The Attic

       An old-fashioned attic we know is a splendid place for play, because it holds such a wealth of treasure in its carpet-bags, its leather and hair trunks, and its old bandboxes. Its low green-shuttered windows under the eaves are exactly the right height to suggest that some corner be made into a playhouse for dolls.

       Apartment houses do not have attics. Neither do modern bungalows which would scorn anything so old-fashioned. But the very old house that belonged to little Mallory Deming's great-grandfather had a real, old-fashioned attic. The story of what it held for a child of today makes this the story of a dear old attic and also the story of little Mallory.

       To begin with, Mallory did not live in Great-grandfather's old home. She lived in a city apartment with Mother and Father. Only, at times of family gatherings such as Thanksgiving and Christmas, she and Mother and Father would sometimes take the train and go to Narrawalke which lies on the shores of Long Island Sound somewhere in Connecticut.

       There, long ago, long before there was any railroad, Great-grandfather had chosen to build alone upon a beautiful hillside a home so perfect in its setting of old-fashioned garden, terraced upon the green hillside with a background of rugged Connecticut granite at the hill's summit, that Mallory even as a very tiny little girl felt very proud of belonging to it.

       It was always a treat to go there on a visit, to play in the old-fashioned fountain with its pink-tinted shells, to sit in the old summerhouses and look off over the garden's spacious loveliness; to play hide and seek around the great box-bush Great-grandfather had planted; to climb about the long old grape arbor and pick grapes that were great purple clusters, and to find armfuls of apples under the orchard trees back of the house.

       But perhaps it was the old, old attic that had the strongest call.

       Its door opened upon a short flight of back stairs and two inviting steps drew aside there at the top to stop before an old door. Upon the door was a latch that one had to lift. There was no door knob.

       When Mallory slept in the room next to the attic stairs, she often wished that she might go up there and play. Yet though she had been up there many times with Aunt Esther who lived in Great grandfather's house, she never was allowed to go there to stay. The visits were so full of many happy things to do that the attic door remained closed fast to little girls' play.

       Once, when she had been very tiny - perhaps about four or five - Mallory remembered being taken up the steep stairs that rose behind the latched door. At the top was a small shuttered window and Aunt Esther had led Mallory toward it very cautiously to peep between the shutters and see the marvel of a robin's nest, built close by upon a cornice.

       Mallory had never forgotten the robin's nest. Though that robin and its brood flew away, yet there were new robins that came to build homes there in other springtimes. Somehow the robin's nest seemed a symbol of the life of the old house where many children had grown up and flown away upon the wings of the years.

       Somewhere in the attic, so Aunt Esther said, there were trunks full of Great-grandmother's dresses, not at all like the dresses of to-day. Some time, Aunt Esther promised, when there was plenty of time and nothing else to do, she would take Mallory up to the attic and show her these. She believed, too, that there were even some toys that had belonged to Grandmother and Great-grandmother.

       Always, Mallory had looked forward to the time when  she and Aunt Esther would go up to the attic together and see these wonderful things. But the time never came and the old attic remained full of its secrets and its treasures, uninvestigated, though it held its promise that Aunt Esther had made.

       Then Aunt Esther went away and for a long time the very old house was closed so that nobody went there except, once in a while, Father. George, who had been the coachman before Aunt Esther had had a car, lived there as caretaker. It was not till Mallory was about nine that suddenly and most unexpectedly it was decided that she and Mother and Father should go to make their home in the very old house. At once Mallory had said, "Oh, the attic! Then I shall play in the attic!"

       "Yes," Mother answered, "exactly as I used to do myself when I was little. I think there are some very interesting old toys up there. We will hunt for them and see what they are like. It seems to me that I remember a dear funny old doll but I don't remember whether it belonged there or whether it belonged in my little friend's attic."

       "Oh, I hope it is there!" laughed Mallory. "I would love to have an old-fashioned doll! I never saw one! I always thought your doll was very old, Mother! But think of Grandmother's doll or one that belonged to Great-grandmother!"

       "You will want to leave all your old toys behind, Mallory" teased Father. "You won't want them any more!"

       But Mallory took the suggestion seriously.

       "Well," she considered, thoughtfully, "I might leave some of them that I have outgrown and don't play with. There's the doll house - I'd like to take that; and there's the big doll baby that says 'Ma-ma-a' and that, too, I would like to take. I'll go over my toys and pick out those I want to keep."

       "You can give away the old ones you don't want."

       "Yes," returned Mallory. "Some of the children I know will like them. The nicest ones we can take up to the hospital as we did last Christmas. When are we going to move?"

       "The first of May," said Mother. "That is, it looks so now. That will be in two weeks."

       "And what's going to become of the things that are here?"

       "They will be sold!" said Father. "All but some things we shall want to keep, like the books and some of the pictures."

       "My things in my room?"

       "Yes, indeed! You'll have to sleep in a four-poster bed, Mallory, just like a little old-fashioned girl!"

       "Oh!" laughed Mallory, "is it the same bed I used to have when I went to visit Aunt Esther?

       "The very same! With a patchwork quilt over it, no doubt the same one that Grandmother used to tuck over me when I was small," Mother answered.

       "I'll have the back room next to the attic door, then," Mallory added eagerly. "Thats where the four-poster bed is. Mornings I'll wake up and see the birds in the apple tree just outside the window. I just love that room. It's right next door to the attic. I shall have a play place in the attic. I shall go there first thing!"

       "Yes, yes," assented Mother. Mallory quietly left the room to think over the coming change.

       She went to her own small cubby-hole of a bedroom that she had had ever since she was a baby. She sat down on her bright-patterned window seat beside the doll house, chin in hand, elbow on window ledge, gazing vacantly off to the brick wall of the apartment opposite. She did not see the wall. She was merely considering matters.

       "It's queer the way things are," she said to herself. "Great-grandfather's very old house seems more home than here. Maybe it's because apartments are so like each other. But there's only once in a while a place like Great-grandfather's house that has been a home so long and for so many people that everybody feels it. Perhaps that's why I feel it, too. The apartment won't miss us but I expect the old house is glad we're coming. I shall go right up to the attic, first thing--soon as I get there."

       Whereupon she fell to considering what toys to give away and what ones to take. The strange thing about the choice was that she chose entirely with a view to the playhouse she was to have up in Great-grandfather's old-fashioned attic.

       She would take the big doll's toy furniture, of course. It would be splendid to put that right in the corner where the window facing the front garden let in the full sunlight on the wide floor. There were no blinds closed there. It was away under the eaves that were supported by heavy Y-beams and long oaken pins and it was close to the place where a strange hoop skirt of long ago hung on a hand-wrought nail. Aunt Esther had once shown it to Mallory and remarked upon the nail. She had even made Mallory run her fingers over it to feel how rough and strong it was.

       The window there looked over the garden where the fountain sparkled; over the tree-tops to the summer-house standing at the head of a long flight of stone steps going down the hill at the front, with a privet hedge at each side of the railing. This met the drive halfway down the hill. On the other side of the drive, it joined a tar walk that ran sedately by its side under elms and chestnut trees to the entrance gate at the foot of the hill.

       There at the foot of the hill lay the strange old rambling frame buildings of the town. When Great-grandfather had built the house, it had been far out of the town. But the town had grown and now it surrounded the hill on which the house stood.

       Far over the tree-tops that one saw from the small square attic window was the distant vista of Long Island Sound, blue or gray as the day happened to be. Sometimes even, white sails like gulls could be seen. The water made Mallory think of the beach. No doubt there would be picnics.

       There surely would be other children to play with. Mallory had always wanted a little girl for a friend. Somehow, she had never found the right one in the city. Some of them did not even like to play with dolls, while Mallory loved to play with them and dress them.

       She began to wonder what she might find in those old trunks in the attic which she and the new little friend would open and investigate. Of course, there would be that little friend - there would have to be. A little girl with whom to play in the attic!

       "We will make houses up in that corner," thought Mallory, "and we will dress up in the things we find in the trunks. Oh, I can hardly wait for the first of May to come!

       Once started, the days that brought the great day nearer fairly flew. Father's books were packed into wooden boxes, Mallory helping to wrap each precious volume in paper while he fitted each parcel into its place.

       Then Mother had no end of things with which she, too, needed help and Mallory's clothes were sorted and packed, except those that were immediately needed. The toys were also packed and given away. By and by some of the furniture that had been sold to friends was removed. The rest was to belong to the new family who were coming to live in the same apartment.

       Next, the dining-room things took flight and there came a morning that was deliciously like a picnic. Mother had to make coffee in a saucepan for she had nothing else and Father drank his coffee sitting on a packing box with no saucer for his cup. Nobody had napkins. There was only a spoon with which to butter the morning rolls. But nobody cared about this and everybody was happy.

       That day was long. The van and the men were late. When they finally came, Mallory skipped about very much in the way, trying to see everything that was going on, being told please to step aside quickly, dodging here and there and peering down into the street from an open window to see things go into the van below.

       Late in the afternoon while she was still running aimlessly about Mallory decided that after living so long in one place, it was too bad to feel glad to leave her home. She originated a play in which she went to all the familiar bits of furniture and patted them and said, "Good-bye, Table!‚" or "Good-bye, Bed! Good-bye, Bedroom." The apartment ought to be treated politely, even if she were leaving it, she thought. She went from room to room till she suddenly heard Father's voice: "Mallory, Mallory! Get your things on! Taxi's here!"

       Into her soft brown coat she wriggled and pushed her small hat down over her curls.

       "I'm coming," she called and ran to the hall where Father was holding open the door and the elevator was waiting. It was but a twinkle after that to the Grand Central Station. Even then it was hard to realize that they were truly on the way to Narrawalke!

       No sooner were they seated than the train drew out. Through the tunnel and the long gray masonry of the cut, went the train, faster and faster. It seemed in some strange way to read Mallory's thoughts for as it sped past woods and meadows, past towns and houses, it said over and over again: "To-Great-grandfather's-house-with-its-attic! To-Great-grandfather's-house-with-its-attic! To-Great-grandfather's house-with-its-attic!"

       When Mallory tried to make the train's voice say something different, it only turned into: "The attic! The attic! The attic! The attic!"

       At last, because of the excitement of the day and the monotonous voice of the train, she fell fast asleep when it was too dark to look out of the window any more. With her head pillowed on Mother's arm, she gave in to drowsiness.

       It was Father, standing in the aisle, who wakened her. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. "Why, I was dreaming," she murmured, half awake. "I - I was, I was playing in the attic at Great-grandfather's house. And there was another little girl there too; I don't know who she was. And we had a doll. I don't know what doll-

       "Sleepyhead," laughed Father.

       "Here, put your hand into the sleeve of your coat, dear," urged Mother. "Tell me the dream some other time. Now we must hurry."

       "Train's getting in on time," explained Father and fastened the coat she was too sleepy to button herself.

       Then the train came to an abrupt stop with such a jerk that the people who were standing in the aisle teetered like a row of dominoes about to fall over. The conductor was calling, "Narrawalke! Narrawalke!" Somehow, it really felt like coming Home!

       The conductor helped Mother and Mallory down the high step of the train. Then there was a bustle and in the crowd Father saying:

       "Here! Here's the car. How-do, George! Everything right up at the old place?"

       Then George was saying, just as he used to do when Mallory was a baby: "How-do, Miss!" Soon they were driving through the streets of the little old town where the shops were so unlike city shops and where all was very dark.

       Then, with a sharp turn, they came in full view of the very old house gleaming white in the moonlight upon its dark setting of hillside, its windows sending out wide welcoming shafts of light to those who were coming to live in it.

       Into the drive the car turned and Mallory felt George change the gears as they went up the steep hill. Soon the car came to a stop beside the old carriage-block. George opened the door of the car and Mallory jumped out.

       She stood looking up at the great Doric pillars while Father and Mother were getting out with bags and George was helping with luggage. Then she quietly pattered to the side of a big white column and placed her little gloved hand upon it. Just as she had talked to the apartment, so she whispered: "Hello! Hello, nice house." Nobody heard it. She felt rather self-conscious but it seemed the natural thing to do to return the new home's welcome.

       She did not go right in with the others. She ran all around the house where shadows lay deep. Then, opening a side door, unnoticed, she ran up the backstairs while Mother and Father were in their rooms taking off traveling things and disposing of bags.

       It was at bed time that Mallory confided to Mother what she had done upon her arrival. "You know, Mother," she said, softly snuggled in the big four-poster bed with the colorful quilt over her and the light turned low, "what I did when you and Father were taking off your coats in your rooms?"

       "No, dear," half-questioned Mother.

       "Well, Mother, I just couldn't wait to see the attic,"Mallory confessed. "It seemed as if I just had to find out right off whether there was a robin's nest in the old place again this spring, so I opened the attic door and I went right up the stairs in the dark!"

       "And you saw the robin with his head under his wing?"

       "No, I didn't," confessed Mallory with a little low laugh, "it was too dark in the shadow under the eaves to see. But I looked out and I saw a star in the branches of an elm and I heard the fountain's voice down in the garden. I suppose little children long ago looked at the very same stars, didn't they?"

       For answer, Mother squeezed Mallory's little hand quite tight.

       "And what else did you see?" she questioned.

       "Oh, just shadows of old things," said Mallory softly, "and the corner where I am going to have a playhouse. I shall go up there tomorrow to play."

       "Yes, dearest." returned Mother, giving Mallory her good-night kiss, "and I hope you will have a splendid playtime. I am very happy that Great-grandfather's attic is going to give its treasures to my own little girl."

       "Do you suppose there will be another little girl to play with?"

       "I hope so. But go to sleep now, dear! We won't talk any more now," said Mallory's mother as she went softly from the darkened room where the moonlight fell in patches upon the floor. In the velvety duskiness of the dark outside the window, Mallory could see the apple tree's branches and then she fell fast asleep.

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