried upstairs to the playroom and pushed open the door. And there it stood in the center of the room,—the dear little house, painted snow-white inside and pale green outside,—with four rooms and six windows and tiny window-sashes, and the cunningest threshold!

Betsey rushed over to the dainty little cottage, put her head in the little dining-room and looked through the double doors into the drawing-room. “Just to see how it would seem to live here,” she thought. And then her eyes fell on a square white card dangling from one of the little window-sashes.

“THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT” said the card. “To Betsey, from Father and Mother.”

“I’ll say thank you before I begin to play,” decided Betsey, tossing back her curls and clattering down-stairs at a great rate.

“Here’s that child!” exclaimed Father. “I was afraid she wouldn’t like it!”

“O but she does!” shouted Betsey, whirling around in the middle of the room. “Mr. Delight has wanted to move for the longest while!”

“What do you say, Mother,” said Father with a twinkle, “if we excuse Betsey today from doing any hard work?”

“Betsey can simply make her bed,” agreed Mother.

So Betsey whisked the white covers over her little brass bed as smoothly as she could (with a perfectly new doll-house waiting), and hurried back to the House of Delight.

Little Mr. Delight was sitting in his law office behind the radiator. Betsey picked him up, put on his gray derby hat, and walked him rapidly across the room to the Morris chair.

“Edith, O Edith!” he cried excitedly. “My salary has been raised to a million dollars a year! Now we can move into a new house!”

“How perfectly lovely!” cried Mrs. Delight. “Can’t we buy one directly?”

“We certainly can, my dear,” replied Mr. Delight. “We will go down right away and see Mr. Betts, the carpenter, and see what houses he has on hand for sale.”

Betsey slipped off the excited little gentleman’s business coat and put on his black one with the long tails, thrust his cane under his arm, and propped him up against the chair-back to wait for Mrs. Delight, who was much slower in dressing. Betsey selected a white silk blouse and tailored skirt for Mrs. Delight, and opened her gay Japanese parasol. Then, while the happy dolls were taking the trolley ride to Mr. Betts’ carpenter-shop—(really standing stiffly all the time against the chair-back)—Betsey hustled the untidy shop into order. Then she drew the table over to the window, settled her fat tube of paste, her bottle of glue, her scissors and scraps of satin on it, and sat down before it, very importantly, as Mr. Betts, the carpenter. And what a smiling carpenter she was!

“Good day, Mr. Betts,” said Mr. Delight (quite out of breath with the stairs), “we want to buy a new house.”

“What kind of a house?” asked Mr. Betts thoughtfully, setting his little customers up against a pile of books.

“A moderately large house, Mr. Betts,” replied Mr. Delight, “that is well-built,—for myself, my wife, and a colored cook.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Mr. Betts. “I have the very house!”

“Shall we take a look at it, my dear?” said Mr. Delight, offering his arm to his wife. And presently they stood in Mr. Betts’ brand new house, that was painted snow-white inside and pale green outside, that was well-built and just right for three people.

“O what a lovely house!” exclaimed Mrs. Delight.

“How much is it?” asked Mr. Delight, taking out his check-book.

“It is $15,000, but it is very well-built and—”