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diff --git a/78419-h/78419-h.htm b/78419-h/78419-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb44fbf --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/78419-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7771 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + The queer little man | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tiny {width: 10%; margin-left: 45%; margin-right: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +td {padding-left: 0.5em;} +.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} +.tdl {text-align: left; text-indent: -1em; padding-left: 2em;} + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: -0.35em; +} + +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.15em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap { + text-indent: 0em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: none; + margin: 0; + font-size: 100%; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: 2px solid;} +.bt {border-top: 2px solid; padding: 0.4em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.ph1 {text-align: center; font-size: large; font-weight: bold;} +.ph2 {text-align: center; font-size: xx-large; font-weight: bold;} +.ph3 {text-align: center; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;} + +div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} +div.titlepage p {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 2em;} + +.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: left;} + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .hide {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -2.5em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent {text-indent: 1.5em;} +.poetry .first {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 2.7em;} +@media print { .poetry {display: block;} } +.x-ebookmaker .poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} + +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 17.5%; + margin-right: 17.5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + +.x-ebookmaker .transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:smaller; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; + padding: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78419 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt=""></div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"><i>The Jack-in-the-Box Books</i></p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="bb">THE QUEER LITTLE MAN</span></p> + +<p class="ph1">MARION AMES TAGGART</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"><i>The Jack-in-the-Box Books</i><br> + +BY<br> + +MARION AMES TAGGART<br> +<br> +<i>Illustrated by</i><br> + +ANNE MERRIMAN PECK</p> + +<hr class="tiny"> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<p>AT GREENACRES<br> +THE QUEER LITTLE MAN<br> +THE BOTTLE IMP<br> +POPPY’S PLUCK</p> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/002.jpg" alt=""></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_0"></span> +<figure class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="450" height="589" alt="Children feasting in the glade"> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">“WHY NOT SIT UP ALL NIGHT,” SAID ISABEL.       <i>p. <a href="#Page_213">213</a></i></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page"></div> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="titlepage"> +<p><span class="xlarge"><i>The Jack-in-the-Box Books</i></span></p> + +<h1><span class="bt">THE QUEER LITTLE MAN</span></h1> + +<p>BY<br> +<span class="large">MARION AMES TAGGART</span><br> +AUTHOR OF “THE LITTLE GREY HOUSE,”<br> +“THE DAUGHTERS OF THE LITTLE<br> +GREY HOUSE,” ETC.</p> + +<p><i>Illustrated by</i><br> + ANNE MERRIMAN PECK</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlelogo.jpg" alt="two-story house"></div> + +<p><span class="large">NEW <img src="images/publogo.jpg" alt=""> YORK<br> +GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1921,<br> +BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br> +<br> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center">DEDICATED<br> +TO<br> +<span class="large">HAROLD GERHART</span><br> +THAT DEAR LITTLE BOY<br> +WITH LOVE</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span> + <h2 class="nobreak"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">I</td><td> <span class="smcap">Opening Day</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13"> 13</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">II</td><td> <span class="smcap">Saws, Hammers and Nails—Two Kinds!</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_27"> 27</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">III</td><td> <span class="smcap">Hurrah and Hurrahing</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_43"> 43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IV</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Cloud in the Sky</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_57"> 57</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">V</td><td> “<span class="smcap">The Lucky Four</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_71"> 71</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Dear House</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_85"> 85</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VII</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Queer Man</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_99"> 99</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">VIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Round Red Radishes</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113"> 113</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">IX</td><td> <span class="smcap">Queer Happenings</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_129"> 129</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">X</td><td> “<span class="smcap">You’d Hardly Know Greenacres!</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145"> 145</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Shadow of Parting</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_161"> 161</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Merrily Putting Off Sorrow</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177"> 177</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Gypsying</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_191"> 191</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XIV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Under the Stars</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205"> 205</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XV</td><td> <span class="smcap">A Clear Day</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_221"> 221</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr">XVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Hawthorne House Abloom</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237"> 237</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span> +<h2 class="nobreak">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">“Why Not Sit Up All Night,” Said Isabel</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_0"> <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Poppy Held the Lines and Isabel and Prue +Jounced Up and Down Singing</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page32"> 32</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">So They Went On, Sowing the Whole Garden +Full of Old-Fashioned Flowers</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page64"> 64</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Poppy Called, “Radishes! Round Red Radishes! +Grown by a Red-Head</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page120"> 120</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">We’re all Together, all Together, Forever and +for Aye,” They Sang</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page240"> 240</a></td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span> + +<p class="ph2">THE QUEER LITTLE MAN</p> + +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> +<p class="ph2"><small>THE</small><br> + QUEER LITTLE MAN</p> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br> + +<small>OPENING DAY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">FOUR children sat around a large room +which was empty of all furniture except +wooden packing cases, in attitudes that indicated +their various temperaments. Prue Wayne, +twelve years old, sat up straight; she was as trim +in muscles as in her tightly braided fair hair, her +fleckless deep collar, her correctly laced shoes +which were crossed, one over the other at the +ankles above her sturdy feet.</p> + +<p>Isabel Lindsay, also twelve years old, half lay +over the arm of her chair on her elbow, every line +of her body graceful and expressive of interest, +although her position might easily have been a +lazy one. She was far prettier than neat and +shining Prudence; her dark hair turned into rings +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>wherever it could steal the chance, her gray-blue +eyes were brilliantly soft under their dark lashes; +she had delicate, flexible lips, and clear, healthy +pallor of complexion.</p> + +<p>The third little girl was not yet ten. No one, +even if he had not merely kissed, but had dined +on the Blarney stone, could have said she was +pretty. Fiery red hair was the first thing one +saw about Poppy Meiggs, and that could be seen +afar. She was a thin little creature, with light +lashes, a sharp face, now covered with more than +its ordinary quantity of freckles, because March +had been and gone and had left upon poor little +Poppy’s sensitive skin a crop of these brown reminders +of its sunny days and strong winds.</p> + +<p>Poor little Poppy was plain <i>plus</i>; she was +downright ill-looking, but those who loved her—and +there were now several of these—forgot her +looks.</p> + +<p>Her temper was as fiery as her hair; she had no +patience, not yet much self-control, but she was +loyal and generous, and loved her beloveds with +all her tempestuous heart. She was clever, too. +Now that dear little Mrs. Hawthorne had rescued +her from destitution, after her father had +died and her mother had run away and left her +children, Poppy was fast learning more than +most children of her age know. “She grabbed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>everything she heard with both hands and fairly +crammed it into herself,” Mark Hawthorne said.</p> + +<p>Mark Hawthorne was the one boy in this +group; he, like Poppy, was perched on a window +sill, but where Poppy sat up keen and small and +tense, like a sharp little splinter of redwood, +Mark sat lightly poised, swinging his crossed +legs, giving the effect of a woodland, winged +thing that was his wonderful attraction. He was +a beautiful creature, lithe, graceful, his hair a +tawny brown, his eyes brown and gold, flecked +like a goldstone. His face was full of witchery. +He made older people long to seize him in a +tight embrace, yet feel as though he would still +be free, however tight they held him. Isabel +and Prue had dubbed him Jack-in-the-Box when +they had first known him, because he had appeared +and disappeared so suddenly; like a jack-in-the-box +he was there and then he was not. +But now that he and his father were making a +beautiful home for dear little Mrs. Hawthorne, +Mr. Gilbert Hawthorne’s mother, after years +of cruel sorrow and separation and bitter poverty +for her, the nickname was passing into disuse.</p> + +<p>“Well, am I housekeeper or amn’t I?” demanded +Poppy. “That’s what I want to know. +Motherkins said I was to look after the men age; +that’s French for men and boys—Mr. Hawthorne +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>and Mark—and it means the whole shebang. +So if I say we can have this room you +don’t have to ask, so there!” Poppy was excited, +but then she usually was excited.</p> + +<p>“I think we ought to ask her,” Prue said +firmly. “My mother says no matter if we know +she’ll say yes about a thing, give her the chance +to say it. She calls it ‘proper deference.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, gosh!” Poppy exploded disgustedly. +“It’s all right to be good, but you’re a regular +fussy! Ain’t what I say enough, Isabel?”</p> + +<p>“Of course a housekeeper settles things, but if +I were you I’d always show little Motherkins +you have her on your mind. She’ll love to be +told, Pops,” said Isabel, the tactful, who could +get around Poppy’s danger signals without causing +an explosion, as Prue never could.</p> + +<p>“Well, of course I like to tickle her,” conceded +Poppy, her scowl abating, and the question was +settled.</p> + +<p>“We’ve decided that this is Opening Day, and +it sounds all right, but I don’t know what we +mean, not really! We’re to have this room for +our headquarters; Mrs. Hawthorne won’t care +when Poppy asks her, because they don’t use +this half of the house, and we’re to furnish it in +packing boxes, and meet here and sit on the +boxes, and have one for a table. Please don’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>any one tell me this, because we’ve said it over +and over and I’m kind of tired of it. But that’s +all I do know. We ought to open something, or +open for something—or something!” Prue apparently +had got herself tangled up in the word +and could not shake it off.</p> + +<p>“We’ll open—open—open to begin, like +spring!” cried Isabel with a laugh. “Just to be +nice and have good times, and be ready for everything, +anything that comes along. It’s the +twenty-fifth of April, and Mark is thirteen years +old to-day. He’s opening his ’teens; we’re opening +a club in his honor.”</p> + +<p>Isabel seemed to feel that this explanation +covered the case.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, my gracious!” cried Prue in a sort +of patient exasperation; “we were all together +before now, and ready for good times. What I +say is if a thing doesn’t mean anything, why—why—well, +what does it mean?”</p> + +<p>“It means to run around all the faster, particular +Prue; like Pincushion when she tries to +catch her tail. Now that doesn’t mean anything, +but look at the fun she has!” cried Mark catching +up his round kitten, Pincushion, now grown into +a rounder little cat. “I’ll tell you what, Prue: +You’re thinking about opening things that are +full—like sardine boxes, or nuts, or a prize package. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>This club isn’t like that! It’s opening <i>up</i>; +not just opening. You open up something to +be filled after a while—like a new country, or a +mine, or possibilities! That’s it! We’re opening +up possibilities! We don’t know what we’re for; +we just open <i>up</i>, don’t you see?” Mark explained +this with much waving of hands and with +his shining eyes full of laughter, but nevertheless +he was not a little impressed by his own +discovery. It instantly became clear to him that +wonderful things were to fill this opening they +were making.</p> + +<p>Isabel kindled with him. These two were “of +imagination all compact”: they got out of every +play and every day not only more than Prue, but +more than was there to get.</p> + +<p>“You can’t tell <i>what</i> will happen!” declared +Isabel. “Look how we went to the woods that +day last spring, Prue! Just happened to race +the way we do, and we found Jack-in-the-Box-Mark! +Shall I ever in all my life forget how I +thought maybe he was a fairy, or some one like +Peter Pan, when he told us to shut our eyes +and count and then was nowhere to be seen? Oh, +you never can tell! I sort of think it’s better not +to know what we mean by Opening Day, because +then we can feel it’s too big to understand.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>Prue had not been following Isabel’s enthusiastic +reasoning.</p> + +<p>“Is that why you were named Mark, because +you were born to-day?” she asked. Prue-like +she had been plodding along by herself the path +indicated by Isa’s allusion to the twenty-fifth of +April.</p> + +<p>“Surest thing you know!” Mark nodded hard. +“Daddy liked naming me after St. Mark, as +long as I was born on his feast. He said he +wouldn’t have called me Martha or Clotilda if I’d +been born on those days, but St. Mark was just +right.”</p> + +<p>“How do you make packing box chairs?” +asked Poppy, in her turn not heeding what was +said.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to put one on top of another, instead +of making legs; they’d wobble, sure,” said +Mark. “Then I’ll knock out one side and leave +the other three sides. Then I’ll wad it soft and +easy. Then I’ll cover it with some kind of nice +stuff. Then——”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll sit on it!” shouted Poppy in high +glee. “I bet it’ll be funny! You can’t make ’em, +Mark! Four, besides some for comp’ny—Motherkins +and your dad.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I can make them,” said Mark with +scorn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>“I could do that, too,” said Prue, who had a +taste for using a hammer, and never failed to hit +a nail on the head, nor ever hit her own nail. “I +can carpenter as well as you, Mark Hawthorne!”</p> + +<p>“Carpenter away, Prudence! We’ll be able +to use another hand in my shop,” Mark smiled +with the kindly toleration of the sex made by +nature to wield a hammer.</p> + +<p>“I can’t build the chairs, but I can make the +covers fit and plan how they’ll be prettiest,” began +Isabel, but Poppy, who had been looking +sharply from one to another, broke in upon her.</p> + +<p>“Well, <i>I</i> shall sweep up! A nice mess you’d +make if I didn’t keep it nice! And I shall get +what there is for eats, and <i>I</i> shall fix it, so now!” +she announced.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mercy, you’ll do more than that, Poppy!” +cried Isabel.</p> + +<p>Sometimes it was a slight burden to keep in +order Poppy’s touchy desire to equal the rest. +She was a jealous little creature, but in her jealousy +seemed less mean than in others. She +adored Mrs. Hawthorne, Mark and Mark’s +father, and loved Isabel Lindsay with a sort of +furious worship. A poor, untaught child, made +motherless by her mother’s desertion, which was +so much sadder than to lose a mother by death, +Poppy had set out in life with heavy handicaps. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>It was natural that she should be on the watch +lest these happier children should surpass her. +They never resented her touchiness, but understood +and helped her. Isabel especially made a +point of smoothing the feathers which Poppy +was always ruffling up in the fear of being ever so +little out of things.</p> + +<p>“I hear her!” shrieked Poppy suddenly, and +darted out of the room at top speed.</p> + +<p>She came back panting, towing by the hand +sweet little Motherkins, like a little craft with a +prize captured on the high seas.</p> + +<p>“Here she is,” announced Poppy. “Now tell +her and ask her.”</p> + +<p>Motherkins smiled inquiringly, but calmly. +She was used to Poppy’s ways. She was a very +dear little woman; that was to be seen at a +glance. She had soft brown hair turning gray; +it had a sheen over it like exquisite silk. Her +face had an expression of playing laughter, yet +with it the patient sadness left by her long years +of desolate grief when she had been poor and +had thought that her one child, Mark’s father, +was lost to her forever. He had come back rich +enough in money, richer by far in Mark, the dear +lad! Now little Motherkins, brought back into +the big house that had been her home before +trouble came, was the happiest person outside a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>fairy tale. But her face still bore the imprint of +what she had suffered; it had made her tender +to all things, great and small.</p> + +<p>The children’s name for her showed what she +was. Mark could not think of calling one as +youthful and tiny as she was “grandmother,” so +he called her Motherkins, and she was a little +mother to the other three.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, Poppy,” Motherkins remonstrated +as Poppy breathlessly tugged her into the big +unfurnished room. “I’ll come along peacefully! +I won’t run away. Why use violence?”</p> + +<p>“We’re going to tell you something,” said +Poppy putting her capture on the most comfortable +box, more comfortable than the others because +it was a better height to sit on, though not +softer. “We’re having Opening Day.”</p> + +<p>“Are you?” asked Motherkins glancing about +with a little laugh. “What are you opening—or +is it only the day that opens?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, Motherkins!” Mark leaped down +from the window sill and ran over to pat her approvingly. +“That’s what I told ’em when they +were fidgetting to find out what it was about. +It’s Opening Day; that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“And my dear boy is opening his ’teens to-day!” +Motherkins looked up with shining eyes +into the golden-brown eyes bent toward her. “It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>sounds nice and uncertain, as if anything might +come of it, from the four and twenty blackbirds +that were in the pie, to a congress! All sorts of +things are opened, when one comes to think of +it.”</p> + +<p>“You’re the one to catch on!” cried Mark with +a triumphant crow of delight, but Prue, steadily +intent upon her duty, said:</p> + +<p>“We thought, Mrs. Hawthorne, we ought to +ask you if you cared if we used this room? Right +along, to meet in? We kind of think we’ll do +things and have it for our headquarters. Do you +care?”</p> + +<p>“Not in the least wee bit, except to be honored +to have something so cloudily splendid sounding +in the house,” declared Motherkins. “The room +is yours from this instant.”</p> + +<p>“We wanted it because of the balcony out that +window and the piazza roof,” said Isabel as +though that explained the mystery.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Motherkins, and Mark laughed.</p> + +<p>“Might be handy,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, but do be careful not to slip if +you get in and out that way,” said this understanding +little lady.</p> + +<p>“Thanks, oh, thanks, you darling Motherkins!” +cried Isabel. “Is that Bunkie I hear? I +know it’s his voice.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>“It is Bunkie and has been for some time; he +thinks you have been in session without him long +enough,” said Mrs. Hawthorne, rising. “And I +have a sort of Opening Day of my own. Mine +is opened downstairs, and it is not only a day, +but a freezer opened! In honor of Mark Jack-in-the-Box +having a birthday. Won’t you come +down to the dining room and celebrate with me?”</p> + +<p>With a shout the children rushed to the door, +Poppy turning three cartwheels in rapturous +welcome of these tidings.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know where you hid it,” she panted +coming right side up once more. “I kinder +thought maybe you and Mr. Daddy’d be doing +somethin’ for the birthday, and I sorter snooped, +but not a freezer did there be, nowheres.”</p> + +<p>Poppy’s English still failed her under excitement.</p> + +<p>Motherkins laughed. “Mark’s daddy and I +can play tricks, too, little Miss Gladys Popham +Meiggs!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, there ain’t much I can’t hunt out +when I try,” boasted Poppy justly.</p> + +<p>Dashing out of the room she fell over Isabel’s +little rough haired dog, mostly Scotch terrier, +who had been named Bunker in honor of his +christening day, the seventeenth of June, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>whom, like Poppy, Mrs. Hawthorne had adopted +when he sorely needed kindness, but against +whom Poppy harbored a little jealousy. Isabel +had taken him into her heart and home, but still +Poppy disliked loving little Bunkie.</p> + +<p>“Gee, that Punk!” Poppy exclaimed as she +tripped over the small creature, who was rapturously +running to meet the children. “Pretty +near I went kersmash over him! He’s the +snarledest looking dog! He’s the limit. If you’d +of made me tumble, you raggedy ravelledy +thing!”</p> + +<p>Laughing and shouting the three children, +with Bunkie barking and leaping, and Poppy +stalking behind, really angry for a few minutes, +went down to the dining room. Only part of the +house, occupied but six months, was in order, but +this room was one that was beautifully furnished. +A fire of logs blazed on the hearth in the library +beyond, its color reflected in the dark mahogany +in line of the open door.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne, Mark’s wonderful father who +knew all sorts of woodland lore and was in every +way a child’s ideal, stood at one end of the table. +Before him sat a platter with a sliding mound of +delectable brown, pink and creamy white, which +he was ready to serve.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>“Many happy returns, dearest boy of mine!” +he said giving Mark his ice cream last of all.</p> + +<p>“Yum-Yum; opening day!” said Mark significantly, +stretching his mouth wide to admit a +heaped teaspoonful of ice cream.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br> +<small>SAWS, HAMMERS AND NAILS—TWO KINDS!</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">PRUE sat back on her heels, her thumb in +her mouth and that mouth sagging at its +corners.</p> + +<p>Mark was sawing on the side of a packing case, +making a cheerful whistling through his teeth, +but the saw was slender; it swayed and bent a +good deal, and the course it had so far followed +through the side of the box was as scalloped as +if it had been cut by a cheese scoop.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Poppy were tacking bright +colored chintz in deep pleats over a much smaller +box. Isabel was silent; she looked pale and her +lips were closed in a line that was almost grim. +Poppy on the other hand was red even to the tips +of her ears, and she betrayed a decided tendency +to scold some one, any one who gave her the least +opening.</p> + +<p>As no one paid any attention to Prue, who had +been hammering nails out backward from a third +box, she was forced to voice her woes in a bid +for pity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>“I shouldn’t be surprised if I had lockjaw,” +she said plaintively. Isabel looked up, saw her +best friend’s miserable face and the thumb in her +mouth, around which she had spoken indistinctly, +and jumped up to run over to her.</p> + +<p>“Did you hurt yourself, Prue darling?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“I struck my nail like—like—I struck my +thumb nail <i>awful</i> hard, Isabel! Do you suppose +it doesn’t hurt? I just about can’t stand the way +it aches. I think likely I’ll have lockjaw, or +lose the nail, or something.” Prue struggled to +keep back the tears, but her voice was sadder +than tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, dear!” cried Isabel. “It must be +fearful, but it won’t come off, or make lockjaw. +Let me see. Poor, poor thumbling! It’s a dark +red!”</p> + +<p>Isabel examined the short, sturdy little thumb +with the air of a whole college of physicians, and +Prue bitterly turned it and bent it back and forth +as if newly introduced to it.</p> + +<p>“I was not meant for a carpenter,” she said, +feeling unjustly put upon.</p> + +<p>“Well, who was?” exploded Poppy. “I can’t +get these darned——”</p> + +<p>“Poppy! You <i>must not</i> say darned!” cried +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>Prue, forgetting her pain in her passionate desire +to keep Poppy straight.</p> + +<p>“They are!” said Poppy. “Well then: These +sweet pretty red and blue chintz parrots, or hens, +or something! I can’t get ’em on straight. And +Isa keeps a-pulling the stuff all round and how +can I?”</p> + +<p>“Some job to saw through this box straight +with a saw like a lemonade straw, if you want +to know,” Mark added to the lamenting chorus.</p> + +<p>“Let’s chuck it!” cried Poppy. “It’s too hard +to make our own furniture, and ’twon’t be one +bit of good if we do fuss and muss it, and all our +poor fids get pounded bust!”</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to furnish this room, and where’d +we get the money? It would cost a lot. Mother +bought some new piazza chairs, and she said the +kind that used to be about three and a half she +paid seven for,” said Prue removing her thumb +to say this. It was like Prue to know about high +prices, and like her to be ready to keep on with +the work in hand, though for her it had proved +to be work <i>on</i> hand, most painful to endure.</p> + +<p>The instant she had spoken she jabbed her +thumb quickly between her lips again and wriggled +the fingers on the same hand because it hurt +so much.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go out and do stunts in the streets and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>people’d give us money for it, and we’d buy furniture,” +cried Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Poppy! They’d know us!” Isabel’s +voice was horrified.</p> + +<p>“Sure. And not be afraid we’d be gypsies, +or something, if they gave it to us,” Poppy answered +as if being known were a good thing, but +she understood Isabel nevertheless.</p> + +<p>“’Course we couldn’t go around like that,” +said Mark. “Maybe we could get some stuff +out of people’s attics; I mean maybe people have +things they don’t use and we could borrow them, +or pay for ’em by doing errands or weeding—if +they’d sell them. I’m kind of thinking we shan’t +make much of a go at tinkering boxes into chairs +and tables, and by the time we got done we’d be +too old to sit down if we could do it. By the +time we got ’em done we’d be ninety-nine, and +stiff from old age.”</p> + +<p>Isabel laughed. “Prue and I would be only +ninety-eight when you were ninety-nine, and +Pops would be a young thing of ninety-six, +nearly! We’d have to stand, and let our callers +sit down. Well, then, what are we to do, Jack-in-the-Box? +You’re the one that was so keen to +make the furniture, and Motherkins has given us +this lovely chintz that I know she wanted herself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>“Beg,” said Prue. She found it sounded like +“beck” with her thumb in her mouth, so she removed +it, and went on.</p> + +<p>“My mother has lots of kind of wobbly chairs +in the attic; so has yours, Isa. It would be easier +to brace ’em up than to fuss like this. Besides +there are some kind of outgrown, odd ones, that +used to be pretty. They are strong, but they +got ugly. I don’t see why, but mother always +says when we go up there: ‘Do see those really +awful chairs! And when I was first married, and +my mother bought them for me, we thought they +were beautiful!’ So they’d do for us; we’d be +younger’n she was when she was married, and +maybe we’d think they were beautiful. Anyway +they’re chairs, and they’re heaps prettier than +our packing box ones would ever be, and I know +mother’d let us have them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, so would mother,” said Isabel, her +meaning, if not her expression clear. “I suppose—But +we were planning to do it all ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“It’s awful silly to do things when you can’t,” +said Poppy decisively.</p> + +<p>“I think that would be pretty clever, Miss +Gladys!” laughed Mark. “All right, then; jig’s +up! Jig saw? Mine wasn’t that kind. We’ll +gather up these tools and put them all back in +dad’s bench drawer. Nothing gets my sweet-tempered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>dad going like having me use his tools +and not put them back! Then we’ll go out begging +furniture, like survivors of a fire.”</p> + +<p>“I know!” cried Poppy hopping around on +her right foot, holding her left ankle in her hand. +“We’ll dress up! We must put on funny tastic +things and pretend we were all burnt up—I mean +all we had in our houses.”</p> + +<p>“Trust you to see a chance to dress up, +Popsy!” laughed Mark. “The word is fantastic, +my dear, but I shouldn’t wonder if funny tastic +was better when you’re the one dressing up!”</p> + +<p>“It don’t make no odds to me, Mark Hawthorne,” +said Poppy with dignity. “I’m getting +my learning as I go along, and I’m not near done +with it, and I don’t put on one single luggs, making +believe I was to college.”</p> + +<p>Isabel dove into one of the packing cases, pretending +to be searching for a screwdriver; it +never would do to let Poppy see her laugh when +Poppy was so solemnly in earnest as she then +was.</p> + +<p>Isabel emerged flushed and short breathed.</p> + +<p>“We might go right to Prue’s house and mine +and see what’s there,” she said.</p> + +<figure id="Page32" class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i032.jpg" width="450" height="594" alt="Children riding in the buckboard"> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">POPPY HELD THE LINES AND ISABEL AND PRUE JOUNCED UP AND DOWN + SINGING.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>The spring was coming on so fast that now, on +the 27th of April, the sunshine was warm enough +to do away with the necessity of much preparation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> +for going out. Prue and Isabel and Poppy +needed no more than their blue serge coats, all +similar, and their hats. Mark pulled a slip-on +sweater over his head, caught up a cap, and they +were ready. Stopping only long enough to put +the borrowed tools back in their place, the four +sallied out.</p> + +<p>The big house, the old Hawthorne house, stood +just beyond the woods. There was a subterranean +passage that had been made in Revolutionary +days, leading up to the house from the woods. +It was because Mark knew this passage and used +mysteriously to appear and disappear through it, +to the wonder of Prue and Isabel, who almost +suspected him of being Peter Pan, or another +citizen of fairyland, that they had dubbed Mark +Jack-in-the-Box when they had first seen him.</p> + +<p>Now they did not go through the hidden passage, +though they had come to use it freely themselves, +but they did go by the woods; no matter +where they were going, these four children nearly +always were able to persuade themselves that +the nearest way to get there was to start by +going through the woods. Much as they loved +them, well as they knew them, there was always +more to love, more to discover in the woods each +time that they went into them. To-day, with the +buds swelling to bursting on the trees, the willows, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>distant along the brook, showing a golden +mist through the shadows; the maples red in bud; +the ferns palely green, with brown caps on their +full heads, turned over like a bishop’s shepherd-crozier, +the woods were lovely as a dream, a +dream that was at the same time an assured +promise of joys to come. And the air was fragrant +with arbutus, lying deep under the damp +brown deposit of last year’s leaves, modestly +anxious to hide its perfection, but, like a lovely +soul, revealing itself by its sweetness as it hid.</p> + +<p>Isabel drew a long, inward breath. “Oh, how +can it be so heavenly!” she sighed.</p> + +<p>“We must go down to the brook soon and see +how Château Branche is getting on,” said Prue, +forgetting to nurse her thumb.</p> + +<p>“Dad said we must not get up into it till he +examines it, to make sure it is strong after the +winter,” said Mark. “But I’m sure it’ll be all +right. Dad built it to last. Say, isn’t it pretty +nice to have a house like that in a pine tree waiting +for us when spring comes back? We’re lucky +kids!”</p> + +<p>“Of course it is only a platform in the +branches, really,” said Prue, the exact. “But +that’s nicer than a house with a roof—and it +doesn’t rain on us unless it simply pours down.”</p> + +<p>“Château Branche is a house; don’t you spoil +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>it, Prue Wayne, calling it a platform,” cried +Poppy. Prue’s literal way of getting everything +labelled exactly exasperated Poppy, and there +was always within her heart jealousy of Isabel’s +affection for Prue; to Poppy Isa was adorable +perfection. On the other hand Prue had less +patience with Poppy than Isa had; her impatience, +her flaming quick temper, her sudden +extremes of mood tried sensible Prue; she had to +struggle to be just to Poppy. It is to Prue’s +credit that she did struggle to do her justice, kept +in mind her unfortunate childhood, and did not +let Poppy feel coolness toward her. Prue was a +thoroughly good little girl, though she was not as +interesting as brilliant Mark, nor as exquisite +Isabel, nor as clever, wild little Poppy herself.</p> + +<p>“I won’t spoil Château Branche, Poppy; I +just was thinking it was a platform after all. +But I always think of it as our house in the tree, +same’s you do,” Prue answered gently.</p> + +<p>“You can get some rustle in the dry places, but +not like in the fall,” said Poppy. She had forgotten +her warning about Château Branche, and +was going along scuffling her feet through the +piles of leaves which eddying winter winds had +heaped in places.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be glad when we can come here and sit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>around; it’s a little weeny bit damp yet,” said +Isabel with a slight shiver.</p> + +<p>“Race me out, the way we always did; you’ll +get cold,” said Prue with an anxious look at more +delicate Isa.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I can’t go straight to your house, +either of your houses,” said Poppy unexpectedly, +and with trouble as to her plurals. “I forgot! +Motherkins told me this morning I had to go to +the store for her some time to-day, and this is +the last chance. Come with me.”</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you say so before, Poppy?” cried +Prue.</p> + +<p>“Well, what’s the odds? We’d go through +the woods anyway, and turn around,” Poppy reminded +her.</p> + +<p>“Nice to know,” observed Isabel, but they did +“turn around,” and struck out of the woods by +another path leading to the business end of the +town, instead of keeping on toward Prue and +Isabel’s homes.</p> + +<p>Poppy’s errand was at the grocer’s, but she +also went to the druggist to get an insect destroyer +for Motherkins’ beloved garden, to do +away with the hungry slugs waiting for her +plants to put up their tender shoots. The drug +store was next to the post office. Greenacres’ +postmaster was a character, a small, weazened, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>deformed man named Babcock, toward whom all +the children of Greenacres held two distinct attitudes +of mind in the first and second stages of +their knowing him. When they were small they +were all afraid of him; his deformed body, and +sharp, curious face filled them with terror. After +they were past seven they swung from fear of +him to love for Mr. Babcock; he was eccentric, +but kind, and did many things for the children +that won their gratitude; it mingled with pity for +him to make them love him.</p> + +<p>Now, as Isabel, Prue, Poppy and Mark came +out of the drug store they saw Mr. Babcock in +the post office doorway.</p> + +<p>“Saw you out of my private office,” he said. +“How are you, Hawthorne sprig? And how are +you, Isabel Lindsay and Prudence Wayne? And +you, Miss Meiggs? Want a horse, Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my gracious!” gasped Poppy. “What +do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“A horse, a horse, a horse,” Mr. Babcock +thrice repeated. “H-o-r-s-e, an animal that used +to be common, but got side-tracked by gasoline +engines and the farmers’ flivvers, but is still useful, +and to my mind beats autos. I’ve got a +horse, a buckboard—old-time, sagging buckboard!—to +give away, and I sort of picked you +out as the one to have it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>“Me! Me!” Poppy sat straight down on the +sidewalk regardless of everything.</p> + +<p>“I won’t sell him. I could, to some one who’d +get what was left in him out of him in a year and +let him starve after that,” said Mr. Babcock, in +a fury at his own imagining. “I won’t sell him. +He’s twenty-two years old, but he’s good for a +long time, decently treated; sound and can trot +right along, not a bad looking fellow, chestnut, +came of good stock. Think your folks’d let +Poppy have him, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“I think so, I’m sure so,” said Mark, as surprised +as Poppy, but rising to the occasion as +she was too overcome to do. “My father said +he’d like to have a horse on the place. I think +he’d keep yours for Poppy, if she’d let dad use +him sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t sell him,” said Mr. Babcock again, +shaking his head hard. “I’d just’s lieves as not +Gilbert Hawthorne’d use him. When he was a +littler boy’n you are now he was as kind to animals +as a lamb! But he’s to be Poppy’s horse, +mind that! <i>And</i> her buckboard! Want to see +him? Will you have him, Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my days, my days!” cried Poppy, bursting +into excited tears. “I don’t want to see him! +He’s a horse, he’s alive, he goes, don’t he? Oh +my, a horse! Say, I’ll die! He’ll haul me to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>cemetery first thing! Oh, Mr. Babcock, you ain’t +postmaster, you’re an angel, just an angel! +Le’me hug you! Oh my land of lollypops, I’ll +bust!”</p> + +<p>“Well, come along to the stable; it’s better for +busting than the street, and you can see the +horse,” said Mr. Babcock, laughing. “Here, get +up off the walk! I’ll hitch him up, or do you +want to ask your father first, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“No. Dad’ll say yes, but if he doesn’t I’ll +bring the horse back. I’d better take a bag of +oats home on the buckboard,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Prue had not spoken. This was too +amazing to allow of speech. They silently followed +to the stable, and were introduced to the +horse, whose long brown nose thrust itself forward +over the stall door as they entered, showing +that it was used to sugar in the pockets of visitors.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done my best for you, old man; I’d keep +you if I could, but you’ll be all right where you’re +going. I wouldn’t sell you,” Mr. Babcock said +with a quaver in his voice.</p> + +<p>Poppy solemnly took the brown face between +her palms and kissed the middle of the boney +nose.</p> + +<p>“My little darling, you are to be my child,” she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>said with rapturous tears running down her own +short, freckled nose.</p> + +<p>Mr. Babcock led the horse out. He proved to +be decidedly well-built, with fine, straight legs, a +full tail, a good head.</p> + +<p>Mr. Babcock put on the harness and led the +horse out to be backed into the shafts of the +buckboard, standing in the stable yard.</p> + +<p>“Get up on the seat, Poppy. He’s yours, so +you drive home. He won’t play a trick on any +one, not for the world. Mark, you might get up +along side of her. Good-by, all of you. Good-by, +old friend. I’ve done my best for you. I +wouldn’t sell you,” Mr. Babcock said, handing +Poppy the lines.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Prue climbed up on the buckboard. +There was no question in their minds of not +going back to the Hawthorne house; this was too +exciting an adventure to leave unfinished.</p> + +<p>As the horse began to move, obedient to +Poppy’s tightening of the lines, and Mark’s +order to: “Get up,” Poppy being unable to +speak, Isabel found her tongue for the first time.</p> + +<p>“What’s his name, Mr. Babcock?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah. He was born on the day of Dewey’s +victory in Manila Bay,” said Mr. Babcock.</p> + +<p>He did not smile, but Isabel, Prue and Mark +fell over rocking with laughter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>Poppy was unable so much as to hear the +horse’s name.</p> + +<p>The quest of furniture was completely forgotten. +Slowly and with decorum, the buckboard +started away, drawn by Hurrah and +watched and watched out of sight by Mr. Babcock +whose eyes glistened with moisture.</p> + +<p>After they had gone beyond the business +streets, Hurrah voluntarily began to trot.</p> + +<p>Poppy held the lines and Isabel and Prue +jounced up and down on the body of the buckboard, +singing with Mark at the tops of their +voices: “Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br> +<small>HURRAH AND HURRAHING</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">POPPY ate her supper in a daze that did not +interfere with her appetite, but did keep +her from knowing what she ate.</p> + +<p>Mark was not much less excited. It really was +an amazing thing to come home from the post +office with a horse and buckboard, “precisely as +if it had been sent parcel post,” Mark said.</p> + +<p>“And you would have to go down to get it, if +it had come that way, because the carrier won’t +carry awful big packages,” Poppy added.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne had raised his eyebrows +doubtfully when they asked him if Hurrah might +stay on the place, but he had not the heart to say +no, and when he saw the horse he said yes, willingly.</p> + +<p>“He’s not a colt, but he’s a healthy, good looking +elderly gentleman, and he’s welcome,” Mr. +Hawthorne said. “You and Mark must take +care of him between you, Poppy, bed him, curry +him and feed him; that’s fair if I buy him feed. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>We’re the sort of people, thank God, that a +horse, or even a child more or less, can be tucked +away among and not worry us.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dad, you peach! I like everything about +you best of anything else; I think the best thing +about you is whatever I happen to think of, but +the very best thing about you, straight, right +along, all the time, is the way you are with birds +and beasts and us kids!” cried Mark, beaming +adoringly on this ideal father of his.</p> + +<p>After supper Mark came out on the piazza. +Poppy’s rockers were making such a racket that +she did not hear him, so he stood still, shaking +with laughter, watching and listening to her.</p> + +<p>She was deep in a great porch rocker, clasping +its arms with her thin, well-shaped little +hands. She was rocking furiously, swinging her +body forward and back with the motion of the +chair. Her flaming red hair swung forward and +back as she rocked; it had the effect of flames in +the wind—and indeed her excited little brain was +on fire.</p> + +<p>The rockers struck hard on their rear tips, then +just as hard on their front tips and made a great +noise on the piazza floor as they rocked, but high +over their noise soared Poppy’s remarkably +clear, true and sweet voice, fairly shouting a song +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>which she had just made. It relieved her feelings, +but the words were hardly poetry.</p> + +<p>She sang:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“Hurrah, hurrah for Hurrah, rah, rah!</div> +<div class="verse">He’s brown and alive and better’n a car.</div> +<div class="verse">He can eat oats and hay and not old gasoline;</div> +<div class="verse">And his nose is so soft you might think it was cream.</div> +<div class="verse">Hurrah! Hurrah loves me, if I am a red-head!</div> +<div class="verse">He’s my own horsie darling and I’ve put him to bed.”</div> +</div></div> + +<p>In her ecstasy Poppy lurched over an arm of +the chair and caught sight of Mark, crimson from +suppressed laughter, his hand over his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Laugh if you want to!” she shouted. “Just +laugh! It’s all so, and I’ve got a horse, and if +I don’t die in the night thinking about it I’m +going to sing a whole uproar about it to-morrow. +Oh, Jack-in-the-Box, honest to goodness, am I +Poppy; honest, am I?”</p> + +<p>“You dear child, don’t you know no one but +Poppy could be so glad?” said Motherkins coming +out past Mark and taking the quivering little +body in her arms. “Dear, your head is burning +and your hands are icy! You must quiet down, +childie, or you won’t be able to look after Hurrah. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>Come, sit on the arm of my chair, and let us +plan how we’ll drive through sweet, shady roads +with Hurrah, when it is June.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know how it feels to have a horse +given you. Who’ll wipe the dishes?” cried +Poppy.</p> + +<p>Motherkins laughed. “You and I, perhaps, +after a while, but we’ll rest first. And the day +after to-morrow we shall have some one to do it +for us.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne drew a chair into the farther +corner of the piazza and Mark came to sit on +the arm of his chair, as Poppy sat on Motherkins’.</p> + +<p>“Are you bothered, dad?” whispered Mark, +sensing something unnatural in his father’s +silence.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne rested a hand on the boy’s +shoulder as the other dropped on the rough coat +of Semper Fidelis, “Semp,” his devoted dog, +never far from his master.</p> + +<p>“S-sh!” warned Mr. Hawthorne. “Don’t let +Motherkins hear that! I don’t know, my laddie, +whether I am bothered or not, or rather whether +I’m reasonably bothered or not. I suppose I do +know that I am a little uneasy in my mind.”</p> + +<p>“Could I know?” hinted Mark.</p> + +<p>“Not to-night. If there’s anything to tell you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>shall know, of course. I’m not sure that there +is. You tell me, instead, what you are going +to do about furnishing your club room—isn’t it +a club room? You told me that you’d given up +making the furniture,” Mr. Hawthorne diverted +Mark’s thoughts.</p> + +<p>“I guess the furniture gave up letting us make +it!” Mark laughed. “We’re going to see if we +can’t get some, enough, from Mrs. Lindsay and +Mrs. Wayne; old stuff stored in their attics. +We’re going in the morning, Poppy and I, with +Hurrah in the buckboard, and if there’s any for +us we’ll load it up.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll drive,” Poppy called across. She had not +heard anything else that Mark and his father +had said, but she instantly caught the allusion +to Hurrah.</p> + +<p>Before it was light Poppy was out of bed the +next morning, creeping down the stairs, her +shoes in her hand, making no more sound than +a red maple leaf makes eddying down from the +tree in the wind of October.</p> + +<p>She put on her shoes on the back porch and +sped over the wet grass, frantic to get into the +stable to see whether Hurrah were a fact or a +dream. Almost she had convinced herself that +she had dreamed the whole marvelous story, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>there was no one about to tell her that her joy +was real.</p> + +<p>There was Hurrah, real enough, looking immense +in the dim light. But Poppy’s anxiety +underwent a swift change. Hurrah was a fact, +but he was lying down! Poppy had never before +seen a horse off his feet; instantly she made up +her mind that he was desperately ill.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my darling, my darling, my darlingest!” +she wailed, bursting into a tempest of tears. “It’s +those nasty little sharp oats! I thought they’d +stick you! Oh, Hurrah, Hurrah! That you can’t +do! Get up and speak to me, angel!”</p> + +<p>Hurrah looked at Poppy languidly, then he +yawned prodigiously, and this finished her hope +of him. She had never seen anything so alarming +as this cavernous mouth, stretched to show +uneven brownish teeth. She did not know that +Hurrah was not accustomed to being called at +four in the morning and was not anxious to +waken.</p> + +<p>Poppy turned away with a great rending sob, +and rushed back to the house, crying so hard at +the top of her penetrating voice that by the time +she got to the house Motherkins, Mr. Hawthorne +and Mark all had their heads out of windows on +the side of the house nearest to the stable.</p> + +<p>“Poppy, dear, what is it?” cried Mr. Hawthorne. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>He was sure that some one had stolen +Hurrah in the night, or else that he had hung +himself in his halter.</p> + +<p>“Come, come, come! He’s dying! My horse +is dying!” shrieked Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Choking in his halter probably,” said Mr. +Hawthorne. “All right, Poppy; wait there. I’ll +be down in a minute.”</p> + +<p>“But, daddy, we didn’t put a halter on the +horse,” said Mark as they both hurried to their +rooms to throw on some clothes and go to Hurrah’s +rescue. They ran to the stable, Mark and +his father out-stripping Poppy, whose breath +was nearly used up from running.</p> + +<p>Hurrah had risen and stood sleepily looking +over the low door at the rear of his stall as his +new friends entered.</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong with you, old chap?” asked +Mr. Hawthorne, putting one hand on the soft +brown ears, the other under Hurrah’s fore leg +to try his temperature. “Why, Poppy, I don’t +see anything wrong with your horse, except that +he feels, like the Sluggard: ‘you have waked me +too early, let me slumber again.’ Why did you +think he was dying?”</p> + +<p>“He—he was lying down,” sobbed Poppy, +“and he opened his mouth fearful, as if he was +sick at his stomach and gasping for breath.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>Mark uttered a shout of pure joy and his +father laughed.</p> + +<p>“Horses lie down to sleep; didn’t you know +that, little Poppy? And he was yawning. He +doesn’t want to be called at four in the morning, +at his age. To tell the truth, neither do I! +Let’s all turn in again, and I’m afraid I’ll have +to forbid your visiting Hurrah till we’re all up. +Never mind this time; I’ll wager you thought +you’d dreamed him, and came out to see if he +were real.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne gently rumpled Poppy’s hair, +which was already sufficiently disturbed by a +night of restless tossing.</p> + +<p>After breakfast Mark, seated on the rear of +the buckboard, with his feet dangling, and +Poppy on the seat to drive, started away in pursuit +of furniture.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne called after them to say that +Mark must get up beside Poppy to be ready to +help her if she needed help, but otherwise their +triumphal start was not hindered, and Hurrah +showed no sign of dangerous illness.</p> + +<p>They found Prue at Isabel’s house. Both little +girls hailed them gleefully.</p> + +<p>“We didn’t believe it was so; we thought we +must have imagined it, but there he is, and you +have him!” cried Isabel. “Mother, motherums, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>come see the horse! Poppy’s driving him. +Where’s your whip, Pops?”</p> + +<p>“I never strike him,” said Poppy sternly, as +if she had driven Hurrah for years.</p> + +<p>“Well, he’s really a nice looking horse. Really +very nice! And how happy you are, little +Poppet! I am delighted that you have him.” +Mrs. Lindsay looked delighted. She had a beautiful +face, sweet and calm, with a lovely light in +her eyes, the beauty of one who had suffered. +She had lost her other children in an epidemic of +diphtheria; only Isabel had been left to her, and +through the brightness of her smile shone the +strength that had conquered grief unselfishly.</p> + +<p>“I asked my mother, and she says we may have +some things she stowed away,” said Prue.</p> + +<p>“And you are welcome to several chairs and a +table from my attic,” added Mrs. Lindsay. “Shall +we go up and look them over? Tie Hurrah, +Mark, and come up with us.”</p> + +<p>The children trooped up the stairs, up the first +and second flights, but Poppy lagged behind unnaturally; +she was usually ahead of the others. +She was sorely tempted to stay with Hurrah and +keep flies off him, though the flies were still not +abundant.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lindsay was one of those delightful people +who remember precisely what they liked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>when they were in short skirts with their hair +braided and ribbon-tied.</p> + +<p>She selected a low rocking chair that would fit +any one not above four feet high; another with a +cheerful design of flowers painted on its wooden +back; a low, bulging willow armchair that had +seen better days, but might then have been +stiffer; a queer old footstool covered with worsted +embroidery, and a table of oak with a drawer in +it and a shelf across the bottom which would +comfortably hold games and sizable books, besides +not being too good to put one’s feet on, in +case one were writing at the table.</p> + +<p>“Now, with Mrs. Wayne’s contributions, you +will have enough,” said Mrs. Lindsay dusting her +hands as she emerged from beneath the eaves. +“But I think I shall contribute some dishes, for +I’m sure you’ll like to have your own, in case you +ever entertain. And I have a small kerosene +stove I’ll let you use, if Mrs. Hawthorne isn’t +afraid of fire; it’s really quite safe. You can boil +water and make tea on it, or candy, if you watch +it and don’t let it boil over.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t she the duckiest duck of a mother!” +cried Isabel hugging this Lady Bountiful of the +Understanding Heart. “You see we can sort of +keep house.”</p> + +<p>“And my mother has a cot bed she’s going to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>let us have for a couch, with a cover thrown over +it, so if anything happened we could stay right +there, over night, one or two of us!” Prue added.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have to make a lot of trips to haul this +all up on the buckboard, but we can take our time +at it,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“I’m perfec’ly willing to lend my horse, but I +don’t want him tired out,” said Poppy with much +dignity.</p> + +<p>“We’ll all walk beside him and sing to him as +we march, Pops,” said Mark, as Isabel and Prue +chuckled over Poppy’s magnificence.</p> + +<p>It did require many trips, but the loads were +light, and even Poppy was satisfied that the +effort was not too much for Hurrah’s health since +they themselves bore up well trotting along beside +him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wayne had an old rug that gave the last +touch of completeness to the Club Room. They +spread it in the middle of the room, and though +it did not reach far in either direction, as Prue +pointed out, it made the room look quite different +than it would if the floor had been entirely +bare.</p> + +<p>With the cot set up and spread with a faded +striped cover, and the chairs carefully set in careless +positions, as if they had just been used, and +the table with books on its four corners and a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>checkerboard and steeple chase and a box of +Lotto, and Authors on the shelf underneath, and +an inkstand and paper and pens and pencils +placed exactly in the middle of the table top, +the room looked as though there might be a +reason for calling it a Club Room. If there were +such reason the children had no notion of what +it was. There was a Club Room, but in no true +sense was there a club.</p> + +<p>“You may come in to see it, Motherkins,” said +Mark, as Mrs. Hawthorne peeped in at the door, +asking if she might see what they had done. “Of +course we do want you to see it, but we shall ask +you to come formally, you and daddy, and Mrs. +Wayne and Mrs. Lindsay—our Benefactors’ +Day, it will be, and then you must try to feel as +if you hadn’t seen it before. But come right in; +we say it looks nifty; what do you say?”</p> + +<p>“Nifty indeed!” cried Motherkins admiringly. +“Why, it’s a regular treasure house of grandeur! +And it’s in bad taste to have everything spick and +span new, as if you were all varnished, and never +had anything in all your lives before! I see that +the fastening is off that window, but that doesn’t +matter.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no; nobody will bother these windows,” +said Mark confidently.</p> + +<p>“Your father could put a fastening on,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>Motherkins went on, as if not satisfied to feel +that the window could not be fastened.</p> + +<p>“Little Motherkins-wee is afraid some one will +creep in here and carry her off,” chanted Isabel, +catching Mrs. Hawthorne around the waist and +making her dance.</p> + +<p>“Because she’s so little and so nice, nice nice!” +Poppy joined in the song, dancing around Isabel +and Motherkins, waving her hands to the rhythm.</p> + +<p>The children all treated Motherkins as if she +were a superior sort of toy.</p> + +<p>“No fear of any one getting into the Club +Room,” said Mark again.</p> + +<p>And this showed exactly how much he knew +about it!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br> +<small>THE CLOUD IN THE SKY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“SAY, Isa, I’m perfectly sure something is +bothering dad,” Mark said drawing his brow +into an anxious knot.</p> + +<p>“So am I,” Isabel agreed. “He thinks and +thinks, not pleasant thoughts. He frowns and +looks straight through you as if you were cheesecloth, +and he is pale. You don’t suppose he is +sick, and knows it, and is worrying about you and +Motherkins?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no-o-o!” Mark shook his head so hard +that the negative came out in syllables. “There’s +nothing like that the matter! I can always tell +when dad doesn’t feel well. It’s bother. I +wonder what can be worrying him now, when +everything has come out so just right!”</p> + +<p>Isabel and Mark were on their way to get +certain flower seeds which Motherkins needed to +plant her old-fashioned flower garden with all +the kinds of flowers which she had grown in that +same garden long before Mark was born. Then +this great house had been her home; in the meantime +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>it had been lost to her, and now that she had +got it back through the return of her lost son, +with a modest fortune with which to buy the old +place back, she was happily restoring her beloved +garden in its old place, with its old flowers.</p> + +<p>The children had offered to help Motherkins +with her planting. Prue stayed with Poppy, +getting ready the seeds already on hand, while +Isabel and Mark went to supply deficiencies +from the store and also to buy a new hoe and rake +“to tuck them into the bed,” Mark said.</p> + +<p>They came back sooner than they were expected, +each with a long-handled tool over their +shoulder, and quite breathless and heated from +hurrying.</p> + +<p>Their haste was explained by the pasteboard +box which Mark carried by its tape handle. It +was a treat for the stay-at-homes—strawberry +and vanilla!—to square accounts; Isa and he had +eaten their cream in the drug store and did not +want to take advantage of their friends.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Mark sipped cold water and +watched Prue and Poppy eat their ice cream, +recovering breath meanwhile. Then all four +went out and began to dig and hoe vigorously in +the garden that lay under the eastern wall of the +house under the direct rays of the morning sun, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>in the best possible place for the well-being of +flowers.</p> + +<p>It had grown warm as the sun mounted. The +dining room windows were open and Motherkins +sat in one of them studying a seedsman’s +catalogue when her son came into the room.</p> + +<p>She looked up to greet him, and must have +been struck by the troubled look on his face which +the children had been seeing, for they, working +below the window in the garden, heard her exclaim +in a startled voice:</p> + +<p>“Why, Gilbert, dear, what is wrong? You +look distressed!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne dropped wearily into a chair +opposite to her and rumpled his hair in a way +he had when things went wrong. Then he rumpled +Semp’s hair; he had come after him and was +leaning against him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, distressed is a strong word, small +mother!” he said laughing at her with no sound +of merriment in the laugh. “I’m all right.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you going to tell me about it, Gilbert?” +said Motherkins quietly, as if he had said +that he was not all right. “I have noticed that +you looked anxious, as if something were on your +mind, for several days, but when you came in +just now you startled me. You’d better tell me, +dear.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>“You’re a great little woman for seeing what +lies behind people’s foreheads!” said her son. +“When I was a child you always knew what I +didn’t tell you quite as well as what I told! I remember +believing firmly that you had a sort of +X-ray wireless apparatus—only I couldn’t have +called it that—which looked through me and +caught my thoughts. Well, then, I’ll own up! I +have been somewhat troubled for a few days over +what must prove to be nonsense, and to-day I +had a letter that increased the worry.”</p> + +<p>“A letter from——?” Motherkins waited for +him to complete her sentence.</p> + +<p>“From a firm of lawyers of shady reputation +as to honor, but with a reputation for skill in +winning cases by their tricks. I have been keeping +off telling you, but I suppose you’ve got to +know.” Mr. Hawthorne looked disgusted, but +he settled back in his chair to tell the story, pulling +Semp’s ears as he talked.</p> + +<p>“You know, mother, I saved the life of young +Maurice Ditson. He was the son of James Ditson, +who was the wealthy manufacturer—you +know all that, and how to prove his gratitude Mr. +Ditson left me all the money Mark and I have, +except Mark’s small inheritance from his mother. +Well, Maurice Ditson turned out so badly that +I’m afraid if his father had lived to know about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>it he’d have felt that it would have been better +if I hadn’t saved his son, that it would have been +better if he had died innocent rather than lived +to disgrace his father’s honorable name. In any +case, Maurice could spend all that his father and +several other millionaires could give him, and he +wants now to get away from me the money his +father left to me. He’s trumped up a tale that +is too long to go into, that would set aside the +will, if it could be proved. He’s engaged Sharp +and Geiger to take the case, and they have plenty +of skill and no conscience at all. So I don’t +know! It’s an outrageous attempt, of course, +but that’s not saying it may not succeed, and if +it does——” Gilbert Hawthorne paused and +looked at his mother.</p> + +<p>“If it does,” she said, “we shall lose this dear +place and be poor again?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother dear, that’s exactly what would +happen!” cried Gilbert.</p> + +<p>“Let us hope and pray that the wickedness will +be foiled. It would be cruelly hard when we are +so happy, so gratefully, cloudlessly happy in our +old home! Somehow I think the plot can’t succeed. +But in any case I have you, my son; +nothing can take from me my greatest joy in +having you again. And with you our dear lad, +who seems to give me you again twice over! So +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>at the worst I shall not be as I was before, heartbroken, +alone! You must do all that may be +done to prevent this dishonesty from succeeding, +dear, and after that we will try not to worry,” +said the brave little mother.</p> + +<p>“You little wonder!” cried her son, jumping +up to pick his small mother up bodily and hug +her hard in his relief that she took his dreaded +revelation so quietly. “You may be sure I’ll do +all I can to defeat Maurice Ditson! Why, +mother, the few thousands his father left me, +and which the fine old fellow wanted me to have—and +more!—was nothing out of the great fortune +which he left Maurice, and which he has +already wasted!”</p> + +<p>“No. Mr. Ditson was deeply indebted to you; +it was justice to prove his gratitude. Well, dear, +in the meantime the garden is to be sown, I hope +for us to enjoy, but whatever is to come, to-day +the garden is to be sown and planted! Will you +help us? Try to put this whole dismal matter +out of your mind. It is a lovely day to be making +a garden!”</p> + +<p>Little Mrs. Hawthorne arose as she spoke and +crossed over to gather up from the table the +boxes into which Prue and Poppy had put the +envelopes of seeds which they had assorted. She +was a tiny woman, almost like a creature all soul +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>and no body, but the spirit in that little frame +was high and brave; it knew how to meet prosperity +or misfortune.</p> + +<p>The children beneath the window had clearly +heard every word that had been said by the +mother and son. They had made no pretense +of working, but had stood listening, horror-stricken, +to what had been said.</p> + +<p>Now Mark, white-faced, with blazing eyes, +threw down the hoe upon which he had been +leaning.</p> + +<p>“It can’t happen, you know!” he whispered +hoarsely. “It would be too awful. It can’t possibly +happen.”</p> + +<p>“But you know, Jack-in-the-Box, the things +too awful to happen are the ones that do happen, +quite often. It frightens me!” said Isabel, and +her dilated eyes showed that it did frighten her.</p> + +<p>“If you had to leave this dear, dear old +house——” began Prue, looking grim, but +Poppy interrupted her with a scream of rage, +dancing up and down in a frenzy.</p> + +<p>“We won’t, we sha’n’t, we won’t!” she cried. +“We’ll get guns and drag ’em up the secret passage! +We’ll boil water and pour it on ’em! +We’ll chuck ’em in the cellar with straw on top +’em and set ’em afire! Let ’em try to take this +house! And if they took it I’d earn money for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>Mis’ Hawthorne, ’nough, too! I’ll get that nice +glass bottle man, what deals in ’em, over to +Hertonsburg, what picked me up the day I went +off, long ago, last year, and took me home to his +house, to show me how to make money out of +bottles, or something. His wife was awful smart—and +nice. I’ll take boarders. Oh, Mark, +Mark—Oh, Motherkins, Mr. Daddy, don’t let +’em take your money and your life!”</p> + +<p>Poppy hurled herself upon little Motherkins +and her son as they came into the garden, ending +her appeal with a form of words which she +must have somewhere heard and retained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, we forgot the children, especially +Poppy!” said Mrs. Hawthorne in dismay. “Of +course they heard every word! Poppy, child, it’s +far better to be poor than not to be able to control +yourself. You must learn to be quiet. You are +shaking and are cold! None of us is excited. +You never will be helpful, a useful, wise, strong +woman, if you fly off like a Fourth of July +sparkler over everything that stirs you. But I +know it is because you love me.”</p> + +<figure id="Page64" class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i064.jpg" width="450" height="562" alt="Children planting flower seeds"> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">SO THEY WENT ON SOWING THE WHOLE GARDEN FULL OF OLD-FASHIONED + FLOWERS.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>Motherkins stooped to stroke the frizzy, flaming +hair and to kiss the quivering face.</p> + +<p>“All little Motherkins’ pills are sugar +coated,” laughed Mark.</p> + +<p>Poppy choked, and shook, and swallowed hard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>for a few moments, while Motherkins continued +to soothe and smooth her. Then she straightened +herself and said:</p> + +<p>“I will, I will, honest to goodness, I will! I’ll +keep the lid on. That time I ran off and stopped +over night to Mr. Thomas Burke’s, my nice +bottle man’s—906 North Street, Hertonsburg, is +where ’tis—he told me I’d be fine if I’d only keep +the lid on, so I shall. I’d love to have you poor +if I could earn tons of money and give it to you, +to sorter pay back.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t be poor, Poppy dear, if you gave +me tons of money,” laughed Motherkins. “Don’t +worry, child! You are too little a girl to worry, +and I’m sure we shall all be happy till the stars +have eaten up the moon because it is made of +green cheese!”</p> + +<p>The four children laughed over this suggestion, +then Prue frowned and began to say: “But +it isn’t, you know, Mrs. Hawthorne,” when +Mark drowned her out, crying:</p> + +<p>“They’ve begun to nibble at it already, +Motherkins! There’s only a half piece in the +sky; I saw it last night. Does the Dog Star—Sirius—eat +the most?”</p> + +<p>“Silly thing!” said Poppy, with a grown-up +manner. “There’s terrible much place for +garden everywheres on this place. I wish I could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>have a piece to raise stuff to sell, if we get poor.”</p> + +<p>“Why, so you may!” cried Mr. Hawthorne, +kindly refraining from pointing out the fact that +if they became poor the place would no longer +be theirs.</p> + +<p>“Help yourself, Poppy! Pick out the spot +you like best and I’ll have it dug up for you and +raked smooth and we’ll see what sort of a farmer +you’ll be.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be a very good raiser, I know that, because +I ain’t lazy,” said Poppy, with no mock +modesty. “If you want to raise things you’ve +got to work like everything, that’s what you have. +And I ain’t—am not lazy.”</p> + +<p>“We could help you,” remarked Isabel wistfully, +her eyes and voice betraying how much she +would like a share in this enterprise.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Daddé,” as Isa used to call Mark’s father +when she first knew him because his name was a +secret and she only knew Mark’s name for him—Daddy, +“Mr. Daddé” saw that Isabel envied +Poppy her promised garden, and he also saw +what profitable pleasure there might be in a +garden apiece for them all.</p> + +<p>“Instead of helping Poppy, why don’t each of +you take a piece of land and see what you can +get out of it? I’ll spade the gardens myself, four +of them, each wherever its owner prefers it, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>then do whatever you like, each of you; plant +what you please, make your garden the kind +you’d rather have. We’d have a sort of county +fair of our own when they all got bearing!” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Say, daddy!” cried Mark struck with admiration.</p> + +<p>“I’d perfectly love it!” Isabel spoke with bated +breath. Immediately she added: “And I’d raise +mignonette and sweet peas in mine——”</p> + +<p>“Me for lettuce!” shouted Prue excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Radishes! Red ’uns, like me!” shouted +Poppy. “And peas—to eat, not your no-good +kind, Isa.”</p> + +<p>“Well, string beans seem about all I can +choose,” said Mark. “I suppose as long as I’m +Jack-in-the-Box I may as well be Jack and the +Bean Stalk, too.”</p> + +<p>“Splendid!” cried Mr. Hawthorne. “No two +alike, so each of you can be first in your own +class. Come along and pick out garden sites.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Gilbert, my poor flower seeds!” his +mother remonstrated.</p> + +<p>“Well, daddy!” cried Mark. “Walk right off +like that and leave tiny Motherkins to shift for +herself! Come on, girls. I’ll make a trench and +you come over the top and take it, and fill it up +with whatever our General-in-chief, Motherkins, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>says. We’ll pick out gardens after we plant this +one. What’s in the front trench, General +Motherkins? That’s the most dangerous line.”</p> + +<p>“Brave little dwarfs, Mark—candytuft. +They’re not afraid of the enemy,” said Motherkins +entering into the play-work, and giving +the three little girls each a paper of seeds to +scatter in the shallow trench which Mark made +with a stick and stood ready to cover as they +sowed.</p> + +<p>So they went on sowing in rows, in squares, +in circles, the entire garden full of old-fashioned +flowers, fragrant and modest, flaunting +and graceful, tall and short, “Just as I used to +have it years ago!” sighed Motherkins contentedly. +Then she sighed again anxiously, remembering +that Gilbert had said that it was possible +that she might lose again this beautiful old +place, and that if it did happen the parting +from it would this time be final.</p> + +<p>At last the garden was sown and all the seeds +“tucked into their beds,” Isabel said. Dirty and +tired, but with their enthusiasm unabated, the +four children followed Mr. Hawthorne across +the grass to inspect the various sites for possible +gardens. Semp—Semper Fidelis, living up +to his name—Bunkie, and round, gray Pincushion, +who adored Bunk, all of whom had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>superintended the laying out of Motherkins’ garden, +marched behind their human friends to seek +for more gardens to lay out.</p> + +<p>There was considerable difference of opinion +as to the best spots. The discussion stood in +some danger of growing unpleasant because +Poppy was tired enough to be more than ordinarily +inflammable, and Prue was tired enough +to have less patience with her than ordinarily—and +at best Prue had not great patience with +excitable little Poppy.</p> + +<p>The decision was made easier by Isabel, the +peacemaker, who suggested that it would be far +pleasanter to have all four gardens close together.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she said, in her sweet, soothing +voice that always fell on the ear like the soft +touch of a cool hand on a fevered head, “we’d be +tired to death working and working when it got +hot, all by ourselves, where we couldn’t call over +to one another, back and forth. If Daddy-dear +doesn’t mind, why not divide off that nicest easterly +field into quarters, and give us each a corner +quarter?”</p> + +<p>“Daddy-dear” did not mind; he cordially approved, +and so it was done. By the next day +the ground was plowed, harrowed and raked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>fine, and the gardens, one exactly as good as the +other, were apportioned. Thus the children were +installed as gardeners, precisely as if there were +no threat of the Hawthorne place being lost to +its owners.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br> +<small>“THE LUCKY FOUR”</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“ISA, child, do you realize that you and I are +growing to be merely calling acquaintances? +That you are gone all day long, after your practice +and reading are done, and that we meet only +at meals, sometimes not then? It is painful to +see my only child slipping into a calling acquaintance, +and to foresee that some day I may say: +Miss Lindsay? Miss <i>Isabel</i> Lindsay? Oh, yes; I +do know her! She calls on me occasionally; I +do not return her calls.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lindsay tried to look pathetic, and succeeded +so well that Isabel, though she knew that +her mother was playing with her, threw herself +upon her with a rush and hugged her violently.</p> + +<p>“Mother, you darling, dreadful mother! You +know I’m not so awful as that!” she cried. “But +there’s so much, so <i>very</i> much to do!”</p> + +<p>“I had to try not to be pleased that school +closed in April,” Mrs. Lindsay went on in a pensive +tone as she smoothed her disordered garments. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>“It seemed wicked to be glad when the +school had to close because so many children had +measles, but I had to try hard not to be glad—and +I’m not sure I succeeded!—because I was +to have my daughter at home. And she deserts +me! It is a blow. She gives me our twilight +hour’s talk, but I may lose that.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, stop!” begged Isabel. “I know you +don’t mean it, but it’s horrid, because it would +be so horrid if you did mean it! You know I +wouldn’t miss my hour for anything in the +world! It’s the loveliest thing ever to sit down +with you every night in the dusk and tell you +every single thing that I’ve done all day! But, +mother, only think all that we four have now! +There’s the Club Room, all our own, and we +love it! And our gardens, and the things are +poking right up since it came so warm after +this rain! And the woods to go to, which we’ve +got to love best of all, forever. And the secret +passage, though we don’t like to go through it +much; it’s so dark and damp and probably spidery, +but it’s great to know it’s there, and it’s +another of our places. And there’s Château +Branche. We haven’t been up in it yet, but +now it’s warm we thought we might go up and +sit there this afternoon. Really, we are so busy! +I think we are pretty lucky to have all these +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>places our own. We are a sort of society, or +club, or something now; our name is ‘the Lucky +Four,’ and our badge is a four-leafed clover. +I named us; isn’t it fine?”</p> + +<p>“Fine, indeed!” Mrs. Lindsay dropped her +pretense of feeling abused, and sympathized with +Isabel’s pleasure, which was also her own pleasure; +the greatest joy she had was her beloved +little girl’s happiness.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to Château Branche this afternoon? +Because if you are I’ve a fairly good-sized +box of candy that might enjoy the Château, +if you’d take it with you and open it there,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“Mother, mother, there’s no other mother on +earth like you!” Isabel declared, as she declared +so often that it was like a refrain to a song that +was hard to stop singing. “You think of such +nice things!”</p> + +<p>“Candy?” queried Mrs. Lindsay.</p> + +<p>“And having it to take up into Château +Branche to open there; that’s one of them,” Isabel +tempestuously embraced her mother over +again. “Now, I’ve got to go, duckie mother, +or I’ll be late. Good-by till half-past five.”</p> + +<p>Isabel ran out calling: “Hoo-hoo-oo-oo,” for +Prue to hear and join her.</p> + +<p>Prue heard; she had been listening for the call, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>and was ready to run the moment it fell on her +ear. The two inseparable friends put their arms +around each other and went on happily, chattering +as if they had parted a month before, instead +of at dinner time.</p> + +<p>They met two little girls of their own age, +schoolmates of theirs, who stopped them. +Kathie Stevens, the taller of the two, moved +and spoke energetically; she had a wilful face, +with a snap in her eyes. Dolly Harding, her +friend, was shorter, decidedly plump, with round +features and a placid look that at the same time +hinted of obstinacy. Dolly was inclined to be +lazy, while Kathie was more energetic than was +always pleasant. Prue and Isabel liked them, +but they were too satisfied with each other and +Mark—Poppy, too, added to their pleasure—to +have much interest left to give any one else.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Prue ’n Isa!” cried Kathie as they +came toward one another from opposite directions. +“Say, we saw that funny Poppy Meiggs +just a while ago!”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” Isabel answered. “What made +her funny?”</p> + +<p>“She is, all the time; she’s <i>funny</i>!” Kathie +found it easier to repeat her statement than to +explain it. “She said you’d got up a club.”</p> + +<p>“Well, kind of,” Prue admitted warily, foreseeing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>danger. “It’s just us, same’s before, only +we call it a club.”</p> + +<p>“Lucky Four, Pop said it was,” Kathie persisted.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s what we <i>call</i> it,” Prue said, as +if it might, nevertheless, be almost anything else.</p> + +<p>“Say, girls,” Kathie spoke so vehemently that +the two words seemed to pop like corn on a popper, +“say, let us be in it! Don’t be piggish with +your club. Let us belong. We want to, don’t +we, Doll?”</p> + +<p>“Surest thing in the world, we want to,” Dolly +approved her. “We think you might. We’d +like to know why not? We wouldn’t hurt it, +would we? More the merrier!”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be the Lucky Four if it was six,” +said Isabel, uttering the first words that came +into her head, to gain time. She knew instantly +that she and Prue did not want Kathie and Dolly +to join the club, and that Mark and Poppy would +not want them; she was not at all sure that +“more” would be “merrier,” but she had no idea +of how to refuse the petition.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, my gracious! Can’t we change the +name? Lucky Six is just as good, even if you +can’t have a four-leaf clover for the badge—Poppy +said that’s what you took. Have six rings +all hitched together, in a circle, like doughnuts, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>for the badge. Just ’s good!” Kathie resumed +her pleading.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t care about doughnuts for my +club badge,” said Prue, coming to Isabel’s rescue +before she could speak again. She knew it +was hard for Isa to say no to any one who wanted +her to say yes, and Prue was afraid Isa’s tender-heartedness +would give them two more club members +on the spot unless she interfered.</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t let you join right off like this, +Kathie. We’d have to put it to Mark and Poppy +and let them vote on it, have a club meeting or +something, to decide, you know. We’re not the +whole club; we’re only half,” she said.</p> + +<p>Isabel looked at Prue with profound admiration. +She certainly was the most sensible person! +And her sense kept her out of scrapes into +which Isabel’s greater sweetness, her sensitive +desire to make everything pleasant, often landed +her.</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Kathie admitted +grudgingly. “We’ll go right along with you +now and put it up to Mark and Poppy, then we’ll +know how it went.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but clubs have to vote by themselves; +only members there. You mustn’t come unless +we let you belong,” Prue cried.</p> + +<p>Dolly set her chin in a way she had that meant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>she had first set her mind. “It isn’t so much of +a club. We’re going now,” she said.</p> + +<p>And go they did, Kathie taking Prue by the +arm, Dolly linking herself with Isabel with so +much decision that poor Prue and Isa saw no +way to prevent what they felt was an unwarrantable +intrusion.</p> + +<p>Mark and Poppy would be waiting for them +at Château Branche; not in it, for they would +be sure to wait for Isabel and Prue to help them +up, and not choose places till they were there to +choose fairly. There was one side of the platform +in the tall pine tree, which was the children’s +beloved summer house, that was not quite +level, and these four honorable comrades were +all equally anxious not to get the best of one another. +So Mark and Poppy would surely wait +till they had all assembled to mount together into +their beautiful perch.</p> + +<p>“This is the first time this year,” said Prue, as +they came through the spring-green woods and +espied the tree, with Mark and Poppy waiting +beside it, as they had expected.</p> + +<p>“I know it is,” said Isabel, her voice answering +in its mournful tone Prue’s meaning, which +was: “The first time this year, and Dolly and +Kathie here!”</p> + +<p>“Well, hello, Dolly; hello, Kathie,” said Mark, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>striving to greet the guests politely, but unable +to greet them cordially.</p> + +<p>Poppy frowned openly. “It’s a club now,” she +remarked.</p> + +<p>“We met the girls,” Prue at once plunged into +an explanation to give Mark a clew to what had +happened. “They want to join our club—we’d +have to change the name, of course. And we said +we couldn’t let ’em without talking to you. So +they came along. I told them we had to meet +first.”</p> + +<p>Kathie saw the dismay that Mark could not +keep out of his eyes, and that Poppy fairly glowered, +looking ready to do more.</p> + +<p>“You let us join this,” she said instantly, “and +we’ll do something for you. We’ll kind of belong +hitched on, not inside, so you can keep on +being the Lucky Four, if you want to. That +can be the real club, and we’ll be—I don’t know +what we’d call it—just kind of belong, hitched +on. And I’ve got a whole nice, awful nice, collection +of old coins. I don’t want ’em, but they’re +perfectly fine; I know that. You and Prue and +Isa love history, Mark, so you’d be crazy over +’em. Some of ’em were Roman emperors’ +money; pretty near two thousand years old, they +are. I’ll divide ’em up with you three—Poppy +wouldn’t care any more’n I do for ’em—and I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>won’t keep one myself, if you’ll let Doll and I—Doll +and me—into the club. How’s that? We +could pretend the coins were the club’s treasure!”</p> + +<p>“Is that bribery, Mark?” asked Isabel.</p> + +<p>“N-no,” Mark decided slowly. “It’s a fair +offer. It’s kind of like tribute paid to the king +to be allowed to belong to his kingdom. That’s +all right. I’d love the coins. But, honestly, +Kathie, you see this is just ourselves, and we +have such nice times! It’s kind of risky to let +in some one else. Suppose we let you come on +trial? I don’t want to let any one in for keeps +till we know how it works.”</p> + +<p>“But he doesn’t want to be selfish with our +lovely times, and we do like you both, you know +that,” Isabel hastily interposed with her smile +that always disarmed wrath, for she saw that +Kathie looked indignant, and that Dolly was +by no means pleased.</p> + +<p>“Everybody keeps their own house for themselves, +no matter if ’tis nice, and they are happy. +They don’t take in boarders, just ’cause it’s nice,” +said Poppy, her meaning only too plainly showing +through her figure of speech.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, on trial,” said Prue. “Want to join +that way, girls?”</p> + +<p>“All right. Any way you say,” agreed +Kathie, banishing her annoyance. “You’ll like +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>us; we’ll be good clubbers. And I’ll bring the +coins to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Just to look at. We wouldn’t let you divide +them till you are taken in,” said Mark firmly, as +if he were afraid that he might be tempted.</p> + +<p>“Now, let’s get up,” said Dolly, weary of waiting +so long to get her way.</p> + +<p>The children clambered up into Château +Branche. Mark’s father had improved its entrance +by footholds of wood nailed to the side +of the tree; last year the climb had been difficult +for the girls.</p> + +<p>“O my! It’s worth more than coins to come +here!” cried Kathie, catching her breath delightedly.</p> + +<p>“We just love it,” said Isabel, softening +toward the intruder when she found her so enthusiastic. +“But we have company here. You +could come here, if you didn’t belong, and without +any coins.”</p> + +<p>It was beautiful. No one could have resisted +its loveliness. Lying back on their abundant +pillows, the children looked up through the dark +green pine, now pungent with the spring scent +of newly mounted, resinous sap, to see the flecks +of deep blue that were revealed as the branches +moved in the breeze. Birds hopped about, most +of them bits of motion, rather than color or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>shape, so thick were the pine needles, so heavy +the shadows. But close above the branches +which held Château Branche robins were darting +in and out, nest-building. At first they doubted +the children, discussing them between themselves +with sharp chirps and nervous tail twitching, but +finally they decided that human beings who had +bird habits and nested in trees must be trustworthy, +and resumed their work without any +more delay. It was easy to see, by the short time +between their trips after supplies and the rapid +way they tucked those supplies into the growing +nest, that there was no time to lose. For a long +time—a long time for six children to be still—no +one spoke. Then Isabel said softly:</p> + +<p>“It would be nice to be dead and lying out +under the trees, all quiet and lovely, among birds +and grass and flowers, if only your body could +know it was there, wouldn’t it be?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Isabel!” cried Dolly, in strong protest +and horror.</p> + +<p>But Mark smiled at Isabel and nodded.</p> + +<p>“I’ve thought that, too, Isa,” he said. “But +we can have it all and be alive; that’s still better.”</p> + +<p>“Mother gave me a box of candy to open,” +said Isa, sitting up and throwing off her dreams +by an effort that showed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>She produced the box, two pounds, and the +six fell upon it as if Château Branche were a +desert island on which they had been shipwrecked +without food for days.</p> + +<p>It doesn’t take long to do away with two +pounds of candy when there are six to eat it; +after all, that is only a wee bit over five ounces +apiece! Mrs. Lindsay had not reckoned on the +extra two. When the candy was gone the spell +of the quiet woods seemed broken; Kathie and +Dolly grew restless and wanted to go down +again.</p> + +<p>“You can’t keep quiet a whole afternoon,” +said Kathie.</p> + +<p>“We do. We read and talk and just sit and +look. We never get tired,” said Prue disapprovingly.</p> + +<p>But they all came down, Mark with Pincushion +on his shoulder in the fashion of the preceding +summer when Isabel and Prue had first +known him and Pincushion had been a kitten. +Bunkie was waiting for them, and they all wandered +slowly through the woods, toward the +Hawthorne house.</p> + +<p>“Show us the Club Room, too; Pops said you +had a club room,” said Dolly.</p> + +<p>“We have,” said Mark. “This way, then.”</p> + +<p>He led the way through the house, into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>room at its rear which the children claimed. It +was furnished abundantly with the contributions +from the families which had helped it to completion, +albeit the odds and ends effect was somewhat +queer, decidedly odds-and-endish.</p> + +<p>“Now, I like this!” cried Kathie delightedly. +“Isn’t it great to have this all our own? And +dishes! Why, what fun! I’m going to give a +party here—just us members!” she added, seeing +disapproval of her instant taking possession +gathering on the other faces. “You could +climb up outside. Why don’t you come in that +way always? Lots nicer.”</p> + +<p>“Isabel and I like the stairs,” said Prue +primly.</p> + +<p>Poppy looked for the first time as if she found +Kathie an addition to the club ranks.</p> + +<p>“We will,” she said. “Us, anyway, Kathie.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s be the Lucky Four and a Half—six, +you know!” cried Dolly.</p> + +<p>“We’ll see,” Mark said cautiously. “Maybe +yes; maybe no. But you come and try. We +don’t want things happening here to change it.”</p> + +<p>But Mark was to discover things happening +there, and that soon.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br> +<small>THE DEAR HOUSE</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">DOLLY and Kathie did not appear the next +day. “The Lucky Four” had been sure +that they would come, they were so delighted +with the idea of the club and so anxious to belong +to it.</p> + +<p>It was the second day before they came, however. +Isabel, Prue, Mark and Poppy were working +hard in their gardens. Poppy always +worked hard in hers; it seemed doubtful if anything +planted in it could escape being hoed up, +so hard and so recklessly did she weed it.</p> + +<p>Kathie and Dolly came across the grass toward +the workers so slowly, and Kathie’s face was so +flushed and woe-begone that Isabel noticed it +and called: “What’s the matter?” as soon as she +could make Kathie hear.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Aren’t you going up to the club +room?” Kathie called back.</p> + +<p>“We’re going to work out here exactly one +hour; we’ve been at it twenty minutes, only, so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>you may as well find the nicest seat on the ground +there is and wait for us,” said Mark.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my land! More’n half an hour!” groaned +Kathie, but Dolly bumped down under a tree, +where the grass grew thick, and, picking a blade, +began to blow on it without wasting time on +argument.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you leave it, and do it in the +morning before it gets hot?” Kathie asked impatiently.</p> + +<p>“We work one hour in the morning, one in the +afternoon, Miss Stevens, for we are out after +first-class gardens,” Mark answered loftily.</p> + +<p>“If I had a hoe I’d help, then you’d get +through sooner,” said Kathie.</p> + +<p>“No, you wouldn’t—thanks just the same,” +Prue spoke with decision. “Nobody who hadn’t +planted it could tell what to dig up when things +are starting. I wouldn’t let any one loose to dig +my garden for the world.”</p> + +<p>“You might think I was a hen!” grumbled +Kathie, throwing herself down beside Dolly and +joining in her blade of grass solo with a louder, +shriller blade.</p> + +<p>“Bet you didn’t bring those cones!” exclaimed +Poppy, who had been eyeing the pair sharply.</p> + +<p>“Did, too; here they are.” Kathie motioned +to a box which she had carried as if it were +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>heavy. “They’re not cones; they’re coins, Poppy +Meiggs, and I got them; they are here. I won’t +open them till we’re in the club room, and then +I’ll tell you something.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll be as quick as we can, Kathie,” said +Isabel.</p> + +<p>“We can’t be quicker than twenty minutes, because +we said we’d work an hour, and we can’t +stop sooner.” Prue was the firm person who +made this announcement. “Jack-in-the-Box +keeps the time; we’re wasting some.”</p> + +<p>One worker in each corner of the lot given +over to these gardeners, the hoes dug fast from +this moment in a silence broken only by the dreadful +cries of the grass blowers, getting horrible +sounds, now high, now low, from the helpless +blades.</p> + +<p>“Time’s up!” Mark announced at last, looking +at his wrist watch. “Say, it’s a whole lot easier +to eat vegetables than it is to raise them!”</p> + +<p>“I guess it is! I’ve got a crick in my back +from my neck all the way to my heels,” Prue +said, straightening herself with a heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>“Quite a long back, Prue. You’ll be tall when +you’re grown up,” remarked Isa.</p> + +<p>“It begins as a crick in my back. I suppose +it gets to be cramp in my legs after a while. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>Let’s make lemonade in our glasses in the Club +Room,” Prue suggested.</p> + +<p>“No lemons, no sugar! I’ll go buy ’em,” cried +Poppy, tired, but always ready to do errands.</p> + +<p>“But there are! Both things, Pops; I took +them there yesterday. There are nice lemons, +the plump, smooth kind, and two pounds of +sugar.” Prue enjoyed the triumph of her foresightedness, +though the rest expected Prue to +think of things of this sort.</p> + +<p>The six children went toward the house, the +workers mopping their crimson faces, Kathie +and Dolly still blowing grass till Isabel, warm +and tired, begged them to stop.</p> + +<p>“All right; I don’t like it myself, much, but +it’s something you keep right on doing, once you +start, though I get awful sick of it before long,” +said Dolly, amiably throwing away her grass +blade.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to climb in,” announced Kathie, +surveying the balcony, which was built out from +one of the windows of the Club Room, and the +roof of the piazza, which ran all along the rear +of the house, below the room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t, Kathie! The posts may be weak,” +protested Isabel.</p> + +<p>“’Course they’re not!” Kathie maintained. “I +love to climb. Now, you all watch me go up! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>Here, some one, take my box. Don’t lose it; it’s +the coins. Now, watch!” Kathie spat on her +hands like a boy, but she went up the piazza post +and swung on the balcony like a monkey. Wriggling +her body expertly, she got herself into position +to catch the top of the balcony rail, from +which it was no feat to get over and open the +window into the club room.</p> + +<p>“Hey-yeh, pokies, I’m in! Hurry up if you’re +coming through the house!” she called down.</p> + +<p>The others made haste to join her by the usual +way, and the moment that she got inside the door +Prue made a dash for her lemons, while Poppy +caught up the club’s own private and particular +water pitcher, and ran off for water.</p> + +<p>“Do show us the coins, Kathie,” said Mark. +“I’m wild to see them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will,” began Kathie slowly. “But, +look here! You said you wouldn’t divvy them +up till I regularly belonged? Well, if I never +divvied, couldn’t I belong?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh! Injun giver!” exclaimed a frowning +Poppy, appearing in the doorway with a +steaming water pitcher, spilling its contents over +the top.</p> + +<p>“No, honest; no, I’m not!” Kathie cried +eagerly. “But my father says I can’t give them +away, and so I can’t. ’Tisn’t my fault. I’d do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>it in a jiffy, but if he says I can’t, why, how +can I?”</p> + +<p>“Thought they were yours!” observed Prue, +disgustedly, not because she cared the least bit +for the coins, but because she thought she had +caught Kathie pretending.</p> + +<p>“They are mine. But they aren’t mine to do +what I please with; not now,” Kathie was quick +to explain. “They were left to me, in a will; +some one father knew left ’em. They are mine, +but father says I can’t do one thing with them +till I’m grown up and can tell a hawk from a +handsaw. That’s what he said; I don’t know +what he meant, but I suppose that’s two kinds +of coins. I’ll show you how they are; they’re +awful old! Some of ’em go all the way back to +Julius Cæsar and to old Egypt.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Kath, honest!” cried Mark, instantly excited; +he was studying Cæsar with his father, +out of school, and the great Roman was one of +his heroes—Mark had many heroes, and so had +Isabel.</p> + +<p>Kathie opened the case that held the coins and +began laying them out on the table.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t bring all. This isn’t half, but it +was so heavy Dolly and I had to keep shifting +hands; she helped me carry them,” Kathie said.</p> + +<p>“We know it’s heavy; we carried it up stairs,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>said Prue, coming over with the brown paper +bag of sugar in her hands. “They’re not so +much; just pieces of money. Our money’ll be +nice ages from now.”</p> + +<p>“Lots of people think it’s pretty nice now,” +laughed Isabel. “I think these coins are perfectly +wonderful! Only think, when this one was +made in England George Washington was a little +boy——”</p> + +<p>“Cutting down a cherry tree!” Prue interrupted +her unexpectedly. “What of it if he was? +We all know he had to be a little boy first. I +think it’s silly to make a fuss over that! Like it +very sweet, Kath and Doll? I don’t want to put +in so much sugar that it stays at the bottom.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I like it same as the rest,” said Kathie, +and Dolly also thought that she did.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, Mark, please see! This one is +Queen Elizabeth! Shakespeare had one like this +in his pocket, most likely!” sighed Isabel, almost +tearful from emotion.</p> + +<p>“He didn’t have much money in his pocket, did +he?” laughed Mark. “Yes, Isa; it does make you +feel funny, doesn’t it? But only see this one! +Cæsar!”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t say whether it made any difference +about my belonging, now I can’t divide up +the coins,” hinted Kathie anxiously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>“Oh, it won’t; it isn’t your fault,” said Dolly +easily. “And I’m going to belong, and I haven’t +one thing to do with the coins.”</p> + +<p>“We thought we’d call it half-membership for +awhile. Then we can go either way with the +other half. That’s fair, not to decide too soon, +isn’t it?” Isabel’s voice betrayed her anxiety not +to offend Kathie and Dolly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve thought of such a splendid plan! There’s +the secret passage into this house! Nobody, +hardly, knows about it, and nobody ever goes into +it. Put the box down there—it’s as safe as safe; +safer than in any house—and let’s play it is +buried treasure. We could have lots of fun +knowing it was there and keeping it secret. Will +you do that, Kathie?”</p> + +<p>“And I belong?” Kathie would not yield her +point.</p> + +<p>“Y-es, but half-membership!” said Isabel, and +Kathie accepted the terms.</p> + +<p>“Well, this lemonade certainly does taste +fine!” said Dolly, sipping hers with a spoon and +letting the refreshing drops trickle down her +throat. “I’d rather have this than the coins!”</p> + +<p>“They’re different,” Kathie needlessly remarked. +“Both are good, I guess; I can tell +more about lemonade myself. Doll, we’ve got +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>to get back. Didn’t your mother say something +about your getting dressed early?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mercy! ’Course she did! Her aunt, my +great aunt, is coming, and I’ve got to be fixed +up; mother’s terribly anxious to please her. And +she’s as big as a haystack and just as deaf! Come +on, Kathie; mother’ll never forgive me if I don’t +get to the station to meet her.” Indolent Dolly +sighed with real dismay at the prospect before +her and slowly got on her feet.</p> + +<p>“I’ll take you down,” said Poppy, with a splendid +air of young ladyhood. “I can harness my +horse myself now; he’s just as gentle as a cream +peppermint, and I’ll drive you home.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe we would get there quicker if we +walked; maybe he is as slow as a cream peppermint!” +cried Kathie cruelly.</p> + +<p>“Then walk ’f you think so!” cried Poppy, +angry in an instant. “Hurrah is a lovely, lovely +horse, and he goes like everything! Just walk! +Serves you right!”</p> + +<p>“You harness and let me go, too, Pops! Show +them how Hurrah trots,” whispered Isa into +Poppy’s burning ear. “Take us all down; Prue, +too, and meet Mr. Daddé and bring him home. +He’s coming on the 4.30 train.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Isa, for you I will. Not for any +one who consults Hurrah,” said Poppy. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>meant “insults Hurrah,” but Isabel did not correct +her.</p> + +<p>It was true that Poppy had learned to harness +her pet. She was small for her not-great age, +and had to stand on a box to do it, but Hurrah +knew, like the good and intelligent creature that +he really was, that a small girl must be considered. +He put down his head for the bridle, and +moved over exactly as Poppy bade him, she +meanwhile straining her arms over his back, but +refusing help, for her joy in Hurrah and being +about him increased with each day.</p> + +<p>The five little girls piled on the buckboard, +leaving to Mark, who was not going with them, +the task of placing the box of coins in the secret +passage.</p> + +<p>Bunkie jumped up beside Isa as a matter of +course; the small dog enjoyed and approved the +sociable, springy buckboard with all his might.</p> + +<p>Poppy gathered up the lines and ordered Hurrah +to “get up,” with a dignity intended to show +how many years she had driven spirited steeds.</p> + +<p>Hurrah had preserved through his two decades +an excellent gait. As he trotted off down the +driveway, and thence on down the street, Poppy +glanced scornfully over her shoulder at Kathie +and Dolly, as one who would say:</p> + +<p>“Now do you see?” yet disdained to say it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>But she did say as they drew near the Harding +and Stevens houses, which stood next each +other:</p> + +<p>“I hope I can stop him! You get off quick, +girls, ’cause Hurrah hates to stand.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night. We’ll be right up to the club!” +Kathie called back as Hurrah started up the +instant they were off, as if he were young and +impatient, but Isabel, sitting beside Poppy, saw +the twitch that young jockey gave the lines.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Prue stayed with Poppy as she +drove toward the station, instead of going +straight home. It was understood between them +and Mark that Poppy was not to be left alone +with her horse; quiet though Greenacres streets +were, Poppy was capable of getting into trouble +in them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne came from the train before +they reached the station. He took off a new +straw hat and waved it gayly at the children, but +all six sharp eyes saw that the handsome face +beneath the hat was grave and anxious.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear Mr. Daddé, is it all right?” Isabel +ventured to ask, after he had jumped on the +buckboard and it had been turned around, a feat +that always frightened Poppy more than it +would have done had she realized that Hurrah +attended to the doing of it himself, leaving nothing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>to her. Evidently he had no more confidence +in Poppy’s wisdom in directing him than she had +herself.</p> + +<p>“Dear little Isa, we must try to feel that it is +all right, but it looks as though it might not be +as we want it to be,” said Mr. Hawthorne sadly. +“My lawyers told me to-day that Maurice Ditson +has made out a case that promises success +for him. He claims that his father’s will was +not valid—I won’t try to explain to you how he +proves it. My lawyers are sure that he is hiring +false witnesses, that the whole thing is what they +call ‘a frame up,’ fraud, you know! But the +thing is to prove that it is fraud, and my lawyers +seem to fear it may be more than difficult. If +Maurice Ditson gets his case I lose the money +his father left to me, and——”</p> + +<p>“The house? Oh, the house?” cried Isabel, +clasping her hands.</p> + +<p>“The house. Not because Ditson can claim +that, but because it would have to be sold; I put +some of the money into buying it.” Mr. Hawthorne +showed how hard this was to say.</p> + +<p>With a wail that made a man passing stop +short and stare at them, Poppy burst out crying.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah, oh, Hurrah? Would my darling +go?” she shrieked.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps we can keep him to help us to earn +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>our living, little Poppy,” said Mr. Hawthorne, +smiling, though his eyes were profoundly sad.</p> + +<p>“I was so happy in putting my little mother +back into her old home,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, oh, yes! And her garden, and the +old flowers, and everything!” cried Isabel. “Oh, +dear, Mr. Daddé, it can’t happen, it can’t possibly +happen! But if it does, Motherkins has you +and Mark, and that’s more than a house.”</p> + +<p>“I try to remember that, dear little loving +heart!” Mr. Hawthorne’s smile for the child he +dearly loved was tender and grateful. “I know +it is true.”</p> + +<p>“It is true,” said Prue dismally. “But, oh, +the dear house!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes; the dear house!” echoed Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my jiminy, the dear house!” Poppy +chimed in most tragically of all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br> +<small>THE QUEER MAN</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“MOTHER,” said Isabel with all the emphasis +she could get into her voice, “we +want to sneak!”</p> + +<p>“Do you, dear? And can’t you?” asked Mrs. +Lindsay with no apparent shock.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay looked up from his paper with a +laugh in his eyes; they were at breakfast and +Isabel had followed up her announcement by +corking her lips with the biggest, most luscious +strawberry on her plate.</p> + +<p>“Just a general sneak, or a special sneak, do +you crave, Miss Lindsay? Is it merely that you +feel sneaking, or do you wish to sneak away from +something?” Isabel’s father inquired.</p> + +<p>Isabel always said that she “loved the way her +father treated her.” He used toward her a playful, +exaggerated politeness that delighted her +soul; needless to say, his love for this sole little +girl left to him was far beyond expression in +words.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>“Well, Mr. Lindsay,” said Isabel, hastily disposing +of the big strawberry and replying after +his manner of asking, “it’s a special sneak. We +want to get away to Château Branche without +Kathie and Dolly. They’re nice, you know, but +we did so like to be there by ourselves!”</p> + +<p>“I realize that I don’t know what I’m talking +about, but why you have to take on new members +of your Lucky Four Club, if you’d rather +not, is beyond me,” said Mr. Lindsay. “I suppose +it’s because you are all girls, all but Mark, +and he can’t behave as he would if he weren’t +muffled in girls, so to speak. Now, if boys had a +club and didn’t care about new members, they’d +say so, straight from the shoulder, not ill-naturedly, +but honestly, and the would-be members +would see that they were within their rights +and take themselves off, unoffended. But you +seem to feel obliged to be wax, and give in. It +will end in a fuss—you see if it doesn’t! I want +you to learn to take a stand firmly, but amiably, +my dear, and, having taken it, stand pat on that +stand!” Mr. Lindsay shook his head, as if this +weakness in his Isa annoyed him.</p> + +<p>“But they do want awfully to belong,” said +Isabel, “and it seems so mean to keep lovely +things to yourself—though we are four selves! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>Prue says we might as well take people to live +with us because we have nice homes.”</p> + +<p>“Prue is a sensible little person,” Mrs. Lindsay +said. “She’s always obliging, but she can tell +clearly which are the boundaries of her own +fields, to use a figure that seems to express what +I mean. Prue is just, in a common-sense way, +while my little lass gets weak-kneed, fearing to +hurt some one when she steps out.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lindsay smiled most tenderly at Isabel, +plainly finding her weakness very lovable.</p> + +<p>“Run right away as soon as you have finished +those berries; get Prue and the Hawthorne house +pair, and climb up into Château Branche so +early that nobody else will be there—for a while, +at least. That’s my advice this perfect June +morning,” Mrs. Lindsay added.</p> + +<p>“And pull our legs up after us, so they won’t +show?” cried Isabel gayly. “All right, motherums; +you’re a dear to help me sneak.”</p> + +<p>“There is a cake,” remarked Mrs. Lindsay +slowly. “A fresh, round, two-story-and-basement +cake, made late yesterday for a possible trip +to Château Branche. I think I’ll get it and put +it in a box, with a knife to cut it, and send it +with you on your sneaking trip.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother!” cried Isabel, rapidly eating her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>juicy strawberries as her mother went in pursuit +of the cake.</p> + +<p>She came back in a moment bearing it aloft on +the palm of her outspread hand. Isabel’s back +was toward her, but she heard the rustle of paraffine +paper and she sniffed the air as Bunkie +might have done, as Bunkie did do, in fact, for +he lay at Isabel’s feet, under the table.</p> + +<p>“Smells like fudge!” Isabel said.</p> + +<p>“Wise little nose! It <i>is</i> fudge; fudge icing +and middle coatings!” cried Mrs. Lindsay, setting +the cake where Isabel could see it.</p> + +<p>She folded the paraffine paper over and +around the cake and dropped it deftly into a box +that might easily have been too small for it, and +was so exactly the right size that it took skill +to get the cake into it unharmed.</p> + +<p>“I’m ready!” cried Isabel, hastily taking a +long drink of water and folding her napkin with +her left hand as she did so.</p> + +<p>“May I walk with you, Miss Lindsay, as far as +Miss Wayne’s door?” asked Mr. Lindsay, pushing +back his chair.</p> + +<p>As “Miss Wayne’s door” was the next door, +the Wayne and Lindsay places adjoining, this +did not seem too much to ask, and Isabel giggled +as she tried to consent with dignity.</p> + +<p>Hatless and happy, the cake in its box, resting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>on one arm, Isabel started out beside her father +and pulled his head down to kiss him when they +paused at the Wayne gate.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Prue; we’re going early to have a +little while all to ourselves, if Kathie and Dolly +should come,” Isabel called, standing in the hall +and trusting to luck that Prue would hear her.</p> + +<p>“I’ll telephone Mark to be at Château Branche +with Poppy when we get there, save time going +after them,” said Prue, the practical, ringing up +the Central as she spoke from the bend in the +hall where the telephone table stood, and where +she happened to be when Isabel came in.</p> + +<p>After this was done, the two little girls sallied +forth, Bunkie running ahead and pretending to +startle himself with important discoveries along +the way. They proceeded to Château Branche +by a short cut into the woods.</p> + +<p>Mark and Poppy were there waiting for them, +thanks to Prue’s foresight, when they reached +the great pine in which Mr. Hawthorne had built +their house.</p> + +<p>“We’ll get right up,” said Prue, beginning to +climb the footholds which led into Château +Branche.</p> + +<p>Isabel handed up the cake to Prue and followed; +Mark and Poppy seemed less to climb +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>than to run up, like nuthatches, so agile they both +were at this sort of feat.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” Mark drew a long breath of delight. +“It seems to smell more piney so early in the +morning. Isn’t it great to be up in these dark +branches?”</p> + +<p>“Hark!” whispered Isabel, holding up her +hand.</p> + +<p>A song so sweet, so liquid, so heart-stirring, +that it was like the voice of the woods, of the +sky, the green leaves, of June itself, pierced the +stillness from a point near at hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s the veery!” whispered Mark, his eyes +dilating. He had been taught by his father, +wise in woods lore, the note of nearly every bird, +and could himself imitate many of them, calling +around him the little feathered denizens of the +trees.</p> + +<p>“It’s a thrush; the veery,” Mark repeated, and +the four sat so still that they hardly seemed to +breathe, listening to this exquisite song.</p> + +<p>At last the veery flew away. The children saw +the brown body come out from an oak that stood +next to their pine, brighten as it crossed the sunshine, +and disappear.</p> + +<p>“Why do you sort of want to cry when things +are nice that way?” asked Poppy.</p> + +<p>“I think because they don’t last,” said Isabel, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>the poet, who always saw deeper than the others.</p> + +<p>“You see one reason we don’t care about having +Kathie,” said Prue unexpectedly, for the rest +had forgotten all about Kathie for the moment, +“is because she always wants to be doing something. +When we come here we—we—well, we’re +just <i>here</i>, don’t you see? We don’t want to do +one thing but—be here.”</p> + +<p>“I do, now,” said Poppy. She laughed apologetically, +but she said her say. “It’s awful early +after breakfast, but I want to try Isa’s cake right +off.”</p> + +<p>“’Course!” cried Isabel, getting it out. “It +doesn’t matter when we eat it; it’s when it tastes +good. There!”</p> + +<p>She produced the cake, its icing slightly +rubbed, and thrust the knife into its creamy middle. +“Cut it, Prue.”</p> + +<p>“Cut it yourself.” Prue promptly declined +the honor. “It’s yours, and besides, I won’t; +I’d jig it.”</p> + +<p>“Sakes, don’t jig it! What is jigging it?” +Mark laughed at Prue.</p> + +<p>“Hacking,” explained Prue, watching Isabel, +who was slowly penetrating the center of the +three layers, her head on one side, her tongue +out of the corner of her mouth, her wrist held +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>stiff, her face expressive of the deepest concentration +and anxiety.</p> + +<p>“There, sir!” Isabel exclaimed at last. “If I +get one piece cut I won’t mind the rest. Catch +it, somebody. You, Pops!”</p> + +<p>Poppy needed no urging. She held out both +her hands, palms up, side by side, to receive the +thick pointed piece which Isabel deposited in +them.</p> + +<p>“Um-m-m! Land, what cake!” Poppy tried +to say, rolling up her eyes at her first mouthful, +but because her mouth was indeed full, what she +really said, all in one word, was: “Lawbake!”</p> + +<p>In a few minutes there was complete silence in +Château Branche because all four of its tenants +were merrily—and also messily—devouring +great wedges of a cake so creamily fresh and soft, +so thickly spread with fudge-filling, that talking +was out of the question.</p> + +<p>Consequently any one coming along through +the woods, past the tree, would not have suspected +it of being different from other trees, +inasmuch as it was occupied by children instead +of birds. And some one was coming along! +Mark was the first to spy him. He leaned forward +and touched Prue and Isabel and Poppy, +signaling them to keep quiet. Poppy nearly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>cried out, but Prue, with great presence of mind, +clapped a fudgey hand over her mouth.</p> + +<p>The four children peered down through the +branch, which Mark pulled forward, the better +to conceal them.</p> + +<p>They saw a small man with a queer, thin, wavering +sort of face. He had dark eyes, that +roved perpetually from side to side, but never +were raised, for which the tree dwellers were duly +grateful. His nose was so long and sharp that, +set in the middle of his thin, narrow face, it lent +itself to the children’s first thought of him as +being some sort of wild creature. His short body +was painfully thin; his shoulders were high; it +took a few minutes for the children to discover +that he was slightly deformed, one shoulder +higher than the other, his back a little curved.</p> + +<p>The queer little man seemed to have no plan +as to the movements which he was restlessly making. +He walked short distances in every direction, +returning to the pine tree. Each time he +started off the children hoped that he was going +on, away from there, but he returned to the pine +tree as if it were a magnet that drew him.</p> + +<p>To their great terror, the children soon discovered +that he was talking to himself. It struck +them as past bearing that this queer little man +should talk to himself alone, as he believed himself, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>in the middle of the woods. Stray words +came up to them; he spoke too low for them to +hear many.</p> + +<p>“The brook,” he said. “Over there. Nice +brook. Nice place. Should think they would +live here, want to.”</p> + +<p>Did he mean themselves? the children wondered. +No one lived beside the lonely little brook +that ran, talking to itself, much as this queer man +did, near Château Branche all day and every +day.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Poppy were frightened almost out +of their wits. Prue was frightened, too, as was +Mark, but Mark was on fire with curiosity, and +Prue’s imagination did not build all sorts of awful +fancies upon the deformed creature as Isabel’s +did. Poppy was so excitable that anything +so out of the ordinary as this adventure would be +sure to wind her up to the highest pitch.</p> + +<p>“Better rest,” they heard the queer man say, +and with that he lay down on the carpet of brown +needles which for years the great tree had spread +at its own feet.</p> + +<p>“How shall we get away?” Isabel signaled to +Mark.</p> + +<p>Mark shook his head; he had no idea.</p> + +<p>Presently, after a time of utter stillness and +waiting, during which eight young legs and arms +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>developed prickles of nervousness and grew +numb from keeping so long in one position—no +one dared to move—the children in the tree saw +Kathie and Dolly coming through the woods, on +their way to join them.</p> + +<p>“Mercy me, he may kill them!” groaned Isabel, +white to her lips and almost forgetting caution +for themselves.</p> + +<p>The queer little man sat up, listened; got +quickly on his feet, listened.</p> + +<p>With unspeakable relief the children saw that +he was himself afraid of being seen. Of being +caught? They could not tell what he feared, but +he was evidently on the alert to get away unseen.</p> + +<p>Their own fear vanished under this welcome +discovery.</p> + +<p>Mark grew positively rash. He had a beautiful, +flexible singing voice, which, though it was +still a high soprano, was capable of doing many +queer feats. Dropping it low, Mark chanted in +a way that even his companions found rather awful: +“Get out, get out, get out of here!”</p> + +<p>The queer man gave one wild glance all +around him, and then he acted on the command. +He got out of there, running like a deer, dodging +around trees, looking over his shoulder, but +not slackening speed, till, in a moment, he was +gone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>Kathie and Dolly had not seen him; he had +chanced to take the opposite direction from the +one in which they were coming.</p> + +<p>Isabel, Prue, Poppy and Mark lost no time +in coming down from Château Branche.</p> + +<p>“How could you, Mark; how dared you?” Isabel +panted as she came down backward, very +fast, talking as she came. “Suppose he hadn’t +run? Suppose he had killed us!”</p> + +<p>“I thought I’d try it before he saw Kathie and +Dolly. You couldn’t tell what he might have +done to them,” said Mark, by this time in high +glee.</p> + +<p>“What? Who?” demanded Kathie as she and +Dolly came up in time to hear this answer.</p> + +<p>All talking at once, the four children told the +story of the queer little man. The story lost +nothing of mystery and terror in the telling.</p> + +<p>“Well, no more Château Branche for me, +thank you!” said Kathie decidedly, as the tale +ended.</p> + +<p>“Not much!” Dolly supplemented her.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be members in the club room, come +there, I mean, but not up in that tree; not ever!” +Kathie continued.</p> + +<p>“But are the woods spoiled?” asked Prue +piteously.</p> + +<p>“That’s according as you look at it,” said Mark +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>sagely, trying to catch Prue’s eye to convey to +her that if Kathie and Dolly so looked at it the +Lucky Four might be the gainers.</p> + +<p>“I think it was perfectly dreadful to sit there, +penned up there, and see that man lying at the +foot of the tree, so we couldn’t get down, just as +if he was a dog and we were ’possums!” said +Prue. “Why, where is Bunkie? He didn’t +bark!”</p> + +<p>For the first time since she had owned him +Bunkie had left Isabel and gone home.</p> + +<p>“It’s a pretty queer time, every way,” said +Isabel gravely. “Here, have some cake, Kathie +and Dolly. Mother gave it to us, and I need +some more after this fearful experience.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br> +<small>ROUND RED RADISHES</small></h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<p class="drop-cap">“THERE was an old Woman, as I’ve heard tell,<br> +Went to market her eggs for to sell!”</p> +</div></div> + +<p>sang Isabel close to Poppy’s ear, who was far too interested +in what she was planning to hear her.</p> + +<p>“Five cents a bunch ’s awful little,” Poppy was +saying, frowning over her calculations. “But if +you have a whole lot o’ bunches——”</p> + +<p>“They ought to be ten cents a bunch. Everything +is twice as much as it was, and think what +it would cost to go around peddling them if you +had a car, when gasoline is so high! You’ve got +to think of gasoline when you go out with the +buckboard and Hurrah,” said Mark so gravely +that it did not seem as if he were talking nonsense.</p> + +<p>Isabel laughed, but Prue said:</p> + +<p>“Would she have to? Anyway, Hurrah has +to eat, so you could think of oats just as well, +if you’d rather. I say ten cents a bunch, too, +Poppy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>“Now, for pity’s sake, Pops, <i>don’t</i> open another +pea pod!” remonstrated Isa, as Poppy +pinched one of her pods to see how full it felt. +“You won’t have any peas at all if you keep on +trying them! When they’re ripe you can tell +without opening the pods. It won’t be long; +they’re getting big.”</p> + +<p>“My lettuce is nice,” remarked Prue with satisfaction. +“It isn’t headed up, but it’s as sweet +and tender! Let’s start soon.”</p> + +<p>“We’re to have an early lunch. I’m going to +feed Hurrah now, ’cause you hadn’t ought to +drive a horse on his dinner,” said Poppy, turning +from the contemplation of her garden and picking +up the can of glowing balls of radishes which +she intended to offer for sale that afternoon.</p> + +<p>“No; it’s better to drive a horse on the road +than on his dinner. And it’s better to say ‘you +ought not’ than ‘you hadn’t ought,’” hinted +Mark.</p> + +<p>“Well, I gotta get something wrong once’n a +while,” Poppy said cheerfully. “You caught +talking right from your families; I gotta learn +it. Do you s’pose I’ll sell ’em?”</p> + +<p>“Gladys Popham Meiggs, that’s the nine hundred +and ninety-ninth time—pretty near—you’ve +asked that! And how can we tell?” cried +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>Prue. “Do you think my lettuce will sell? +That’s just as much to find out.”</p> + +<p>“Where is your lettuce, Prue?” asked Mark.</p> + +<p>“I picked it early, came up before Isa did and +picked it. It’s on the ice. Motherkins lent me +a flat tin pan—it would be great to cool taffy in!—and +we set it right on the ice, on top. I was +going to put it in a basket all trimmed with dandelions +when we started—yellow and green are +so pretty!—but the dandelions would all shut +up on the way, so what’s the use?” Prue sighed +over the ways of dandelions.</p> + +<p>Isabel pulled Mark’s sleeve, and he fell behind +the other two with her as they went toward the +house.</p> + +<p>“Any more news? About the will? Did your +father hear?” Isa asked.</p> + +<p>Mark nodded without speaking.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! It’s true!” groaned Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Looks bad, dad’s lawyers say,” Mark said +soberly. “This Maurice Ditson is going to put +it over. He’s got people to swear to another +will that left all Mr. Ditson had to his son, so +that lets us out. I’m afraid, Isa, dad and I will +have to take Motherkins on our shoulders—and +I’ll have to carry Pincushion, too!—and go out +of this house. It makes us pretty sick!”</p> + +<p>“Anybody as nice as Motherkins, who did so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>much for everybody, gave Poppy a home and +Bunkie, too, even when she was quite poor and +didn’t know how she could do it, ought not to +lose this house,” said Isabel emphatically. “Of +course, you wouldn’t care for yourself; you’d be +happy in any house till you were old enough to +earn a really nice one.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose we had to leave Greenacres?” suggested +Mark.</p> + +<p>Isabel stopped short and stared at him, growing +a little pale.</p> + +<p>“Jack-in-the-Box! Why? Why should you +leave Greenacres?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Dad would have to earn money; we wouldn’t +have enough, and suppose he couldn’t find a way +to do it in Greenacres? We’d have to go, +wouldn’t we?” Mark spoke gently, as if to +soften to Isabel the edge of his words; her eyes +were dilating with tears which brimmed on their +lids, but did not fall, and her lips were parting +with her quickened breath.</p> + +<p>“I never once, not <span class="allsmcap">ONCE</span>, thought of that! I +never <span class="allsmcap">ONCE</span> thought you could go away, Jack-in-the-Box!” +she whispered, sharply realizing what +it would be to lose this dear boy, his quick fancy, +his merry ways, like a creature of the woods, +half wild, wholly gentle; his charm, his unfailing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>understanding of the thoughts, the imaginings +which Prue never could enter into.</p> + +<p>“Well, there’s no saying how I hope we won’t +have to go,” sighed Mark.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you can’t go, Jack-in-the-Box!” cried +Isabel. She used the first name by which she +had called him, unconsciously connecting her +meeting him with the awful threat of losing him.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stay if I can’t, Isa. What do people +do when they <i>must</i> do a thing? They do it and +try to stand it, don’t they?” asked Mark sadly.</p> + +<p>Isabel looked at him long and steadily, trying +to adjust her mind to this new idea. Then she +straightened herself, throwing back her slender +shoulders, and tossed her dark, breeze-rumpled +hair out of her tear-dimmed, blue-gray eyes.</p> + +<p>“It won’t happen! It can’t happen! Anything +so dreadful <i>can’t</i> happen. I won’t think +of it for another single minute!” she declared. +“Hurry and catch up with the others, and talk +about what we’ll do this afternoon, when we go +to take our garden things to market. If only +my flowers were ready! They’re budded. I +dread to go, do you know that! It seems funny +to be hucksters right in Greenacres. Poppy always—well, +you know! The Meiggs family was +poor, but my father is president of the bank and +Mr. Wayne is a lawyer, and your father is Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Hawthorne, and people know the Hawthornes. +You don’t think they’ll call it something like going +around begging, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Selling isn’t one bit like begging, you know, +it’s going into business, Isa. But don’t, if you +don’t want to! Let Poppy have all we raise and +sell it, and keep the money,” suggested Mark.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she never would,” declared Isabel. “Besides, +it’s rather backing out. I’ll go, but I do +feel rather queer about it.”</p> + +<p>At the last minute, as it happened, Isabel did +not go. Her mother telephoned for her to come +home because a friend of her mother’s, who had +not seen Isa since she was a baby, had unexpectedly +arrived on a tour which she was making in +her car, and Isabel had to be summoned home to +see her for the brief hour which was all that she +could spare to visit Mrs. Lindsay.</p> + +<p>So all that Isabel shared of this expedition to +market with Prue’s lettuce and Poppy’s radishes +was storing the baskets, two of them, under +the seat of the buckboard and seeing her friends +start. After this she ran home.</p> + +<p>Hurrah was in no mood for hurrying; the day +was growing warm, the air heavy, showers threatened +to come up at night. Poppy sat straight +and stiff, driving, with Prue beside her. Mark +sat on the end of the buckboard, dangling his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>long legs, amusing himself by turning the toes +of his shoes toward each other, and admiring +his ribbed brown stockings, or else experimenting +in keeping his legs out stiff and straight while he +raised himself on his hands and tried to hold himself +thus as long as he could while they jolted +along.</p> + +<p>They had decided to go first of all to Mrs. +Wilkins’. She was a merry, kindly old lady, +nearing seventy, so friendly to children that half +of the youngsters in Greenacres called her +“Grandma Wilkins,” though she had no grandchild +to give her the title.</p> + +<p>“Whoa!” shouted Poppy, louder than was +necessary, since Hurrah was not in the least deaf. +She hoped that Mrs. Wilkins would hear and +come out.</p> + +<p>This happened, and when she appeared on her +piazza Poppy called:</p> + +<p>“Radishes! Round, red radishes! Raised by +a Red-head! Round red radishes!” in a voice +worthy of her new occupation.</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake, Poppy! And you, Prudence +Wayne! And Mark Hawthorne! Are +you turning into hucksters? Well, I want to +know!” cried Mrs. Wilkins.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got gardens, and this is the first out +o’ them, Mis’ Wilkins,” said Poppy. “The other +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>things ain’t ready, but just lettuce and round red +radishes—they’re mine, and the lettuce is Prue’s. +We’ve gone into business. This is our first trip; +you’re our first stop.”</p> + +<p>“Because you knew I’d want a lot of radishes! +Though I don’t eat ’em myself, other people do, +and I like to send my neighbors some tidbits +occasionally. But lettuce I’m partial to; it’s a +great help to a good tea, with nice bread and butter. +Give me all you can spare of your stuff,” +said the dear old plump person cordially.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mrs. Wilkins, you mustn’t say that +just to help us,” interposed Prue, scowling anxiously. +“We want to sell, but we don’t want to +have people do what isn’t fair, take what they +don’t want.”</p> + +<p>“Trust you, Prudence Wayne, to want to deal +square,” laughed Mrs. Wilkins. “But it isn’t +good business to talk folks out of buying, my +dear! Don’t you worry; I’ve got a use for anything +I buy.”</p> + +<figure id="Page120" class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i120.jpg" width="450" height="586" alt="Children selling lettuce and radishes"> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">POPPY CALLED, “RADISHES! ROUND RED RADISHES! GROWN BY A RED-HEAD.”</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>She produced a worn pocketbook, with a nickel +clasp, and a bill fold, and pocket for change. +Mark said afterward “it looked as if it belonged +to her.”</p> + +<p>Prue put into the bright new pan, which Mrs. +Wilkins fetched, a large quantity of the tender +young lettuce and three bunches of Poppy’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>“round red radishes.” The combination was +pretty against the shining tin.</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ve begun!” Prue remarked, taking +a long breath as they went on their way with cordial +good-bys and good wishes from Mrs. Wilkins, +the money of their first sale in Mark’s +pocket, he being elected treasurer, and four perfectly +fresh, creamy cookies apiece, deliciously +sprinkled with cocoanut, held on the cookie by a +coating of melted sugar. No one, it had long +ago been decided by Greenacres children, ever +made such cookies as Grandma Wilkins did.</p> + +<p>“We can’t have such luck everywhere,” said +Poppy, speaking with difficulty as she removed +cocoanut from her cheek at the extreme reach of +her tongue’s length because Hurrah had whisked +his tail over the lines and spoiled her aim when +she took a bite of cookie. “There ain’t many +people so awful nice as she is. But we’ll keep +right at it.”</p> + +<p>They “kept right at it,” and, selling a little +lettuce here, a bunch of radishes there, soon got +rid of all the stock except a few ragged lettuce +leaves.</p> + +<p>Most people regarded the new vendors as a +great joke, but one severe person held them up +to lecture them on taking trade from the poor—and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>did not buy when Prue and Poppy refused +to cheapen their wares.</p> + +<p>“Gee, she might of took the stuff when we had +to let her preach at us!” said Poppy, too disgusted +to remember the lessons in English which +the other children gave her, and which she was +so anxious to learn.</p> + +<p>Hurrah was turned homeward—he went that +way more willingly than he started out—and the +children were wondering how much they had +made.</p> + +<p>“Don’t take it out to count it, Mark!” cried +Prue. “It joggles so, you might drop some. +Help me count up in my head. I can remember +just what we sold.”</p> + +<p>Prue began to recall aloud where they had +stopped, what sales they had made, and Mark +added for her as she went along. He was a +marvel at mental addition; indeed, his quick brain +excelled in all feats demanded of it.</p> + +<p>Poppy took no part in this calculation except +to correct Prue sometimes when she made a mistake +in her recollection of sales.</p> + +<p>There was a wagon ahead of them, a long one +with a top, and it emitted a pleasant sound of a +bell hung somewhere upon it.</p> + +<p>Poppy’s sharp eyes had been upon it for some +time. At last she said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>“I like Hurrah terrible well, but I do wish I +could hurry him up to catch that wagon! He +won’t hurry for a cent.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll hurry him; he’ll go for me, Pops,” said +Mark. “He knows your soft heart by this time. +I always can make animals do things, you know.”</p> + +<p>As Poppy, to his surprise, instantly accepted +Mark’s offer, he added:</p> + +<p>“Why do you want to overhaul that wagon, +Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“It looks like a friend of mine,” said Poppy, +mixing the wagon with its driver in her reply. +“If I know what, that’s Mr. Thomas Burke, 906 +North Street, Hertonsburg, what took me along +home that time I went off, and I’d just love to +see him, and I know he’d be crazy to see me.”</p> + +<p>“Is it, honest?” cried Mark. “Well, we’ll +overhaul him, all right. See Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, true to Mark’s prophecy, Hurrah +was trotting along to oblige Mark as he never +did for Poppy. Soon the buckboard came up +close to the wagon, and Poppy made sure that +the bulky form on its seat was, indeed, her rescuer, +the bottle dealer, and she shrieked wildly:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burke, Mr. Burke! Turn around and +see me!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke turned, not his head, but his whole +body, which was a large and thick one.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>“Well, if it ain’t little Redtop!” shouted Mr. +Burke, and, stopping his horse, got down to greet +Poppy, his broad face red with pleasure.</p> + +<p>Poppy took him around the neck with gusto. +She hugged him hard.</p> + +<p>“You’re just as welcome as a flower in the +spring!” she poetically said.</p> + +<p>“Which I ain’t so strikin’ like!” said Mr. +Burke with a grin. “Lucky I haven’t got a gas +truck, or you couldn’t have caught me. Say, how +are you, anyway, little Redtop? Just as calm +an’ sort of slow an’ lazy as you was? Don’t +move around quick, nor fly off these days, do +you? Are these your friends you told me about? +Miss Isabel Lindsay, that you wrote the post +card to?”</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Prue Wayne; Isabel didn’t +come,” explained Poppy, and as Mr. Burke +touched his hat to Prue she added: “This is my +own horse and buckboard, Mr. Burke.”</p> + +<p>“Never!” exclaimed Mr. Burke.</p> + +<p>“Ever!” Poppy corrected him. “It was a +present to me from another friend of mine, Mr. +Babcock, the postmaster; he’s very nice, not quite +straight—I mean his back ain’t.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you do be the great one for friends, little +Poppy Redtop,” said Mr. Burke admiringly. +“It’s congratulations that’s due you, an’ that’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>the truth. Now I’ve met you, I might tell you +my errand. I was aimin’ to see your—well, I +don’t know the title you give ’em, but whoever +takes care of you—Mr. Gilbert Hawthorne, ’tis. +I’ll not be goin’ to the house, now I can tell you +what I had to say.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Burke,” Mark cried. “Please +come. Dad will be glad enough to see you. He +would be annoyed with us, with me, if you didn’t +come. Please come. We all know you well +through Poppy. Motherkins—my grandmother, +Mrs. Hawthorne—would love to thank you for +taking care of Poppy last summer.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a little gentleman!” declared Mr. +Burke, regarding with frank admiration Mark’s +radiant face. “It’s no thanks are due me for pickin’ +up a bit of a girl, out gettin’ herself into +trouble. But I’ll go along with pleasure. I’ve +something to tell your father that maybe he +ought to know, an’ maybe it’s no matter. Will +I lead an’ will you follow, or will we turn it the +other way, an’ me follow that war horse of Poppy’s? +How do you name him?”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah,” said Poppy. “He’s not a war +horse; he’s peaceful and loving.”</p> + +<p>“’Deed, then, he looks it! An’ Hurrah is a +name that couldn’t be beat for belongin’ to a +horse that you own, little Redtop; you’re the one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>to go with a hurrah, as the sayin’ is!” Mr. +Thomas Burke grinned at Poppy so warmly that +she could not suspect him of looking down on +Hurrah, as she at first thought he might do.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke went back and climbed up on his +wagon, with grunts that revealed the effort it +cost him, and the two vehicles took their way up +to the Hawthorne house, Mr. Burke in the lead, +Hurrah and his friends in the rear.</p> + +<p>At the gateway they were met by Isabel, too +excited to stand still or to wonder at Mr. Burke.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve been dying! I thought you’d never +come back!” she cried, jumping from one to the +other foot. “Mother’s friend went and I came +back here to wait for you. I went up to the +Club Room, and what do you s’pose?”</p> + +<p>Isabel barely paused at the end of her question, +which she did not expect answered. The +other children murmured something, but Isabel +went on hurriedly.</p> + +<p>“Some one’s been up there, in our room! +They’ve been eating, and moved things around. +And they took out a pillow!”</p> + +<p>“Who?” demanded the other three together.</p> + +<p>“Well, who?” echoed Isabel. “I think it was +Kathie and Dolly. Kathie can climb up as easy! +You know she did the other day. They aren’t +members yet; I don’t think they ought to go +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>there when we’re not there, and, of course, they +can’t take anything out. Even one of us +couldn’t; we own those things together.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s rather queer,” said Mark slowly. +“I wouldn’t think they’d do that. Maybe it was +some one else—but who?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, who?” echoed Isabel again. “Well, anyway, +I’ve been crazy to have you get back and +come up to see.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll come,” said Mark. “I’ve got to find +dad and introduce Mr. Burke to him. This is +Mr. Burke, who found Poppy for us that time; +this is Isabel Lindsay, Mr. Burke.”</p> + +<p>“Pleased to meet you, miss,” said Mr. Burke, +again touching his cap. His eyes lighted with +pleasure at the sight of lovely little Isa. “I had +the honor to write you a post card, but I’d rather +see you, an’ that’s no lie for me.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br> +<small>QUEER HAPPENINGS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“COULD we hear what you are going to tell, +Mr. Burke?” asked Poppy. Her sharp little +face almost looked as though it had been whittled, +so much was its natural pointedness increased +by her devouring curiosity. Poppy was +always as curious as a cat.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke looked down on her with kindly +amusement.</p> + +<p>“Considerin’ it’s next to nothin’, unless Mr. +Hawthorne has some missin’ bits to put to it, like +them pitcher puzzles, you may hear what I’ve got +to tell’s far’s I’m concerned—which is next to +nothin’, as I’ve just said,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“But first be sure you will not have something +more—one more cup of tea?” suggested Motherkins +hovering, anxious to do all that she could +for this kind man who had once been good to +Poppy.</p> + +<p>“’Deed, then, ma’am, there’s no more desire +nor space left in me!” declared Mr. Burke. “But +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>I’d dearly love my pipeful of tobacco, if there’s +a place on the grounds where I could smoke it +an’ not be puttin’ you out.”</p> + +<p>“My mother lets me smoke on the piazza, in +the house, too, when it is too chilly to sit outside. +Come, then, Mr. Burke, and open your +budget of news!” said Mr. Hawthorne.</p> + +<p>“It’s not much,” began Mr. Burke, when they +were seated and he had drawn deeply on his +wooden pipe to get it going. All four children—Isabel +and Prue had obtained permission by telephone +to stay on at the Hawthorne house—sat +close to Mr. Burke, not to miss a word.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” Mr. Burke fairly launched himself +in his story this time, “it was this way: I +was drivin’ along one day, I’d say ten days back, +but it might be a matter of a few days more; time +does be greatly alike, seen from a cart seat. I +came up wid a small man trampin’ along the side +of the way, an’ when he looks up at me I passed +the time o’ day with him, civil like. He answered +kind of funny, not just grumpy like, but yet not +ready; sort of hesitatin’. An’ the queerest face +I ever set me two eyes on was on the front side +of the head of that same little man! He had a +nose you might use as a screwdriver, on a pinch, +that long and thin ’twas! He had a pair of dark +eyes that shone like a glass bottle beside the road +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>when the sun strikes on it, an’ they was never +still a minute. He was a little misshapen creature +besides——”</p> + +<p>“The queer man in the woods!” cried Mark +and Isabel at the same instant, as Poppy +shouted: “We saw him! We saw him! Out by +Château Branche and we were scared!”</p> + +<p>“Did you see him now!” exclaimed Mr. Burke. +“Small blame to you for being scared, says I, for +one! Then it’s you who knows how he looked +without me tellin’ you. Did he find you, sir?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Hawthorne. “This is the first +I’ve heard of him; the children did not speak of +seeing any one so peculiar in the woods.”</p> + +<p>“For fear you’d think we hadn’t ought—ought +not to go there,” explained Poppy.</p> + +<p>“I certainly should want his record investigated,” +said Mr. Hawthorne. “Why did you ask +if he found me, Mr. Burke? Was he looking for +me?”</p> + +<p>“When he’d eyed me for a minute, queer and +uncertain like,” Thomas Burke resumed, “he +asked did I know the countryside well? An’ I +told him I ought to, drivin’ it constant for upwards +of seven years. An’ he asked did I know +any one named Hawthorne, Gilbert Hawthorne, +an’, says I, I do. Leastways, I know a little +about him, nor did I say he was lookin’ after me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>friend, Poppy, though I might have, I might +have!” Mr. Burke smiled into Poppy’s face, +thrust forward as she perched on the edge of a +chair as if afraid that a word might slip past her.</p> + +<p>“Then he asked me, an’ I told him where you +lived, sir, an’ he listened tight, an’ he sort of +muttered that maybe he’d see you. ‘Maybe I +will,’ he said, an’ he shook his head hard. I misdoubted +he was right in his mind, but I let him +go on—he wouldn’t ride wid me, though I asked +him. Ever since it’s been botherin’ me that +maybe it was something you ought to know +about, an’ more an’ more did it bother me the +longer I thought about it, till the missus says: +‘Gwan wid you, Tom, an’ see Mr. Hawthorne. +Make it your way to go to Greenacres sooner +than you’re due there, an’ see him an’ tell him +the little there is to tell, an’ get it off your conscience.’ +So I’m here, an’ you’re told, an’ for +my part of it, there’s no more about it. You +don’t know the man; there’s no mischief afoot, is +there?”</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of; no, I don’t know any one +like the person you describe. Curious, too, especially +that he was in the woods near the children’s +tree house—if it were the same man,” said Mr. +Hawthorne slowly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was, daddy; it had to be!” cried Mark. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>“There couldn’t be two like that in one neighborhood. +Say, isn’t it great? It sounds like a story +with a plot to it.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds like a fairy story. The queer man +is a gnome, or wicked fairy, or maybe he is enchanted +and unhappy and is trying to do good to +you, to get free of the spell upon him!” cried Isabel, +who always wove stories out of all material +that came to her hand. “I think it’s <i>terribly</i> interesting! +And strange! Last year we found +Jack-in-the-Box in the woods and thought he +was a fairy at first, and now it is a gnome!”</p> + +<p>Prue had sat in rigid silence, listening, but not +speaking. Her face betrayed her alarm. Now +she jumped up and said:</p> + +<p>“I hope you don’t think they’re anything alike! +Jack-in-the-Box was the nicest thing that ever +happened to us, but this is horrid! Perfectly, +horrid-awful! And I’m going home before it +gets any darker, and, Mark and Poppy, you +must go half way with me, even now!”</p> + +<p>“Let me see you home, little misses,” said Mr. +Thomas Burke, rising. He had received and accepted +an invitation to stay over night at the +Hawthorne house, and his big horse, Cork, was +to keep Hurrah company in the next stall to him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we sha’n’t be afraid with Mark and +Poppy,” said Prue hastily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>Prue was a proper little person, with considerable +respect for social distinctions; she did not +care to be taken home by a bottle dealer.</p> + +<p>Isabel, cleverer and finer than Prue, made +friends with all sorts of people, knew how to get +pleasure out of talking to them, yet never for an +instant was less than an exceedingly fine little +fine lady.</p> + +<p>“Well, if you wouldn’t mind, if you aren’t +tired, Mr. Burke, it would be much nicer to have +you come with us,” Isabel said, adding in an +undertone that only Prue could hear:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a goose, Prue Wayne!”</p> + +<p>So Mr. Thomas Burke, dealer in second-hand +bottles, escorted Isabel Lindsay and Prue +Wayne to their homes, Poppy trotting beside +him, holding his hand, admiringly looking up at +him as he talked nonsense and made the children +laugh.</p> + +<p>“He’s splendid!” said Isabel, when Mr. Burke +had bade her and Prue good-night and had gone +off with Poppy and Mark. “He is as kind as +kind, and doesn’t he tell wonderful stories! I +would like to ride in his cart all over the country, +hearing him talk and seeing life. To-morrow, +Prue, we must pitch into Dolly and Kathie for +taking things out of the Club Room, though, of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>course, it was only Kath climbed up. Fancy lazy +Dolly climbing up there!”</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to ask them first if they did it,” +said Prue justly. “Kathie will not say she didn’t +if she did. It seems to me rather queer for her +to do that; I can’t seem to believe she did.”</p> + +<p>“Who else?” demanded Isabel. “I think it’s +queer, too, but who else would it be likely to be?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t likely to be Kathie, either,” persisted +Prue. “Anyway, find out before you say anything.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to say, ‘did you?’ haven’t I, or how +shall I find out? Good-night, Grandma Wayne! +Didn’t they know just how you were going to +turn out when they named you Prudence!”</p> + +<p>Isabel kissed Prue hard; she loved her when +she was so sensible and cautious, partly because, +though she, too, was sensible, Isabel was likely +to be rash.</p> + +<p>Then Isabel ran into the house for her hour +which she always spent in intimate talk with her +mother at twilight, and for which to-night she +was late.</p> + +<p>The next morning Isabel was awake early, +having a great deal on her mind. The story of +the queer man lost nothing of its interest in telling +it to her mother; she had gone to bed excited +over its mystery.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>Then there was the fact that the Club Room +had been entered from outside. Isabel was impatient +to see Kathie and Dolly and find out +what they knew about it. She was tempted to +feel a little hard-used that she could not omit her +lessons that morning. School had been closed +in the middle of April because of an epidemic of +measles that hung along, a new case coming on +when it all seemed to be over, so late that there +would be no more school that season. Isabel and +Prue were compelled to keep on with their studies +at home; this morning Isabel found the rule +hard. It was eleven before she was ready to go +to call Prue, and set out to find Kathie and +Dolly.</p> + +<p>They met Poppy running with all her might to +meet them.</p> + +<p>“I thought you’d be coming,” she panted. “I +knew you’d go for those girls soon’s you could +get done. Mark’s taken Hurrah to the blacksmith; +his feet’s long, Mr. Burke said. Ain’t he +a peach? I just love him! He’s coming again +and bring his missus. He calls her ‘the missus.’ +I like that name. They’re both’s peachy as they +can be. I might go help c’lect bottles, if Mr. +Hawthorne’s prop’ty gets swiped by that nasty +Ditson man. Say, what I run to tell you was +that one of the dishes out o’ the Club Room’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>under a tree. So it was took out, and who done +it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Poppy, there were more bad mistakes in +what you’ve just said than you’ve made for I-don’t-know-how-long!” +sighed Prue, not to be +torn from her duty of correcting Poppy by any +interest, however strong. And this was an absorbing +interest, the entering of the Club Room.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, I’m going to be a lady if I bust, +but you can’t keep right at it, no matter what +you’re thinking about!” cried Poppy. “Who +done—did it?”</p> + +<p>“We’re going right off this minute to ask +Kathie and Dolly what they know,” said Isabel, +swinging around to carry out her words. And +Poppy joined her and Prue as a matter of course.</p> + +<p>They found Dolly and Kathie eating strawberry +sundaes in the drug store.</p> + +<p>“We can’t treat because we had just enough +money to pay for two, but we’ll wait for you, +if you’re after some,” said Kathie nobly.</p> + +<p>“We’re not,” said Isabel, though Poppy +looked exceedingly sorry that this was true. +“Walk with us if you’re through, we want to +ask you something. Now: Who climbed up into +the Club Room by the piazza roof?”</p> + +<p>“Me; you saw me,” said Kathie promptly, +taking instant offence from a tone in Isabel’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>voice of which she was herself unconscious, but +which sprang from her certainty that Kathie had +climbed in again, alone.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but since; just the night before last, or +that day,” Isabel went on her voice still more accusing. +“Do you know anything about it?”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask straight out if I did it?” +demanded Kathie.</p> + +<p>“I will: Did you?” said Isabel.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t tell if I did, and I won’t say I +didn’t,” said Kathie angrily. “I’d just like to +know, Isabel Lindsay, why you come at me like +this?”</p> + +<p>“She—I mean we—aren’t coming at you, +Kathie,” interposed Prue. “Isabel is speaking +sort of hard because she’s so bothered—I mean +we are. Some one went in there, and they took +out a few little things, and we’ve got to know +if anybody’s breaking in. Greenacres is a little +queer lately; there’s a man in it.”</p> + +<p>Kathie burst into mocking laughter, not in the +least soothed by Prue’s evident desire to keep +the peace. “I always knew there was a man +in Greenacres! You silly, Prue Wayne!”</p> + +<p>“Silly nothin’!” broke in Poppy in a blaze of +wrath. “Think you’re smart! Anybody that +wasn’t a gump would know she meant a queer +man——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>“You tend to your own affairs, you meddlesome +monkey!” Dolly now took a hand in the +fast thickening atmosphere of thunder and lightning.</p> + +<p>“Poppy, please don’t!” begged Prue distressed. +“I don’t care what Kathie said.”</p> + +<p>“No! I’m not worth caring about! That’s +what you mean, so just say so,” stormed Kathie.</p> + +<p>“I did not! I meant I didn’t feel mad,” cried +Prue beginning to cry, dismayed to find the +battle around her head when she had but meant +to head off a battle.</p> + +<p>“Well, but that isn’t the thing,” Isabel began +over again. “There’s no sense scrapping, saying +things back and forth. What I want to know +is was it you who went up there alone and took +out a pillow and a dish or two? If it wasn’t you, +it’s awful. If it is you, you hadn’t any right to +do it, for you’re not even a real member, and +we real members can’t take things away. So I +want to know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you want to know, do you!” echoed +Kathie in a towering temper by this time. “Well, +then, find out! You won’t get me to tell you. I +might have told, if you hadn’t talked as if I was +a thief or something! Now you can find out any +way you can work it, but not from me. Why +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>don’t you get up a detector from New York and +lock me up, if I’m the one?”</p> + +<p>“Detective,” murmured Prue in spite of herself, +which did not make things better.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Kathie, how can you!” cried Isabel, following +Prue’s tears with sobs that brought no +tears, but which shook her delicate little body +from head to foot.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hate a fuss, I can’t stand a fuss! I +did not speak as you say. I didn’t mean to speak +unkindly. I just want to know, Kathie! Oh, +Kathie, don’t you see it’s dreadful to have some +one coming in there and not know who it is? +Won’t you please, please, Kathie, tell if it’s you? +Just if it’s you, you know!”</p> + +<p>“I won’t tell you one single thing, Isabel +Lindsay,” said Kathie. “And Dolly shall not!” +she added, seeing Prue about to turn to Dolly.</p> + +<p>Kathie put her hand on her chum’s shoulder +with no gentle touch, and Dolly would not have +spoken for the world.</p> + +<p>“’Cause you’re the one, that’s why!” shouted +Poppy at the top of her voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, hush, Pops!” cried Isabel, suddenly calm +again. “I’m afraid that is the reason, Kathie,” +she added with great dignity. “I am afraid that +Poppy is right and that you did go up there, +and that is why you won’t answer. I’m afraid +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>you can’t be a member, ever, and I think you’d +better stop being on trial now.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose everything’s as you say! I suppose +Mark hasn’t one thing to say, only just +mind you! Well, we wouldn’t be in that club, +not for the wealth of Indians! We resign. +Dolly and me resign—don’t you, Doll?” Kathie +demanded shaking her friend without knowing +that she did so.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” said frightened Dolly, who never +quarreled nor exerted herself when she could +help it.</p> + +<p>“Isa said it first! Isa said it first! You can’t—what-do-you-call-it! +Isa put you out first!” +chanted Poppy dancing around the girls so excited +that she had no consciousness of being in the +street, nor of the amazed amusement of some +grown-up on-lookers.</p> + +<p>“Because she knew we wouldn’t stay in!” cried +Kathie, quite beside herself at this triumphant +war dance of Poppy’s.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s horrid! It’s awful! Why, <i>why</i> do +we have such a row? Just asking—just asking—just +asking——” Isabel broke down in another +storm of tearless sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Come on home, Isa, my darling! I’ll wipe +my shoes of their dust!” said Prue, herself now +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>in a white heat of anger since her beloved Isa was +so shattered.</p> + +<p>“Dust! Yes, I guess! Shoes! Wipe!” +Kathie’s scorn was scathing, though its expression +was not striking.</p> + +<p>The two parties turned without another word +and walked in opposite directions, every muscle +in each of the five bodies tautly declaring the indignation +that burned within them.</p> + +<p>Isabel walked on sobbing uncontrollably, but +not crying. Prue was no longer in tears; her +anger had dried them when she saw Isabel so +hurt. Poppy was in such a rage that it might +have been funny if either of the others had been +capable of seeing it. She spun around and +around, making progress, but always as a top +progresses, and she ceaselessly uttered funny +sounds, almost as if she were a furious little beast.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s awful, it’s awful! It’s just like having +a sort of fight!” mourned Isabel.</p> + +<p>“’Course!” cried Prue, and to her own surprise +she laughed.</p> + +<p>“Be nicer to fight,” said Poppy.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think the worst is not knowing who +got into that room,” said Prue. “If Kathie +wants to act like this, let her. You did speak sort +of stern, Isa darling, but anybody’d know you +were stirred up; you’re so gentle and not-hurting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>always, not even flies! I don’t care about Kathie, +because—I don’t! But who was it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was Kathie. I know it was now, and +I knew it before—I mean I was as sure as anything. +Well, it won’t happen again. She’s too +mad with us to come either climbing in, or walking +in and up the stairs,” sighed Isabel.</p> + +<p>“If only we hadn’t let them half-come, be the +least bit members!” Prue said, also sighing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br> +<small>“YOU’D HARDLY KNOW GREENACRES”</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">ISABEL had not found relief, as Prue had, in +tears while the scene with Kathie and Dolly +was enacted. She kept from crying till she +poured out the story of the quarrel to her mother +that night at twilight, but then she poured out +tears with the story and cried till, big girl as +she was getting to be, her mother gathered her +into her lap—all of her that it would hold!—and +tried to check the flood.</p> + +<p>Isa was not a child that cried easily, but, like +most people to whom tears are difficult, when she +did cry she cried so hard that it often made her a +little ill. Mrs. Lindsay dreaded one of her +breakdowns.</p> + +<p>“There, there, my dear; there, my little Isabel!” +she murmured patting Isa’s heaving shoulder. +“It really is not so bad as you think it +is. It will be straightened out. Kathie resented +being questioned, but it will look different to her +to-morrow morning. You still think she is the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>one who climbed up into your room? Her being +so angry over the suspicion might mean that she +had not been there, or it might mean that she was +angry at being found out.”</p> + +<p>“I’d believe her if she said she hadn’t gone, +but she wouldn’t say it, so I think it was—her? +She?” Isabel tried at once to speak correctly and +to speak at all, keeping down her sobs.</p> + +<p>“She. After was, or is, you know,” Mrs. Lindsay +helped her in both ways, supplying the pronoun +and smoothing Isa’s hair. “It wasn’t a +crime to climb up and go in, after all. If Kathie +did it, I think she must be forgiven.”</p> + +<p>“But taking out our things, mother?” cried +Isabel, sitting erect with symptoms that the storm +was past.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I forgot about that! No, that was not +right. It doesn’t seem to me like Kathie Stevens, +either! Curious little affair, isn’t it? I hear +what story books might call ‘a well-known footstep!’ +I think a person called Harvey Lindsay is +coming in!” Isabel’s mother arose as Isabel got +off her knees, and went to meet her husband, +Isabel languidly following.</p> + +<p>“Why, what’s wrong, Lady Bird?” cried Mr. +Lindsay at once.</p> + +<p>“Isa is greatly troubled by a falling out between +her and Kathie Stevens, in fact between +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>our four intimate children, and Kathie and Dolly. +Isa may have made a little mistake in the way +she approached a question that had to be asked +Kathie, but she has not provoked the quarrel, +and I’m sure it will be healed soon.” Mrs. Lindsay +explained to her husband, but smiled hopefully +at her tear-stained and swollen daughter.</p> + +<p>“Come now, that’s everything, not to be the +cause of a rumpus, and to be in the right!” Mr. +Lindsay’s big voice sounded heartening. “I +don’t mind greatly what the other fellow does, not +after a time, though I may at first. I do mind +like the mischief to see, when I cool off, that I was +in the wrong! Your trouble is not going to last, +my dawtie! And when I was about your age and +had cried my fill, I found nothing as refreshing +to my throat and to my spirits as ice cream! So +I’ll slip back to Ebers’ and bring up a quart in +a nice little tape-handled box. What flavor, +Lady Isabel-ladybird?”</p> + +<p>“Maple walnut and strawberry,” said Isabel +without an instant’s hesitation. “Thank you, you +dear Person,” she added with a smile rather like +melted ice cream, sweet, but lacking vigor.</p> + +<p>When her father returned her mother helped +herself and her husband to a little less than a +third of the cream apiece and handed Isa the box, +because she preferred it thus. Seated on the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>upper step under the brilliant summer stars, +taking heaped spoonfuls of the delicious cream +for which Ebers was famous for miles, and licking +the top of each spoonful into a cone to get +the full flavor, a mannerless way of eating that +the night and out-of-doors allowed, Isabel began +to feel comforted. The strawberry ice cream was +dotted with seeds to prove that fruit, not flavoring +gave it its flavor; the maple walnut was as +strong of maple syrup taste as a Vermont sugar +camp vat.</p> + +<p>Isabel licked her spoon blissfully, if inelegantly, +since no one could see her, and felt that life +still held a great deal to enjoy. As to her father, +who had taken the walk to get the cream for her +when he was surely tired, how could she express +the flavor of his love for his girl?</p> + +<p>“Father, you blessing, my throat does feel +scrumptious after that cream, and I hope some +day, I’ll have a big, hard thing to do for you and +mother, just to show you!” Isabel said at last, +getting up from the step with a contentedly-weary +yawn, and going over to kiss her best-beloveds +good-night.</p> + +<p>The first thing in the morning, while Isa was +still at breakfast, there appeared Mark in a state +of great excitement.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you suppose!” he burst forth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>at once. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Lindsay! I +forgot. But what <i>do</i> you suppose, honest?”</p> + +<p>“What are we to suppose about, Mark?” +hinted Mrs. Lindsay.</p> + +<p>“I’d say about ’most anything,” returned +Mark. “Things are happening in all directions. +You couldn’t guess this; you didn’t know about +it, I suppose. Say, Isa, you know Kathie +Stevens’ coins?”</p> + +<p>“’Course,” said Isa, leaning forward breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Gone!” cried Mark.</p> + +<p>“Gone?” echoed Isabel. “Where? How do +you mean gone?”</p> + +<p>“If I only knew where!” said Mark. “Don’t +you know I put the box down in the secret passage? +They stayed there all right; I’ve looked +once in a while. Nobody on earth but us—father +and Motherkins and we four youngsters—knew +a word about that passage. Kathie and Dolly +knew there was one, but they didn’t know how +you got into it, not either from the house, nor +the woods end of it. I heard Kath once telling +the girls at school how we had a secret passage, +made in the Revolution, when Tories were +around here, but I could tell she had no sort of +idea where it was. And somebody has got into +it and taken off that box with the coins in it! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>Isn’t it tough luck? What do you suppose +Kathie will say, or her father, for that matter? +You see they are valuable. The minute Pops +came home and told about the fuss, how mad with +you Kathie was, I thought of the coins, and made +up my mind I’d have them out of there, ready +to hand her if she came after them this morning—as +I’m pretty sure she will. So I got right +out after them the first thing—and there you +are! Or there they’re not!” Mark waved his +hands outward as if to signify a flight.</p> + +<p>“Well, of all awful things!” said Isabel slowly.</p> + +<p>“It is awful,” agreed Mark. “It’s bad as it +can be to lose the coins, but it’s almost worse to +have somebody know that secret passage and be +wriggling around in it! I never in all my life +heard of anything like these things—father going +to lose that money almost certainly; that queer +little man in the woods, and the same man asking +Mr. Burke for father, and our club room entered, +and now this! Why, you’d hardly know Greenacres!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Isabel slowly, weighing her +words, “I don’t like it; I’m sure I don’t like it, +but I do think it is interesting—all but your +money being taken away; that’s just awful, every +side and up and down of it! But the other things +are exciting! And interesting! We always knew +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>nothing would happen when we went to the +woods, but now you can’t tell.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but that makes <i>me</i> feel that I can’t tell +whether you may go there now,” interposed Mrs. +Lindsay. “I am far from pleased to think that +our safe woods are invaded by this queer little +man.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, please don’t be afraid!” begged +Isabel. “And he is in lots of other places. Mr. +Burke met him over toward Hertonsburg. We +wouldn’t like it a bit if we couldn’t go. We’ll +take Semp; he could hold a man down. Mark’s +father says he would take any one by the throat +who tried to touch us, and you know how big and +strong he is. Besides, the man seemed to be +afraid himself; he ran away when the girls came +that day. We want to go to Château Branche +this very morning!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not to-day! Wait till your father decides +it. I think, perhaps, some one must lie in +wait for this queer little man and find out about +him. The loss of the coins puts a new color on +the case; that is theft, you know,” said Mrs. +Lindsay.</p> + +<p>“But maybe he found them in the secret passage +and didn’t think they belonged to any one; +maybe he isn’t a thief, Mrs. Lindsay,” cried +Mark.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>“Jack-in-the-Box, you are defending him, less +from charity than because you want to be free +to roam the woods as you always have!” laughed +Isa’s mother. “And so do I want you still free, +but we must wait to find out more, so be content +to keep away from Château Branche a short +time, please, dear!”</p> + +<p>“All right, motherdy, but we want to go!” said +Isabel kissing her mother, and going with Mark +to find Prue, and to work in their gardens at +Hawthorne House. The exciting events of the +recent days had given a chance to the weeds +which they were quick to use, and, to be quite +truthful, the children’s enthusiasm for gardening +cooled in proportion as the weather warmed, nor +had their first trip to market their produce +yielded the fortune that they had hoped to count.</p> + +<p>Prue came out tying a last ribbon on her tight, +light braid of hair; she had seen Isabel and Mark +coming and wanted to lose no time.</p> + +<p>She listened with tense attention, frowning +severely, to the story of the disappearance of +Kathie’s ancient coins.</p> + +<p>“Well, she will be madder’n a whole army,” +said Prue when it was ended. “She will be right +up this morning to get them, and when she +doesn’t——!” Prue did not attempt to describe +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>what would happen when Kathie did not get her +coins.</p> + +<p>“But, my goodness gracious, she knew where +they were, and she let them be put there!” cried +Isabel. “It isn’t our fault, is it?”</p> + +<p>“When you’re mad, you’re mad, and you’ve +got to blame somebody,” said Prue, with deep +knowledge of human injustice. “Kathie will +blame us; you’ll see! I say let’s go down the +secret passage first, and look for the box again. +I’ll run back and get my searchlight, and I’ll +borrow mother’s. We’ll go right in there and +<i>hunt</i>!”</p> + +<p>Now this was a much more heroic proposition +than it sounds, coming from Prue. She was +deadly afraid of spiders, snakes, rats, of black +beetles almost most of all, and she had always +had a horror of the secret passage greater than +Isabel’s, because she felt sure that it was inhabited +by all these things and others similar to +them which she had never seen, and she had not +Isabel’s imagination to turn the passage into a +romantic story and thus off-set the dread of reptiles, +insects and beasts.</p> + +<p>Isabel knew how Prue hated to explore the +underground way that had been a refuge +in Revolutionary days. She stopped short and +regarded her friend with respectful admiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>“You are great, Prue! You are truly <i>great</i>! +I think if there were a war you’d fire cannon, +like Molly Stark, and hang out flags like Barbara +Frietchie, and do all those things, though when +there isn’t a war you don’t seem quite so brave,” +Isa declared.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what I’d do, but, sometimes, I +suppose you’ve got to do what you hate. I’d +heaps rather fire—well, hang out a flag, anyway!—than +walk on a squishy bug, or something,” +said Prue trying to look modest.</p> + +<p>There was a walled opening to the secret passage +in the woods, at the place where Isabel and +Prue had first seen Mark; they had dubbed it +“the Toy Shop” because there was where they +got their Jack-in-the-Box, and again Mark was +a “jack-in-the-box” because he appeared and disappeared +through this opening.</p> + +<p>The opening was so thoroughly hidden by +shrubbery and trees that the little girls had not +then suspected it was there, nor could it be better +seen now.</p> + +<p>This morning Mark went down first and +turned back to help Isabel and Prue. Prue had +first nobly gone back after searchlights and had +overtaken the other two, breathless, scared, but +resolute.</p> + +<p>Both little girls were struggling to hold their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>skirts tight around their legs, which did not help +their progress.</p> + +<p>Mark laughed at them as he watched this +strapped-in descent.</p> + +<p>“Nothing will get on you!” he said.</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well for you, Mark Hawthorne, +in knickers, but we’ve got skirts, and <i>anything</i> +could cling on them,” said Prue sternly. “It +makes me <i>sick</i>!” She persisted nevertheless, and +the three went rapidly to the spot where Mark +said he had set the box of coins.</p> + +<p>“You see!” said Mark, holding up the searchlight +which he carried to show a rock in the side +of the wall with nothing on it. “I put it there +and now where is it?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hunt all around—but of course it didn’t +walk off itself, and whoever took it would take it—I +mean carry it off!” Isabel said. “Oh, dear, +oh, dear! We <i>are</i> in trouble! Kathie will be +nearly crazy, and there’s her father! He will—why, +we can’t tell what he’ll do to us! We hardly +know him at all; we don’t know whether he’s +one of those awful stern men, or not! Oh, if +only we hadn’t brought it here! But how could +we guess there was a thief around, in this place? +Do you suppose it is a den of thieves now?”</p> + +<p>The secret passage was full of turns, dark, +sharp turns, around which no one could see; only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>by making the turn and throwing a light ahead +could whatever chanced to be around these +bends be seen.</p> + +<p>“I am not a thief!” came a voice out of the +darkness as Isabel finished speaking.</p> + +<p>Prue shrieked and shrieked. Isabel uttered +one agonized scream, and fell to trembling silently. +Mark gasped, almost a groan, and after an +instant’s pardonable hesitation, went toward the +sound of the voice.</p> + +<p>“Say, keep off!” the same voice said in a high, +squeaky tone. “Don’t you come after me! I’ll +run faster’n you can and I’ll never be caught. +You stay off. I’ve’s good a right in here’s you +have; better! If you want that black box of +money just go look for it where I say, but don’t +you chase <i>me</i>! Count your turns. Count three +turns back the way you come. Then go down a +short little narrow path somebody must of dug +and got sick of once. There’s a box, and it isn’t +one penny lighter’n ’twas when I found it. If +you want it, take it. But I ain’t any more a thief +than you are, and I won’t let you call me one. +I’ll make you good’n sorry if you do.”</p> + +<p>“My goodness, whoever you are!” cried Mark, +his spirits rising as he found a chance to answer +the mystery. “If you return the box you’re not +a thief, so why should we call you one?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>“We’re very much obliged; you are very +kind,” Isabel managed to say faintly, feeling +compelled to politeness for the favor done them.</p> + +<p>“I won’t make trouble for kids,” said the voice. +“Good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come out and let us see you!” cried Prue, +all her fear wiped out by the sentiment the voice +had just expressed, and curiosity seizing her.</p> + +<p>No answer came to this appeal. The children +called several times, but no sound came in return. +A bat, aroused by the lights, flapped heavily +across Prue’s head, so close to her face that +she screamed louder than she had when the voice +had first startled her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, for mercy’s sake, get the old box and +come out of here!” she cried. “I don’t want to +be buried first, and then killed by bats and stuff!”</p> + +<p>Isabel and Mark began to laugh, but there was +no resisting the fervor of poor Prue’s voice. They +began to retrace their steps, counting as the voice +had bade them count. There, at the spot it had +indicated, they came upon the black box, and, +as Mark lifted it, he said:</p> + +<p>“It does feel exactly as heavy as ever! Maybe +it is all right.”</p> + +<p>The children came out of the secret passage at +the end which led them out into the grounds of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>Hawthorne House. Motherkins came to meet +them.</p> + +<p>“Kathie and Dolly are waiting for you,” she +said. “If only you could find the coins!”</p> + +<p>“We have found them, Motherkins!” cried +Isabel. “Just you wait till you hear!”</p> + +<p>Without delaying for the soap and water that +the three faces needed after passing through the +secret passage, the children went in to find +Kathie and Dolly in the library.</p> + +<p>“We came to get my coins, Mark,” said +Kathie, ignoring Isabel’s feeble “Hallo,” and not +so much as seeing Prue, who did not attempt to +speak to them.</p> + +<p>“All right; they’re here. We went to bring +them up from where I put them,” said Mark. “I +don’t know how many there were, but I don’t believe +any are lost.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mark,” said Kathie with dignity. +“You needn’t think we’re mad with you, Mark, +because we’re not. You didn’t ask us mean +questions!”</p> + +<p>“Nobody did; we all wanted to know if you’d +been into that room. I asked the question just +as much as any one else, if that’s all, but there’s +no sense in being mad about it. Only if mad you +are, please count me in. It’s just as much my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>mess as the girls’.” Mark spoke so firmly that +Isabel and Prue were proud of him.</p> + +<p>“Just as you like. Then we’ll be mad with +you, too. Come, Dolly!” Kathie took the yielding +Dolly under her command with a stern +glance. Neither Kathie nor Dolly had any desire +to quarrel with Mark, whom they admired +greatly, but if he joined himself with Isabel and +Prue, there was no help for it. Mark escorted +them to the door, polite in his own home.</p> + +<p>“Good-by; come again!” he said with a laugh +as they departed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br> +<small>THE SHADOW OF PARTING</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“OH, dear, dear!” sighed Isabel watching the +retreat of Kathie and Dolly, who stalked +away so wrathily that “they looked as if their +backs were calling names,” Isabel said. “They +are staying mad. I hoped they’d be over it when +they’d had a night’s sleep. Mother says never +to let the sun go down upon your anger, but they +did, and they let it rise again, and still they’re +mad!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t think their not speaking is +half as much consequence as that voice that did +speak,” said Mark, who could not get up great +interest in Kathie and Dolly’s doings. “I’d like +to know who, or what that was.”</p> + +<p>“I should—think—so!” Prue spoke with slow +and awful emphasis. “It gets worse every +minute I remember it. I just about can’t stand +it! Everything is getting so queer! I wonder if +we’re asleep and dreaming these things? It’s +like a queer, mixed-up dream.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>“All of us asleep, and dreaming the same +thing?” laughed Mark. “And how could we +know what the rest of us were dreaming?”</p> + +<p>“We couldn’t. But we could dream we were +all together and heard the voice, and saw that +little man. And then I’d only be in your dream, +or Isa’s, and you’d only be in my dream—Oh, +mercy! I’ll go crazy!” Prue clapped her hands +to her head and shook it hard, burrowing her chin +into her neck wildly.</p> + +<p>“And how could we tell which was the one +dreaming?” Isabel cried gleefully; she dearly +liked this sort of game. “There’d only be one +real one, the other two would be the dream, and +how should we know which they were? And +there’s Poppy.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” cried Prue.</p> + +<p>“I mean she saw the queer little man, and the +only reason she didn’t hear the voice is because +she wasn’t there, so she had one-half the dream +and not the other half,” Isabel explained. “I +sort of think that proves we are awake, but I +don’t know how it does it. First we saw a queer +little man without a voice; then we heard a +voice——”</p> + +<p>“Without a queer little man!” cried Mark. +“It’s like Alice and the Cheshire cat! She said +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>she’d seen cats without a smile, but never a smile +without a cat.”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t stop talking about crazy +things I’ll go crazy myself!” Prue warned them +sharply. “It’s making me feel all crawly inside +me. It almost has sense, but it hasn’t any! It’s +like trying to catch the wet soap in the bath +tub. I’m so scared when I think of that awful, +awful voice I could curl up and die. I declare I +think Greenacres is getting dreadfully funny!”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t an awful voice, though; it was a +pretty nice voice, telling us where to find Kathie’s +coins,” Isabel reminded her.</p> + +<p>“What puzzles me is why the man—or the +beast, or the bird, or the ghost, whoever that voice +belongs to—stole the box, and then right away +told us where to get it! What’s the use?” Mark +observed.</p> + +<p>“Probably he didn’t steal it; just happened to +find it and took it.” Isabel clearly saw the difference +in these two actions, though it might seem +to another much the same. “Where’s Poppy?” +she suddenly demanded; it was odd for Poppy +to absent herself for so long.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; queer, isn’t it?” said Mark. +“When we were coming up out of the secret passage +I just barely saw her tearing off through the +trees, ever so far down the middle path through +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>the woods. ’Tis queer she doesn’t come back, +now I think of it.”</p> + +<p>“Dare you to go home that way, Prue, and +see what she’s up to,” said Isa.</p> + +<p>“I’m scared,” Prue admitted honestly, “but +we’ve got to keep on going into the woods, or else +there wouldn’t be any use in living at all. So +I’ll go. You’re probably just as scared as I +am, anyway, Isabel Lindsay! And the way you’ll +do is hold it down, and then not go to sleep to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, I never pretended not to mind, and +of course it’s much worse to be afraid of something +you can’t understand than of burglars, or +rats, or anything sensible,” Isabel did not shrink +from admitting her nervousness.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go home through the woods, Prue. We +can play we are pioneer mothers daring wild +beasts and Indians; that will help a whole lot. +If we put off going it will be much worse when +we do go, as you said. And let’s start <i>now</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Mark, Mark dear, will you come here? I +want you,” called Motherkins.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I was going part of the way with you,” +said Mark regretfully. “Now I can’t, so good-by. +I’ll see you after a while, maybe.”</p> + +<p>“We’d rather not have you come; we’ve got to +get used to being brave alone,” said Prue. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>“Good-by. If anything should happen to us, +why, you know where we went.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, gracious, Prue, don’t!” shuddered Isabel, +profoundly disturbed by the awful picture of +herself and Prue lying wounded in the woods +which this suggestion at once called up.</p> + +<p>Prue and Isabel wound their arms around each +other for mutual support in their adventure, but +resolutely faced the woods and walked toward +them, not hurrying, but not loitering, with that +steady pace that betokens steady purpose.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go the longest way, past Château +Branche, then we’ll know we didn’t get out of +one thing because we were ’fraid-cats,” proposed +Prue.</p> + +<p>“Well, if here isn’t Bunkie coming to meet +us!” cried Isabel surprised. “I left him at home +because he might get lost in the secret passage, +I always think. How could he know we were +coming here when we didn’t know it ourselves?”</p> + +<p>The little dog came tearing toward Isabel, ears +streaming backward, tail wagging as fast as it +could at the speed he was making. He leaped +up to his mistress with a great show of joy, +gave Prue a rapid, but cordial welcome, then +turned in the direction from which he had come, +looking back to see that they were coming. At +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>that moment the little girls heard a sound of wailing +and stood still.</p> + +<p>“Now what’s that?” cried Prue sharply. +“There’s something else awful, and it’s quite +new.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it sound horrible? But maybe it’s +a panther—no, there aren’t any! Maybe it’s a +wild cat, and maybe they cry the way panthers +do. They say you can’t tell a panther from a +baby; they fool hunters; don’t you remember? +In books I’ve seen that.” Isabel was trying to +be cheerful, though her teeth almost chattered, +but Prue was not appreciative.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and maybe it’s an orphan asylum and +they are real babies crying,” she said scornfully. +“There are just as many orphan asylums in +these woods as there are panthers and wild cats. +Shall we go on, or do you say to turn off right +here?”</p> + +<p>“I say to go on,” answered Isa, pale but heroic.</p> + +<p>Their decision rejoiced Bunkie, who while they +hesitated had been imploring them by every sign +he knew to come on.</p> + +<p>The blood curdling wailing continued and +grew louder as they advanced; it took strong +resolution to proceed. Prue clutched Isabel’s +arm so tight that she found it black and blue that +night when she went to bed, though she did not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>feel it then, while Isabel held Prue’s side in a +grasp that ticklish Prue could not have borne for +a moment if her mind had not been too fully +occupied to notice it.</p> + +<p>Slowly, trembling from head to foot, these +Greenacres heroines advanced, and their courage +was rewarded, for in the midst of the wailing +two words came out clear, and these words were: +“Oh gosh!”</p> + +<p>It was Poppy! There was no mistaking the +way she uttered her favorite vent for her feelings, +and Isabel and Prue laughed out in their relief, +though in another instant they began to feel +troubled to find Poppy like this, prone on her +face, crying desperately, alone in the woods, in +which she, as well as Isabel and Prue, were beginning +to feel afraid to wander.</p> + +<p>Bunkie darted ahead and up to Poppy, nosing +her anxiously, but she ungratefully pushed him +away, not being minded to accept his pity then.</p> + +<p>“Why, Poppy! Why, Poppy dear, what is it? +Is anything the matter?” cried Isabel and Prue +together, running up and dropping on their +knees beside Poppy’s prostrate, sob-shaken little +body.</p> + +<p>At this Poppy’s crying began afresh, so violently +that Isa and Prue were frightened and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>there was no hope of getting a word from her.</p> + +<p>“May as well wait,” said Prue, sitting back on +her heels with a resigned despair.</p> + +<p>“Oh, try to stop, try to tell us what is wrong, +Poppy!” begged Isabel. “Is anything wrong?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you—don’t you know? Didn’t no one +tell you?” Poppy managed to gasp, losing her +hold on English.</p> + +<p>“No, indeed!” Isabel said. “Tell us, quick!”</p> + +<p>“It’s settled!” Poppy moaned, and fell back +into worse crying.</p> + +<p>“For pity’s sake!” exclaimed Prue impatiently. +“What is settled, Poppy Meiggs?”</p> + +<p>But Isabel had a sudden enlightenment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Poppy, is it really? Oh, Poppy!” she +cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, for pity’s sake!” Prue exclaimed again +desperately. “Are you going to be a puzzle, too! +How <i>do</i> you know what she means?”</p> + +<p>“She means it is settled that Mr. Hawthorne +has to lose the money that Mr. Ditson left to him, +and that they will have to give up that dear, dear +house, and Motherkins’ garden and everything, +don’t you, Poppy?” said Isabel pale to her lips +over her shocking discovery.</p> + +<p>Poppy nodded hard, raising her head to do so, +and instantly burying her face in the moss again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>“That’s not the whole of it,” she said in a +muffled voice.</p> + +<p>“Oh, not, not that they’re going away!” cried +Isabel.</p> + +<p>“They are, too!” Poppy sat up suddenly and +spoke out of a gust of anger. “We shall go +away, away! Out of Greenacres! Mr. Hawthorne +can’t get anything here, he said—he +means work. He’ll be poor; he must work. +They’ll go away, away! And I sha’n’t see you +no more, Isabel, my darling, dear! But Hurrah! +They can’t take him along, my own, own horse! +They can’t feed him; it costs. And I love him +more’n anything in all this world, and they’ll +leave him here. Oh, Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah!” +Poppy’s voice rose higher with each repetition +of the name, till it became a shriek, and had the +effect of cheering.</p> + +<p>But Poppy was far away from a cheer. She +fell down again on the ground and pulled up +handfuls of mossy turf, kicking the while with +such violence that her striped gingham skirt fluttered +as if it were in a gale and one of her shoes +flew off.</p> + +<p>“There’s no use kicking, Poppy,” remarked +Prue, picking up the shoe and stooping to replace +it. “Hold still, and I’ll put your shoe +on again. Goodness knows it makes me sick, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>if it’s true that Mark and all are going away. +How do you know it is true?”</p> + +<p>“I heard Motherkins and Mr. Gilbert talking +about it. They said the lawyers had written a +letter and said there wasn’t any show to help it. +And Motherkins kind of cried a little, then she +said never mind, Gilbert, because I shall not +mind much, and I know you feel bad for me. +And that was worse’n her crying. Nearly kills +me when she bucks up brave that way! And +they said they’d tell Mark’s soon as you two’d +gone, and now you’re here they likely telling +him. And, oh, Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah!” +Once more Poppy gave herself up to the anguish +of the thought of parting from her horse, whose +cheerful name so ill-fitted this use of it.</p> + +<p>“Now, Poppy, I’m going to tell you something,” +said Isabel in her sweet little womanly +way, putting aside her own sharp pain over this +news to try to comfort Poppy. “If you don’t +want to leave Hurrah, you needn’t. My father +and mother were talking about this, what would +happen if the Hawthornes had to give up the +money, and father said—they both said—that +you could come to live with us, if you wanted to, +and stay right on in Greenacres, and keep on in +our same school. And father said he’d keep +Hurrah for you; he said he was sure you’d feel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>perfectly terrible to give him up. So now you +know all about it. You needn’t give up Hurrah, +nor Greenacres, if you’d rather not. You can +stay with us and Hurrah’ll be yours just the +same.”</p> + +<p>Poor Poppy! She was in a bad state of nerves +from grief and her tempestuous crying, and at +best she too easily flew into a temper.</p> + +<p>Now she sprang up like a rocket, on her feet, +and waved her arms up and down, as if she +wanted to hit something either in the sky, or beneath +it.</p> + +<p>“I guess I won’t! I guess I won’t! I guess I +won’t!” she screamed. “What d’jer think I am! +Leave Motherkins! Leave her! Didn’t she take +me in when she was poor’n poorhouses, and take +care o’ me when nobody wouldn’t, but her, but +went and took all the rest o’ the Meiggses, ’cause +there wa’n’t none of ’em red headed and freckled +noses but me? I guess I won’t live with your +folks, not if I do love you cartloads, Isabel Lindsay, +and I won’t stay, not with no horse, Hurrah, +nor nobody, ’stead o’ Mis’ Hawthorne—Motherkins. +So there!”</p> + +<p>“Well, Poppy, I’m sorry,” faltered Isabel +sincerely. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. +You said you loved Hurrah best of anything, so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>I thought you’d like to know you might have him +if you really did love him best. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Any gump’d know I didn’t mean Hurrah +’stead of Motherkins,” said Poppy still disgusted +and offended. Then with one of her sudden +changes, she threw her arms around Isabel and +half crushed her in a tremendous hug, crying, +but with a new and gentler misery, as she did so.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you darling Isa,” she moaned. “I’m the +nastiest! I’m sorry, Isa! And how shall I ever +stand it without you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Poppy,” said Prue, who found Poppy +trying, as she so often did, “do you think you’re +the only one feeling bad? Don’t you suppose we +care? Isn’t Mark—isn’t Mark—our own Jack—Jack-in-the-Box?”</p> + +<p>Prue had great difficulty in getting to the end +of her sentence, and when she did haltingly reach +it her own tears were flowing, but quietly.</p> + +<p>“Shall we sit in Château Branche just a few +minutes to get rested so we can go home? I feel +sort of weak,” said Isabel, and Prue saw that +she was as white as a white rose petal, even her +lips colorless; it was Isa’s way to take a blow +silently, but with tragic intensity.</p> + +<p>They climbed up into their house in the great +pine, each one thinking how beautifully Mark’s +father had prepared this for them, as well as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>so many other things which they enjoyed. And +Isabel, looking off with great tears on her lashes, +her gray-blue eyes black from their dilated +pupils, with black hollows below them, realized +how she and Prue might come here by and by—provided +they had the courage to come—and +sit here, as to-day, without Mark, forever without +Mark. The thought was unbearable.</p> + +<p>Down went Isa’s head on her knees, which she +was clasping with tense fingers.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s too awful, too awful!” she murmured. +“It can’t be true! I’m going to hope something +will happen! I’m going to pray for it! Let’s +all pray for something to happen to let us keep +our Jack-in-the-Box.”</p> + +<p>“But it won’t,” said Prue dismally.</p> + +<p>“It might!” cried Isabel, raising her head and +tossing her hair out of her eyes. “We must believe +it will, and pray hard!”</p> + +<p>“It could, couldn’t it, Isa?” cried Poppy, enkindled +by the idea. “Should we call this Church +Branche, instead of Château Branche, and pray +and pray, right here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, here comes Mark! See how slowly he’s +coming, and Semp marching beside him! Oh, it +must be true when he comes so very slowly!” said +Prue, before Poppy’s question could be answered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>“Are you up here?” asked Mark preparing to +swing himself up into Château Branche.</p> + +<p>“We’re coming down, Mark,” said Isabel. +“Don’t come up; we have to go home.”</p> + +<p>The three little girls descended, Mark quietly +offering each his hand. It was as if he had grown +up since they had last seen him, so grave, so kind, +so gentle was his manner.</p> + +<p>Isabel was last to get down. She stood where +she alighted and looked at Mark, and quietly +Mark looked at her, his lips twitching.</p> + +<p>“It is all true,” said Isabel slowly. “I hoped +Poppy was mistaken. It is all true that—that—you +are going away, Jack-in-the-Box.”</p> + +<p>“Hard luck, Isa,” muttered Mark. “But +daddy has no chance at good business here, and +he has in Boston. Yes, Isa, it is true. Daddy +and Motherkins told me themselves. I—I—I’m +horribly sorry, Isa, but we’ve got to stand it the +best that’s in us.”</p> + +<p>“If we can stand it at all that’ll be the way we +must,” said Isabel. “It will take the best we +can do even to live, let alone stand it! Will—will +you go soon, Jack-in-the-Box, dear?”</p> + +<p>“About September first, daddy thought,” said +Mark.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Isabel brightening; her mind had +been keyed up to a parting at once. “A lot can +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>happen before then. We’re going to pray for +something to stop it, and that gives us time!”</p> + +<p>She smiled quite cheerfully, as if the working +of a miracle was made more probable by allowing +more time for it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br> +<small>MERRILY PUTTING OFF SORROW</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">“YOU’RE to come home with Poppy and me, +Isa and Prue; Motherkins said so,” said +Mark. “She was going to call up your mothers, +and ask them to let you stay to supper. She said +we might get it ourselves. We’re going to have +ice cream.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever in this world <i>for</i>?” demanded Prue. +“Funny time to have a party when we’re too +miserable to talk!”</p> + +<p>“Motherkins said we must have all the good +times, and just as good times, as we can while we—before +we—go away.” Mark’s voice trembled +over the end of this sentence. “And of course it +isn’t a party; just ourselves puttering into things +in the kitchen, the way we always do.”</p> + +<p>“And of course we’ll love it!” Isabel came to +Mark’s rescue. “Poppy, try not to show how +you feel about Hurrah, and don’t cry before +Motherkins.”</p> + +<p>“H’uh! Don’t you s’pose she knows about +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>Hurrah and me? I’ll bet she hates to leave him +her ownself!” said Poppy with a scornful sniff. +“I b’lieve you’n Prue’s full as likely to cry as +me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll all do our very best to be jolly,” +said Isabel.</p> + +<p>“I’m saddest now in my stomach; it aches, I +cried so hard,” said Poppy, and the other three +could not help laughing, which proved to be a +helpful start toward cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>Bunkie, blissfully ignorant of the misfortune +that had befallen his friends, ran back and forth +ahead of them as the children started for Hawthorne +House. Pincushion came to meet them +down the grass at the rear of the house, talking, +as she always did, with every step, softly cooing: +“M-m-m-m,” at the sight of Bunkie whom the +little cat loved with as great fervor as when she +was a kitten.</p> + +<p>“Oh, and there are Bunkie and Cushla! They +love each other so; how will they stand part——”</p> + +<p>“Prue!” Isabel interrupted Prue’s lament. +“Now, don’t begin that! Aren’t we forgetting +every single minute, with all our might, so why +do you want to remind us?”</p> + +<p>There was no chance to be dismal in meeting +Motherkins. She stood at the top of the steps +waving her hands girlishly. Behind her stood the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>grim person who had come to Hawthorne House +to do the housework, and was so exceedingly +gloomy that she made everybody else cheerful. +Flossie Doolittle was her name, not one bit suitable, +for she was a great worker, and nothing +could have been less like her than “Flossie.” But +the trifling name, worn by the solemn and rather +elderly woman, was so funny that the children +never got used to it.</p> + +<p>“Ice cream, my guests!” called Motherkins the +moment the children were within reach of her +voice. “My son Gilbert, your Mr. Daddé, has +brought us up a quantity of ice, and I have cream +so heavy it will hold up a spoon! Flossie is going +to let you do anything that you please in her +kitchen, and not interfere, unless you ask her +help. And I am going to get out the plates you +like best—those thin French ones with the bronze-gold +border—and we shall have one of those nicest +parties, the kind that you don’t plan, and which +are not celebrating anything, but having a good +time. What will each of you make for supper? +And what sort of cream shall it be? We’ll have +to take a vote on that.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Prue with a vivid remembrance +of an attempt she had once made to get up a half +dozen delicacies, and what a failure it had been, +“I say don’t try a whole lot of things. Don’t +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>each of us make something different, but let’s +make about two things, and work together. We +don’t need such a lot—I think ice cream is enough +for supper.”</p> + +<p>“Prudence always proves true to her name!” +laughed Motherkins. “That’s a sensible sugges—what +shall it be?”</p> + +<p>“I can frazzle—I mean frizzle dried beef nice,” +said Prue, and they all laughed.</p> + +<p>“I can do potatoes in the oven, sliced and +baked in milk,” said Isabel. “We could use some +of the milk you skimmed for the ice cream, +Motherkins.”</p> + +<p>“Economical Isa! And that sort of potatoes is +delicious. But not everything done in milk, +please! Prue, what else besides frizzled beef +could you offer us?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make cake,” said Prue, and they saw that +she did not quite enjoy having her beef laughed +at.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Motherkins, there’s cold chicken left! If +only you’d let me make those croquet ball things—you +showed me how you did it; I’ll bet I +could!”</p> + +<p>Poppy spoke as if she had long yearned to do +this.</p> + +<p>“Croquettes, funny Poppy!” cried Motherkins. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>“But they are balls, it’s true. I don’t believe +you could ever go through two wickets at a +time with one! Croquettes be it; isn’t that +enough?”</p> + +<p>“Too much,” said Prue decidedly. “What +sort of cream?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s make ourselves into a convention; daddy +told me how they nominate the president. I +nominate chocolate ice cream. Anybody else +want my candidate?” asked Mark.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Poppy.</p> + +<p>“I don’t; I want brown sugar caramel cream,” +said Isabel.</p> + +<p>“O-o-oh, so do I!” cried Prue, smacking her +lips.</p> + +<p>“Convention is evenly divided—unless you’ll +vote, Motherkins-wee?” said Mark.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hawthorne shook her head decidedly. +“All your choice, this supper,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Then one of you must vote with us, or one of +us with you,” said Mark. “I don’t care; I’ll say +caramel——”</p> + +<p>“No, listen!” interrupted Isa. “I say make +plain cream, without any flavor, or else the weeniest +little drop of vanilla in it—and make a chocolate +sauce to pour over it. We all like that.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the dark horse in the convention!” cried +Mark. “When they don’t get enough votes for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>one candidate they put up a bran new one nobody +thought of, and get together on him. We’ll +have the chocolate sauce candidate, the dark +horse Senator Isabel nominated!”</p> + +<p>“It <i>is</i> dark; chocolate sauce always is,” observed +literal-minded Prue thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I may’s well get out pans for you +young ones; young ones always uses a great +many they no need to,” said Flossie mournfully. +“I think you’ve got comp’ny to your party unexpected. +There’s a wagon drivin’ in, and if I’m +not much mistook it’s the bottle man again that +come here not so long back, and is a friend o’ +Poppy’s, who ought to be called by her name and +not such a no-name ’tall as Poppy, even though +her name is Gladys, which is by far too silly and +ornamental for the Meiggs part of her name.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you should worry!” said Poppy indignantly. +“Oh, Motherkins, it is Mr. Thomas +Burke, 906 North Street, Hertonsburg, and his +wife’s along!”</p> + +<p>Poppy had run to the window in the pantry +from which she could see the barn and her friends +alighting from the wagon, which they were leaving +in the barnyard. She ran back with her +tidings, her face radiant; she always gave Mr. +Burke’s address when she spoke of him as if it +were part of his name.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>“I’m glad that they’ve come,” said Motherkins +heartily. “And the moral of this, as the +Duchess would say, is always to have a party +ready in case unexpected guests arrive.”</p> + +<p>She went out to welcome and bring in the +Burkes, and the children looked after her admiringly. +Sweet and calm, ready to give the children +a good time and to take part in it, who that +had not known would have guessed that brave +little Motherkins had received a hard blow and +bore a heavy heart in her breast?</p> + +<p>“I hope I shall grow up like her, just exactly +like my mother and her!” said Isabel, and it was +not necessary to say why, for Prue echoed:</p> + +<p>“So do I hope I shall!”</p> + +<p>Poppy had run after Motherkins and now returned +leading a large, sunny looking woman, +with a broad hat trimmed with cornflowers, much +askew from riding in the jolting wagon, crowning +disordered hair.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, continuing something she had +been telling Motherkins, who followed her into +the room, “my man had to be over beyond here +to-morrow, so he came around this way to-day +to tell your husband—I mean your son, ma’am—something +about that little man he met one day, +as he was telling you the time he was here previous. +It seems that little hunchback man had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>something on his mind to do with you folks. He +was to the doctor’s over to Hertonsburg and was +hinting at it. When Poppy wrote us—’twasn’t +just so easy to read, but we made out you was +in trouble and a-going to lose your fine home, and +so we kinder put two and two together, as the +saying is, and wondered if the little man was +mixed up with your trouble some way.”</p> + +<p>“Poppy wrote you about it?” Motherkins +looked at Poppy with surprise, and a little disapproval.</p> + +<p>“I told Mis’ Burke that most likely you was +goin’ to get poor again, and I asked her, if you +did, could they take me into the bottle business +and let me work for ’em? And I said I’d let ’em +use my horse—Hurrah, I mean—and I’d tag +along behind on the buckboard, working for ’em, +if they’d take me into business,” said Poppy with +great dignity.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burke winked at Motherkins mysteriously, +though a child less bright than Poppy could +not have missed that wink, nor failed to see that +it meant admiration of herself.</p> + +<p>“She did that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Burke. +“We’d be proud to travel like a circus, as Tom +said, with Poppy following the big wagon, but +we didn’t want to make a bargain by mail, not +letting you in on it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>“We’re having a kind of a party,” said Poppy, +changing an unpleasant for a pleasant subject, +“and we’d ought to be fixing things.”</p> + +<p>“Leave me help!” said Mrs. Burke, instantly +unbuttoning and rolling up her sleeves. “I know +how to do most anything, if I do say it, and I +ain’t fond of not doin’ most anything, all the +time—I hate loafin’!”</p> + +<p>So in a short time the kitchen hummed with industry. +Isabel was slicing potatoes; Poppy was +shredding chicken from its bones; Prue was beating +eggs, and Mark, pinned up in a roller towel, +was scraping chocolate for the sauce, a dark +streak on one cheek that suggested—but it was +not sweetened chocolate, so perhaps he had not +been taking toll-tastes of his material.</p> + +<p>When the table was set—Flossie had attended +to that at a hint from Motherkins—Isabel +brought in her potatoes in their casserole, trying +not to look proud of the wrinkled brownness of +their milky top. But when they were served she +tried—less successfully—not to look mortified; +the slices of potatoes were hard; the milk had +boiled and browned, but the potatoes were raw.</p> + +<p>Poppy’s croquettes fell apart when they were +taken out of the boiling fat, and she had not been +sure that she had salted them, so she had put in a +generous amount, which, as it was the second salting, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>made the croquettes something to taste once, +choke over and forever after to avoid.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, who wants anything but ice cream +and cake when it’s around, anyway?” asked +Poppy, winking back her tears of mortification.</p> + +<p>“Got a whopping freezerful!” cried Mark. “I +thought of a way to make it three kinds, too! +First, plain—and it’s good that way; it’s rich. +Then with chocolate sauce over it. Then with +strawberry jam over it. Flossie said we might +do that, and it’s great.”</p> + +<p>“Guessing, or knowledge, Mark?” hinted his +father.</p> + +<p>Mark laughed. “Knowledge; I tasted it,” he +owned up.</p> + +<p>Mark served the cream. Eight saucers were +brought in by him heaped and running over.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, dear, where <i>are</i> we to put the +sauce? I am sure there is a pint of ice cream in +this saucer! Poppy, dear, please hand me another +plate to put half of this on,” cried Motherkins.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Motherkins, the freezer is full and it holds +two gallons!” remonstrated Mark. “Don’t take +any off; we’ve as much again all around.”</p> + +<p>“Sure you can pack it!” said Mr. Burke, speaking +for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Burke; this boy cares more +for the safety of the cream than for his poor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>little grandmother!” said Motherkins pathetically.</p> + +<p>“Eat a crater in the top first, and then put on +sauce to fill it,” advised Prue, rapidly taking +helpings of cream from the top of her piled-up +plate, carefully keeping the sides alike by turning +the spoon around like a drill. “I think my cake +is all right.”</p> + +<p>“Your cake is delicious, Prue,” said Mr. Hawthorne, +though everybody else laughed at Prue. +“And the ice cream is too good for it to grieve +us if we can’t find room for sauce over it. This +is a nice party!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we have nice parties! We have nice +parties!” Isabel’s voice quavered as she said this +and she bent forward and scooped out the middle +of her cream to hide her emotion, scooping so +hard that the melted cream at the base of the cone +overflowed the edge of her plate without her +seeing it.</p> + +<p>For a moment there was a dangerous tendency +on the part of the four children to tears; it was +easy to understand that Isabel was thinking of +the day, now drawing near, when there would be +no more of these impromptu good times.</p> + +<p>“Well!” It was Mr. Burke who saved the day +by speaking as if he were unconscious of this danger. +“What I would be sayin’ is that if Mrs. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>Hawthorne would trust me an’ my wife, an’ well +she may, for we’d look after Poppy our best an’ +Mrs. Burke’s best is as good as best comes, we’d +take Poppy along to-morrow for a trip. We’ll +be coming this way again, back on our tracks, +three days from now, an’ Poppy might harness +up her Arabian race horse an’ follow along on +the buckboard, an’ try how she’d like the business. +What do you say to it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! Oh, yes!” Poppy started up, clapping +her hands. Then she stopped, and fell +back in her chair with a sudden gust of tears. +“Oh, no! Oh, no; I couldn’t! I couldn’t leave +Isabel for so long, not now—nor Prue,” she +added, but plainly as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>“Well, if that’s the only objection, take them +along,” suggested Mr. Burke. “An’ Mark, too. +Even if you ain’t parting from him, like the girls +here, it’ll do no harm to have him with us. If +it’s too big a pull for Hurrah’s well-known delicacy +of constitution, there’s room in the wagon +for the lot of ye, or any one of ye, to ride amongst +me an’ Mrs. Tommy Burke an’ the bottles.”</p> + +<p>“And sell our garden truck, the way we +planned!” cried Prue. “It’s ready this minute! +We’ve got to sell it, because that’s why we raised +it, and we said we would, even if it is too late to +save up money enough for this house.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>“Might we, Mrs. Hawthorne? If you said +Poppy and Mark could go, I know mother would +think I could. I’d love it.” Isabel leaned over +the table, her eyes shining, her lips parted by +her quick breath.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any objections. It would be great +sport for you,” said Motherkins.</p> + +<p>“You’re such a darling!” cried Prue. “You +always see why things are nice, just as we do. +Hurry up with that cream, Mark. I’ve got to +go up to the Club Room for the scales.”</p> + +<p>“What for?” asked Mark, filling the crater he +had made in the middle of his ice cream with a +great spoonful of chocolate syrup. “My, but it’s +luscious! I will not hurry!”</p> + +<p>“To weigh our vegetables. I left the scales up +there.” Prue nearly choked herself with ice +cream covered with strawberry jam; she did not +mind that the others laughed. “We’ll be gypsying. +We’ll sleep outdoors, shan’t we? I want to! +Poppy and Isa and I will roll up in blankets +and sleep on the buckboard! Mark can sleep in +the wagon, or use his father’s tent that he used +to have last summer. Oh, Mr. Burke, you are +an angel!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be after getting a new sign painted: ‘T. +Burke, Angel. Dealer in Glass Bottles,’” said +Mr. Burke with his twinkle.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>“Come with me,” said Prue to Isa, as she hastily +took her last spoonful of ice cream, so large +a spoonful that she clapped her hand to her +cheek, for it made her teeth ache.</p> + +<p>Isa followed her out of the door and up to the +Club Room. Nobody had visited the room that +day. As the little girls opened the door and +rushed in, being in a great hurry to get the +scales, they stopped short and looked around, +then stared at each other.</p> + +<p>The couch was pulled forward, its cover +thrown off, its pillows piled up and the top one +dented with the unmistakable impression of a +head in it.</p> + +<p>“Some one has slept here!” cried Prue.</p> + +<p>“And it surely wasn’t Kathie,” added Isabel, +pointing to a cigar stub and ashes and burnt +matches which lay on one of the saucers of their +cherished set of cups and saucers.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br> +<small>GYPSYING</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">THE children stampeded down stairs.</p> + +<p>“Some one slept in the Club Room last +night!” Isa shouted. “Some one’s been there! +Not Kathie, because there’s the end of a cigar on +the table.”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t be Kathie if there weren’t a +cigar,” said Prue. “Kathie wouldn’t come there +to <i>sleep</i>!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne looked at his mother, she at +him, and Mr. Burke gave his wife a startled look +which he tried to change into a careless one and +carry on to the sideboard, as if he were examining +the silver on it, because he did not want to +alarm the children more than they were already +frightened. They could easily see, however, that +the four grown people took their announcement +seriously.</p> + +<p>“There’s no kind of use in letting this go on +longer without trying to find out who is at the +bottom of all these mysterious happenings,” said +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>Mr. Hawthorne. “I believe I’ll sleep in that +room for a while.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, daddy, let me!” implored Mark.</p> + +<p>“You’re going gypsying with the Burkes in +the morning, aren’t you? You can’t watch that +room till you get back; then we’ll see.” Mark’s +father evaded a direct answer. “If you are going +you ought to be ready to-night, by the way. +Gather your garden products while it is still light, +and get together whatever you need for an early +start.”</p> + +<p>“Is that really a go? I was afraid it was fooling,” +Mark said, looking delighted and forgetting +the mystery of the Club Room for the moment.</p> + +<p>“It’s a go an’ a going ’s far ’s I’m concerned, +my young Hawberry,” said Mr. Burke, looking +with admiration at Mark’s eager, handsome +face, all alight with anticipation.</p> + +<p>“You are nice to us, and we like you a great +deal, Mr. Burke. It’s a pity you haven’t any +children to go around with you,” Prue said in her +elderly fashion.</p> + +<p>“Whist!” said Mr. Burke, glancing anxiously +at his wife to see if she heard.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Prue, you mustn’t speak of that; they +died!” whispered Isabel nervously.</p> + +<p>“We’d take Poppy along the whole season, if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>she’d come,” Mr. Burke said loudly. “But it’s +not every youngster we’d say it of.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t go, much ’s I love you. Come on +and pick vegettubles,” said Poppy, pulling Isabel +out of the room by her belt.</p> + +<p>“I’ve gotter curry Hurrah. I thought you +done—did—it with curry powder, but you don’t; +Mr. Thomas Burke showed me how.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t reach to curry him; he’s a tall horse, +and you are a whippet, as the Burkes say,” Mark +reminded her.</p> + +<p>“I’ll curry all I can reach,” Poppy answered, +not at all discouraged. “It’s elegant to do. You +use something you call a comb, but ’tain’t, and +you kind of hiss through your teeth when you +rub him. Mr. Burke showed me. He says the +hiss you mustn’t leave out, ’cause no one ever does +it right who ain’t a hisser currying. I got heaps +of radishes now to sell, and my second peas. We +gotter hustle and pick things.”</p> + +<p>“My string beans are as good as the best, and +I’ll have a bushel to take, I’m pretty sure,” Mark +said proudly.</p> + +<p>“It’s been pretty dry for my lettuce, but some +is tender,” said Prue anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You can see for yourselves my flowers are +lovely. But I wonder if there’s any use of taking +them to sell?” sighed Isabel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>“I don’t see a bit of use in any of it,” said +Prue. “We were just plain silly! We know +now we couldn’t raise enough to keep the house, +so what’s the use of doing a little?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe they’ll need money till Mr. Hawthorne +gets well started in business,” said Isabel, +with a sense of delicacy upon her in alluding to +Mark’s family affairs before him.</p> + +<p>Poppy was not wasting time. She had taken +a hoe out with her and was digging radishes so +recklessly that she cut many of them, but she +said she “didn’t care; there were tons too many +of ’em.”</p> + +<p>Then she picked peas, tearing down the vines +to get them, and had her basket filled in an amazingly +short time. Prue selected tender lettuce +heads with care; Mark gathered a bushel basketful +of crisply tender wax beans, and Isabel gathered +quantities of sweet peas, mignonette, alyssum, +which, piled on a tray, filled the air with +fragrance.</p> + +<p>“It seems ’s if we ought to make a good business. +Now, you watch me curry!” said Poppy.</p> + +<p>Without the least fear, nor reason for fear, for +the tall horse knew and loved her, Poppy went +into Hurrah’s stall and began to curry him, “hissing +through her teeth” in approved hostler fashion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>Poppy could reach only Hurrah’s shoulders +and chest and legs, so the currying left a good +deal of him undone, but she rubbed and hissed +and got warm and dusty over all that she could +reach of her comrade, and suddenly threw her +currycomb from her and burst into tempestuous +tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, oh, oh! When you think I can’t keep on +doing it!” she screamed.</p> + +<p>Isabel vainly tried to soothe her, privately +thinking that it was not a good reason for crying +that one could not curry a horse, however dear.</p> + +<p>There was an early and most exciting start in +the morning of the remarkable expedition. First, +the blue wagon, boxes in its body, rattling with +bottles of sorts and sizes; on its high seat the jolly +Burkes, both red in the face and full of laughter. +And on a blanket, thrown over an empty box, +set bottom-side-up, Mark, carrying a fantastic +flag which he had hastily made after he had gone +to his room the night before. It was a square of +flaming scarlet, ornamented with pasted designs +in white. Dangling from the two corners which +were not attached to its pole hung a small bottle +to announce to the world the business upon which +this wagon rolled through it.</p> + +<p>Behind the wagon came the buckboard drawn +by tall Hurrah, all sorts of bundles lashed on its +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>floor; on its seat three little girls, cleaner than +they would long be, seated so low, driving +through dusty roads; the smallest, with her flaming +hair almost as conspicuous as Mark’s red flag +on the big wagon, holding the lines, her brow +knit, her lips pursed, her eyes intent, exactly as +if Hurrah would be likely to do anything but follow +his leader.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, and we’ll be back the day after to-morrow, +ma’ams,” said Mr. Burke to Mrs. Hawthorne +and Mrs. Lindsay and Mrs. Wayne, who +had come up to see the start.</p> + +<p>“Oh, bring them home safe, Mr. Burke!” cried +Mrs. Lindsay, her heart suddenly sinking as she +wondered at herself for consenting to let her one +ewe lamb go on this fantastic excursion.</p> + +<p>“Sure, ma’am, if I was dead myself I’d look +after them, that anxious am I to bring them back +safe!” replied Mr. Thomas Burke, giving his +horse the signal to start as he waved his hat in +the air and grinned broadly over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“You may as well do your selling in Trout +Brook, to which we’re coming shortly,” suggested +Mr. Burke. “It’s a summer cottagers’ +paradise, so ’tis, an’ they’ll buy fresh vegetables +like crazy. An’ same with Isabel’s flowers.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke proved a true prophet. At Trout +Brook people were so tired of the lack of events +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>in the quiet place where they had come for rest +that they were eager to buy.</p> + +<p>String beans and Poppy’s peas went in a trice. +Isabel’s flowers were in such demand for the +adornment of living rooms and dining tables that +she was sold out in a few minutes, and hardly +knew how to meet the rush of trade.</p> + +<p>Lettuce was less desired, because, being so +easily raised, some of the cottagers had planted it +in their gardens. But most of that sold, too, and +when the big and the little equipages and drivers +started on there were no vegetables nor flowers +left on the buckboard, only a little lettuce which +Isa said would come in beautifully with their own +lunch. Mark was made the cashier; he buttoned +nearly sixteen dollars into his jacket pocket, the +result of the children’s garden products.</p> + +<p>They went off in a gay mood, trying not to +laugh, because they heard a lady say as they +started away, a lady who had evidently spent +years abroad and wanted it known:</p> + +<p>“What an extraordinary country America is! +Really, do you know, those children appeared +quite refined and intelligent! Not in the least +like hucksters’ children!”</p> + +<p>“Some of us ought to be refined, and some of +us intelligent. No fair any one being the whole +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>show!” muttered Mark softly. “Which do you +choose to be, Poppy?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know what you mean. Don’t bother +me; I’m driving,” said Poppy.</p> + +<p>Mark had come over to ride on the buckboard +with the other children, now that it was emptied +of the vegetables.</p> + +<p>“Here’s a watering place,” called Mr. Burke, +putting his hand on the back of his seat and +swinging half around to the children behind him.</p> + +<p>“This is the brook that the village is named +after. We’ve got to stop an’ let both horses +drink. Drive ahead, Poppy, an’ I’ll let down +Hurrah’s check.”</p> + +<p>He prepared to dismount, but Mark called to +him that he could and would let down Hurrah’s +check rein, and the big wagon drew to one side +of the road to let the buckboard go by.</p> + +<p>Hurrah drank long and blissfully, knee deep +in the middle of the brook, sucking up water and +blowing it out, sniffing it into his dusty nostrils +after he had had enough to drink.</p> + +<p>“My, but it looks good! Makes you feel cool +to watch him,” said Mark, reluctantly crawling +out on the shaft to pull up Hurrah’s head and +fasten the check rein again, the other horse whinnying +and pawing, impatient for his turn.</p> + +<p>The buckboard came up safely on the opposite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>bank of the watering place, going right through +the brook; Isabel and Prue were nervous over +the feat, but Hurrah knew his duty and did it.</p> + +<p>“Well, he may not be so awfully young, nor +fancy, but it’s pretty nice to know you can trust +Hurrah,” said Isabel emphatically.</p> + +<p>But, alas, horseflesh, like human nature, is +likely to have some weakness that may make it +break its record of sober good behavior!</p> + +<p>Hurrah feared no automobile, not the biggest +truck; locomotives, whole trains, were to him +nothing to look at. But paper blowing around +his feet was one thing that he could not endure. +This the children had not yet found out, yet if +they had known it they could hardly have helped +what happened.</p> + +<p>A large sheet of paper, which had got detached +from a billboard, advertising an auction that had +been held the previous spring, came rollicking +down the road, and fluttered and flourished between +Hurrah’s forelegs, and rustled noisily +against his hind ones.</p> + +<p>Hurrah drew himself together with a snort; all +his insulted legs seemed to be bunched for an instant. +Then he plunged, and ran down the road +at a speed no one could have imagined he could +have struck, the buckboard, and the children holding +to it, bounding and curving behind him, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>Poppy still holding the reins, but only at the +buckle, screaming at the top of her voice and +powerless to check Hurrah.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke was still standing beside his horse +in the stream. He could not go after the flying +Hurrah for a moment; if he had been able to, he +could not have hoped, with his lumbering wagon, +to catch Hurrah and the light buckboard.</p> + +<p>“Oh, angels in heaven, go after that horse!” +Thomas Burke groaned. “Oh, it’s killed entirely +they’ll be! However will I face their mothers! +Oh, sweet guardian angels, take care of them.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burke was clambering down backward +from the wagon, not aware that she was coming +down into the brook.</p> + +<p>“What’ll you be doin’, Ellen Burke? Do you +think you can catch ’em walkin’?” demanded her +husband.</p> + +<p>“I’m no angel, but I’m going after that mad +horse to see what I can do for them children when +I come up to where they’ll be lyin’, alive or dead,” +said Mrs. Burke, pale and resolute.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, I’m goin’ to drive after ’em, ain’t +I? Stay where ye are, me poor woman, an’ I’ll +make Cork go his best after the track of ’em,” +said Mr. Burke.</p> + +<p>Cork, the big Burke horse, was urged forward +and did his best, but Hurrah had a start, a light +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>load, and was frightened, so he went far beyond +the Burkes’ power to help.</p> + +<p>None of the children jumped. Mark bade +them hold on for their lives and not try to jump +out of the buckboard.</p> + +<p>“It’s low, if we do tip over, and we’ll take +the chance of Hurrah’s stopping soon,” he said, +keeping his presence of mind and trying to speak +courage to the cowering little girls.</p> + +<p>Prue sat with her head bent, her eyes closed, +holding to the seat. Isabel, deadly white, held +herself fast by one hand; the other grasped +Poppy, whom Mark also held, and who was so +frightened that she could not understand anything +said to her, nor in any way help the situation; +she would have thrown herself out if Isa +and Mark had not clutched her tight.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, while Hurrah was still in full flight, +there sprang out of the thick growth on the side +of the road a figure that seized Hurrah’s bridle.</p> + +<p>So suddenly it happened that the horse was +flung back on his haunches; he threw back his +head so high that the man, a tiny creature, was +swung off his feet. But he held on pluckily, and +Hurrah stopped. The children were saved.</p> + +<p>After a moment, in which all that they could +understand was that they were not killed, not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>harmed, and were not going to be, they looked at +the one to whom they owed their escape.</p> + +<p>It was the queer little man whom they had seen +in the woods! There was no mistaking his long +nose, his thin, dark face, his crooked little body.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how do you do?” gasped Prue.</p> + +<p>In spite of the fact that Isabel was crying +quietly, Poppy noisily, from the nervous relief +of being saved, the others giggled at this remark +from Prue.</p> + +<p>“I’m pretty well,” said the queer little man in +a thin, high, queer little voice that seemed, when +you heard it, to be the only voice that could come +out of that body.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you’d oughter drive such a mettlesome +horse. It’s dang’rous to be run away +with—for little girls like you,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mark and Isabel giggled again, but Poppy, +drying her eyes with a swift stroke of the back +of her hand across them, cried indignantly:</p> + +<p>“He ain’t meddlesome. He never meddles. +That old paper meddled with him and scared +him. He never run away before, and it’s because +a big paper went and flew all through his +legs!”</p> + +<p>“That’ll do it, that’ll do it! That’ll scare ’em +when trains a-rushin’ won’t,” said the little man, +not in the least tempted to laugh.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>“Well, I’m kinder glad I happened to be here +to keep you from getting killed. I think most +likely your folks’d been awful upset if you’d been +killed.”</p> + +<p>“They wouldn’t have liked it,” Mark admitted +without a smile. “We’re grateful to you. We’re +so grateful that we don’t know how to say it! +What can any one say for thanks when it’s like +this?”</p> + +<p>Mark jumped over the buckboard wheel and +went up to the little man with his hand out; his +beautiful eyes, which were the color of an oak +leaf in autumn, shone out through tears and his +voice shook.</p> + +<p>“Goodness me, ’twan’t anything; I happened +to be here,” said the little man. “You’re entirely +welcome.”</p> + +<p>“Please tell me your name,” said Mark. “Isabel, +Prue, Poppy, come; aren’t you going to +thank him?”</p> + +<p>“You’re a wonderful sweet, pretty child,” said +the little man to Isabel. “My name is Ichabod +Lemuel Rudd. You’re perfectly welcome, ’s I +said. I’d like to hear how you’re called, if ’tisn’t +impudence.”</p> + +<p>“Well, considering what you’ve done, I +wouldn’t call it that,” said Mark. “Mr. Rudd, +this is Prudence Wayne. This is Poppy Meiggs. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>This is Isabel Lindsay. I am Mark Hawthorne.”</p> + +<p>“What!” fairly shouted the little man. “Not +Gilbert Hawthorne’s boy? How’d you come +here? Gilbert’s boy! And I caught that horse! +Well, well!”</p> + +<p>He stood staring at Mark, forgetting the little +girls completely, excitement in his eyes and manner.</p> + +<p>“Do you know my father?” asked Mark. +“Come home with us and let him thank you. +There’s a big wagon coming along soon; we were +driving behind it, in the man’s care. You can +ride with him. Come home with us and see my +father.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, no! Maybe I’ll see him some day before +long; maybe not. I can’t seem to get it +right in my mind. Jiminy cats, it’s the bottle +man!” Ichabod Rudd cried, the first to catch sight +of the Burkes tearing, in a cloud of dust, toward +them. “Good-by, Gilbert Hawthorne’s boy!”</p> + +<p>Turning, the queer little man plunged into the +thick undergrowth, out of which he had sprung +to save the children, and instantly disappeared.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br> +<small>UNDER THE STARS</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">MR. BURKE’S wagon came rattling down +the road, its load of bottles jumping +around in their boxes in a way that threatened +their existence as bottles.</p> + +<p>“Whoa, there!” shouted Mr. Burke when he +espied the children standing at the side of the +road. He pulled in his horse so suddenly that +he threw the reliable beast back on his haunches.</p> + +<p>“Well, thank the Lord, you’re all right!” cried +Mrs. Burke, clambering down from the wagon +backward in her usual fashion. Her face was +deadly pale. “You <i>are</i> all right, ain’t you?” she +added.</p> + +<p>“All right; every one of us!” Mark called +back.</p> + +<p>“Well, by cricky, that was goin’ <i>some</i>!” said +Mr. Burke.</p> + +<p>“It was stopping some!” cried Mark, letting +Mr. Burke take his hand, which he had come +down out of the wagon to do. But Mark was too +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>much absorbed in the fact of their rescue by the +queer little man to be interested in the danger +they had escaped.</p> + +<p>“Say, Mr. Burke, who do you suppose caught +Hurrah?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, who’d you s’pose? Who’d you s’pose?” +echoed Poppy, dancing about like a firefly. +“That man! The queer little man! And we +know his name; it’s Kickabout! Did you ever!”</p> + +<p>Poppy was in such haste to tell all the news +herself that her tongue tripped over her words +and she stammered.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Poppy, it is not! It’s Ichabod!” Prue +said disgustedly. “He said Ichabod Lemuel +Rudd. Kickabout! Whoever heard such a +name!”</p> + +<p>“No, nor the other one, the right one,” said +Poppy. “Ain’t Hurrah just fine? I tell you, +he can go like a colt!”</p> + +<p>Poppy spoke with great enthusiasm thrown +into her voice, because she felt considerable fear +of Mr. Burke’s disapproving of Hurrah’s running +away.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke shook his head, frowning.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not so sure about the performance +bein’ fine! It depends on how you look at it. +There’s a lot of people wouldn’t call a horse that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>ran away so killin’ fine for a little girl to drive,” +he said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but it was paper! There’s hardly ever +handbills blowing around in the road. You don’t +see ’em!” Poppy swept the road in both directions +with a wide gesture of her right arm, meaning +to prove that handbills were not to be seen. +“It came along just flopping, and it flopped right +in under Hurrah’s legs. You couldn’t blame him +for getting nervous. I think it’s great the way he +ran, and folks saying he’s old!”</p> + +<p>“If you want a good jounce it’s the old horse +you think you know’ll be givin’ it to you,” said +Mr. Burke, again shaking his head dubiously. +“I’ll be watchin’ out for handbills cavortin’ along +after this, for I suppose you’ll have to drive +back, seein’ as none of you, nor my wife no more, +could drive the wagon. Whatever did you do +with your little friend, wid the long nose on him, +Mark? There’s no sign of him.”</p> + +<p>“He dropped down through the undergrowth +and took to his heels like a rabbit when he saw +you coming. He said, ‘Oh, it’s the bottle man!’ +and off he went,” said Mark. “I was asking him +to come to see my father; he seemed half to want +to, but instead he melted off quicker than an +icicle.”</p> + +<p>“Which is about the shape an’ size of him! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>Maybe he was afraid the bottle man would put +him in one of them flat, thin bottles, an’ be off +to set the black little wisp of a man he is on the +shelf, mistakin’ him for ink! It is a queer one he +is, whatever’s the matter wid him!” laughed Mr. +Burke.</p> + +<p>“Now, I’m thinkin’ that we’ll make a camp for +the night, for I promised ye we’d sleep out, +though we might push on an’ find a place under +cover, did you vote for it.”</p> + +<p>“We vote to sleep out!” cried Isabel, who had +been so badly frightened by the runaway that +she now spoke for the first time.</p> + +<p>“Oh, mercy, yes; all the nights,” said Poppy +decidedly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d not wonder if this was the one +night we were gone. I’m thinkin’ I’ll be turnin’ +back to-morrow an’ make the rest of the trip +the next time,” said Mr. Burke, not caring to +explain to Poppy that Hurrah’s running had +brought his wife and himself to this decision as +they gave chase to the buckboard with hearts +frozen with fear.</p> + +<p>“Let us once get them, and no great harm +done, and it’s back we’ll go with those children +to-morrow, Thomas Burke, and take no risk of +another scare,” Mrs. Burke had said, as she and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>her husband tore down the road in pursuit of +Hurrah amid the rattling bottles.</p> + +<p>“We should be willing to stay longer,” said +Poppy, most politely.</p> + +<p>“Now, that’s kind of you!” Mr. Burke spoke +with extreme heartiness, but though she looked +at him quickly, Poppy’s sharp eyes could not +discover that he was making fun of her. “All the +same, I’d forgotten to remember, but now I’m +remembering not to forget, that I must go back +to Greenacres to-morrow an’ take in the country +beyond another time. I’d like the opinion of +the sailors on the good ship Buckboard as to the +best place to anchor for the night.”</p> + +<p>“Take soundings, Captain,” said Mark, responding +in kind to Mr. Burke’s fooling, offering +him a piece of ribbon that had been around +a candy box, hardly long enough to “take soundings” +in a bath tub.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke tied the horses to trees and started +out, followed by the four children.</p> + +<p>“I’ll stop where I am,” Mrs. Burke announced, +making herself comfortable in the wagon. “I’m +that tired with the fright and holding myself fast +when we walloped along, chasing you young ones, +that sittin’ down looks good to me. When you’ve +found the place to sleep you’ll be back here, anyways, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>to get the things there’s here, and I may as +well be one of ’em.”</p> + +<p>It was not necessary to go far to find a camping +place that could not have been bettered. Isabel +was right when she said it was a pity not to +use it for more than one night, so perfect it was.</p> + +<p>They came upon a glade surrounded by trees, +reached by a sloping clearing, so that there would +be no difficulty in bringing the horses to it. A +little spring was just beyond, making its presence +known by a thread of sound as it trickled +down over rocks on its way to the river that +flowed on to the outskirts of Greenacres. It was +such a sweet, refreshingly restful little sound, +so full of hints of flowers watered by the spring, +of far-off, hidden places where the stream rose, +such a gentle lullaby to which to sleep, that Mr. +Burke said it was a shame not to stay awake to +think how nice it was to sleep by, and he couldn’t +see why Isabel and Mark laughed.</p> + +<p>“Well, unless we marched on to Eden, an’ +I’m not clear where we’d be findin’ it, since +Adam an’ Eve destroyed the map of the road +there, we’d never come upon another such spot to +spend the night, so it’s back Mark an’ I go to +bring the chariot an’ band wagon of this circus, +an’ the star performer, who is Mrs. Thomas +Burke, by the same token!” announced Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>Burke, leading the way again to whence they +had started out.</p> + +<p>“Put a fire in the range, Poppy, an’ cut the +fruit cake, while Isabel an’ Prue lays the damask +an’ the silver, for we’ll have supper once we +get here,” Mr. Burke turned back to say.</p> + +<p>Neither the fire, nor the range to hold it, nor +silver, nor damask were to be seen when the +Burkes came back with Mark, bringing horses +and belongings. But the little girls had laid the +largest leaves which they could find for plates +in a circle on the grass, and Isabel had cleverly +bound twigs into an approach to the shape of a +vase and had put them in the center of the circle, +which represented the table, so that it really +might be imagined to be a table, if one brought +to it a respectable amount of imagination.</p> + +<p>There were wonderful things to eat—or was +it that the shadowy, poetic spot transformed +everything with its charm?</p> + +<p>Bread and butter is every-day enough to us +lucky people who have not been taught what it +is to lack it, yet this white bread, with its golden-brown +crust—“the color of Mark’s eyes,” Prue +said, unexpectedly observant—the yellow, yellow +butter, fragrant of the grass and clover which +had gone to make its cream, seemed raised above +bread and butter known in houses, and to be a sort +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>of fairy food. And there were slices of beef as +thin as leaves, and of ham, all rosy and white; +and jams and jellies in glasses—surely no jam +and jelly had ever looked like this at home! And +cake! Golden, with white icing, as if a peach had +stayed out too late on its tree and got caught in +the first light snow of November. There was +white cake with a brown coating in layers and on +top, that proved, when bitten into, to be not ordinary +chocolate icing, but fudge. It was fudge +delicious enough to make any one’s very palate +sing, all crumbly, yet smooth and soft, chocolatey, +yet buttery—the sort of fudge that every fudge-maker +knows comes by luck in boiling and beating, +and may or may not ever be got a second +time!</p> + +<p>And there were big, bulging blackberries, full +of juice and sweetness, but not of seeds, all ready +to go to pieces and yield up their perfect flavor +when any one pressed them, with a delighted +tongue, up against the roof of a mouth that +would surely promptly open to get another such +berry! And, last of all, there was lemonade, kept +cool in stone jugs, because thermos bottles, not +even all that the Hawthornes and Waynes and +Lindsays owned, would not hold enough.</p> + +<p>“Some supper!” said Poppy, or meant to.</p> + +<p>What she really said was, “Thum thupper!” a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>thick lisp, because of too large a mouthful of +fudge cake and the fudge clogging her tongue.</p> + +<p>“If you asked me,” said Mark solemnly, “I’d +say it wasn’t a supper, but a banquet.”</p> + +<p>“Does it make it a banquet to eat too much?” +asked Prue. “Because, if it does, it is; I have +eaten too much, a great deal too much, and I’m so +uncomfortable that I love it—to feel so tight! +Because I never, <span class="allsmcap">NEVER</span> in all my life, ate such +good things!”</p> + +<p>“Why not sit up all night?” suggested Isabel, +her eyes fixed on the afterglow of the sunset seen +through the trees, its soft colors still more softened +by the half-veiling green, and upon the few +stars beginning to appear in the east, opposite +the purpling pinks of the west.</p> + +<p>“We all turn in at nine,” said Mr. Burke, consulting +his able-bodied, open-faced watch. “It’s +now eight o’clock an’ fifteen minutes. Mark my +words, by nine there won’t be one of you hardly +able to see where you’re turnin’ in, that sleepy +will you be! I’m goin’—with Mark’s help—to +turn the buckboard over an’ let the three little +girls have plenty blankets an’ sleep under it; +’twill make a kind of roof over ’em for keepin’ +off dampness. The big wagon’s not altogether +comfortable, but Mark’ll make out in it, along +wid us. You’re not so fussy, sleepin’ out, as you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>do be in your homes, when you complain if there’s +a small wrinkle in the sheet under you! How’d +it be to be givin’ us a small concert till bedtime—if +there’s enough breath in you after that supper? +Some nice songs, an’ then hymns, last of +all, for a help to night prayers an’ safe sleepin’?”</p> + +<p>The children all sang well, all but Prue, whose +ear was not wholly reliable. Isabel was decidedly +musical; she was alive to beauty in every form, +and her voice was sweet and true. Mark had a +rarely lovely voice, a pure, high boy soprano that +was a delight, but Poppy, Poppy with her plain +little face, her red hair and freckles, had the gift +of a voice so exquisite that no one could think +of her as a child while she was singing; she became +only a voice to be listened to with the same +sort of joy felt when the little brown thrasher +sings unseen on a tree near by. She seemed only +a song so lovely that it was impossible to consider +the body from which it sprang.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Poppy, at once assenting to +Mr. Burke’s suggestion.</p> + +<p>Without waiting for any one else, she at once +began to sing “Loch Lomond,” that haunting, +sweet, pathetic song, filled with patient sorrow +for a joy that is done.</p> + +<p>The others joined in, Isabel singing softly her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>true little alto, keeping it down because she loved +to listen to Poppy and Mark.</p> + +<p>They sang and sang “Annie Laurie,” “Bonny +Charley,” “Sweet Afton,” “Bonny Doon,” for +they all loved the Scotch songs best, and Isabel +Lindsay, as her name showed, had a right to, if +the blood of her Highland forebears was truly +in her.</p> + +<p>“Well, now, some Irish ones, the best of all!” +hinted Mr. Burke, and he started them with “Believe +Me If All Those Endearing Young +Charms,” which they all knew. He was half +offended that they knew few others, but Mark +saved his feelings by singing “Kathleen Mavourneen” +as it should be sung, and making him cry +a little without being ashamed that they all +knew it.</p> + +<p>By this time there were many stars in the east +and south. Cassiopeia’s Chair and Andromeda +and Perseus were up, as well as the Great Bear, +in the north, though only Isabel and Mark knew +them all. Isabel’s mother had taught them to +her in the twilight talks they always had, and +which Isabel was missing that night, and Mark +had learned them from his father when he was a +tiny lad, out under the stars, camping with his +wonderful daddy.</p> + +<p>“Now the hymns,” said Mr. Burke, once more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>looking at his watch. “An’, moreover, there’s +not time for half I’d like of them, if we keep to +the hour.”</p> + +<p>“Let us not keep to the hour, dear Mr. Burke; +let us keep to the singing,” whispered Isabel, putting +her hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>“I’ll not believe you’re of Scotch descent at all; +it’s Irish your ancestors were, acushla!” declared +Mr. Burke, looking fondly down on her. No one +could ever resist Isabel; her sweetness was of the +sort that penetrates and softens hearts.</p> + +<p>So they did not “keep to the hour,” but sang +their hymns until Prue fell asleep and Mark was +drowsy. Isabel could have sung on all night, and +Poppy grew more like an electric spark the later +the evening wore on.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke and his wife tipped over the buckboard; +Mark tried to help, but he was too sleepy +to be of much use. Isa thought that it looked +unpleasantly queer, propped up with its seat beneath +and its wheels in the air, and Prue voiced +her feeling.</p> + +<p>“I hate it; it’s scarey for night, wouldn’t matter +in daytime,” she said.</p> + +<p>“We can’t see it when we’re asleep under it,” +said Isa, careful not to show that she agreed. “It +will be like a nice, funny little house.”</p> + +<p>Leafy branches made a good mattress, a new +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>horse blanket that had never been used was so +heavy that the cool hours after midnight would +not chill the three little girls, snuggled up together +under the buckboard, with the big brown +and red plaid blanket spread over them.</p> + +<p>Mark said good-night and crawled into his +own shelter in the big wagon the moment the +buckboard was established upside down.</p> + +<p>“Goodness, but I’m sleepy!” he said, yawning +and staggering as he walked off.</p> + +<p>Nobody was to undress. Prue’s orderly soul +was further afflicted by lying down to sleep, even +on a wildwood bed of boughs, with all her clothes +on.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it queer?” she whispered, welcoming +with both arms Isa, who was to sleep in the middle, +because both Prue and Poppy wanted to be +next to her.</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> decidedly queer, but it really was exceedingly +nice!</p> + +<p>The night seemed deep and vast out here under +the stars, surrounded by its complete silence. +The little sounds of earth went on, the children +discovered after the first few minutes, when they +had thought the stillness unbroken. Leaves +rustled steadily; sometimes a twig snapped; little +birds stirred and chirped softly, sweetly; the +crickets and other insects played a ceaseless symphony +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>of the night with their legs drawn over +their wings, or their wings whirring in the air. +Yet, with all these many soft sounds of earth, +the stillness of the night seemed somehow to +brood over them and remain unbroken. Isabel +and Poppy had been sure that they should not go +to sleep all night. It was a pity that going off +tight asleep in a few minutes kept them from +knowing and being very much surprised that they +were not awake one-half hour!</p> + +<p>Isabel woke with a great start. She did not +know how long she had been asleep, but it seemed +to her a long time, though it still was dark. +Something had touched her face, something damp +and cold!</p> + +<p>Poppy was gone; Isabel put out her hand, +groping for her, though the space in which they +lay was so small that she could not have missed +Poppy if she had been there. Poppy was gone! +Prue was there, asleep. Isabel grasped her and +spoke her name close to her ear.</p> + +<p>“Prue, Prue, something is here! Poppy’s +gone!” she said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, are you awake! I’m dying!” said Poppy +hoarsely from somewhere near in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Oh, did you feel it, too?” whispered Isabel, +putting out her hand and catching Poppy’s arm +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>as she came, crawling and shaking, toward the +bed.</p> + +<p>“It got—it got up on—on—me,” Poppy managed +to gasp.</p> + +<p>With that, Isabel shrieked horribly and dove +under the blanket, and Prue and Poppy ably seconded +her screams.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burke! Mr. Burke! Mrs. Burke! +Mark!” the three little girls screamed.</p> + +<p>“Well, what in the name of Mike——” said +Mr. Burke, coming toward them.</p> + +<p>He turned a flashlight in upon the terror-stricken +three and burst out laughing.</p> + +<p>“Well, wherever did you get Bunkie? An’ +why do you scare the poor little beast’s hide off of +him?” Mr. Burke inquired.</p> + +<p>“Bunkie!” shouted the three little girls in one +breath, and threw off the blanket to sit up and +see if it possibly could be Bunkie.</p> + +<p>It certainly was Bunkie, standing afar, wistfully +wagging his tail, puzzled to be received so +unkindly when he had followed the trail of his +beloveds’ journey, wearily and patiently, and was +so delighted to have overtaken them, so sure that +Isa would be as glad to see him as she always +was, as he was to see her. But Poppy and she +had both jumped up when his nose touched their +cheeks, and they had thrown him off the bed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>where he had joyously leaped to say that he had +come up with them at last, shrieking as if he were +a rat!</p> + +<p>Poor Bunkie, low in his mind, tired and longing, +stood wagging his tail and eyeing his mistress +wistfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Bunkie, Bunkie, my dearest!” cried Isabel, +holding out her arms.</p> + +<p>This was as it should be! With a whine of happiness, +Bunkie sprang into these arms and curled +down between Isa and Prue to finish the night.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br> +<small>A CLEAR DAY</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">MARK came singing over to the buckboard +in the morning. He sang a tune of his +own, but the words were Tweedledee’s.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="first">“‘Oh, Oysters,’ said the Carpenter,</div> +<div class="indent">‘You’ve had a pleasant run!</div> +<div class="verse">Shall we be trotting home again?</div> +<div class="indent">But answer came there none—</div> +<div class="verse">And this was scarcely odd, because</div> +<div class="indent">They’d eaten every one.’</div> +</div></div> + +<p>“You aren’t eaten, are you? I sure thought +you were going to be last night! My goodness +gracious, but you did yell! And all about +Bunkie!” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Bunkie feels as awful as a wild animal when +you don’t see him, and his nose’s just as cold!” +Poppy answered, and her manner was far colder +than poor Bunkie’s nose could have been. “Anyhow, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>I just got right out; I didn’t yell, nor anything.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, as long as you aren’t eaten you’ll +be trotting home again?” Mark returned to the +idea of his song. “Mr. Burke told me to tell +you that it was going to be ‘a day right off the +griddle’—that’s exactly what he said—and that +he wanted to start back early. So you get ready +for breakfast—the only thing you’ve got to do +when you don’t undress is to wash your face and +hands in the spring over there—and we’ll soon +break camp.”</p> + +<p>Mark ran back to make himself useful in the +preparation of breakfast, taking out the food that +they had brought with them, carrying sticks for +the fire to boil the coffee which Mrs. Burke, who +was an experienced camper, was to make for +herself and her husband; the children were to +drink the water from the nearby spring, cold and +delicious as only spring water can be.</p> + +<p>“Now, pack up; every one of us is to get at +it, an’ we’ll be off for Greenacres in good time. +It’ll be one of the days when you’ve got to take +a step-ladder to read the thermometer, the mercury’s +going that high! We’ll get as far’s we can +before it is too uppish, an’ let the horses have a +noontide rest, in a shady place, for a good bit. +Cork is going to want it, an’ Hurrah’ll have not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>a word against it,” said Mr. Burke, setting an +example by gathering up his cup and saucer and +throwing his paper plate on the fire.</p> + +<p>“Cork! Is that your horse’s name? I don’t +think I ever heard his name before, Mr. Burke,” +cried Isabel, laughing. “How funny!”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know what’s funny about it?” said +Mr. Burke. “My father come from County +Cork, for one thing. An’ for another, ain’t I the +bottle man? An’ what goes better with a bottle +than a cork, would ye be tellin’ me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but you pull corks, and this Cork pulls +you!” laughed Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Sure; isn’t turn about fair play? He’s payin’ +the debts of his namesakes! Now, then, let’s set +Cork to pullin’ us as soon’s may be, for in no +time we’ll feel like St. Lawrence when they +roasted him over the fire, barrin’ his sanctity,” +said Mr. Burke, and he pushed Poppy before him +a few steps in the direction of the buckboard to +emphasize his wish.</p> + +<p>There was little to do to get this small gypsying +party started. In twenty minutes they were going +along the road at a good pace, the rested +horses not unwilling to trot, especially as they +were headed homeward.</p> + +<p>All four children were on the buckboard this +time, the wagon ahead.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>“I’ll go first,” said Mr. Burke, “an’ if I see +any poster, or the like, gambolin’ along the road, +I’ll meet it first an’ politely hold it up, askin’ it +to let me roll it up an’ take it in, as the fine gentleman +haulin’ the equipage in the rear of me +wagon is that nervous he’d never be able to stand +the sight of it.”</p> + +<p>Following this arrangement, therefore, Hurrah +came trotting along behind Cork, in the big +wagon, holding his head up and showing no sense +of disgrace at his scandalous behavior when he +was going in the opposite direction the day before.</p> + +<p>The children chattered happily, but quietly; +the country road was soothing, lined with beauty +on either hand. Not a bird escaped Mark’s +trained eye, taught as he had been by his father +to know them and to imitate their notes. Sometimes +he would lay his hand over Poppy’s, holding +the lines, and stop Hurrah while he whistled +to some small feathered acquaintance he spied on +a shrub. The bird would answer the note, mistaking +it for the call of one of his nearer kin +than this brown boy who, nevertheless, always +seemed to Isabel and Prue near kindred to the +birds.</p> + +<p>So they jogged on pleasantly homeward, with +a long nooning, as Mr. Burke had planned. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>day grew almost unbearably hot as the sun +mounted, but the road was shady, so the heat was +somewhat softened, though there was little air +under the trees. Isabel and Prue tipped over +against each other and fell asleep. Poppy was +wide awake, giving her whole mind to driving, +and Mark waked with her, giving his whole mind—though +Poppy did not know it—to seeing that +nothing went wrong because she drove.</p> + +<p>Isabel sat up and rubbed her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Mercy, my neck is cracked! It’s all stiff +holding my head on one side!” she said.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of me?” demanded Prue, +also waking. “My shoulder is more than +cracked; it’s ruined, holding your head! Where +are we; near home, Mark?”</p> + +<p>“Not so far from it,” said Mark. “Ought to +be about an hour more getting there.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking——” began Isabel.</p> + +<p>“Never would have guessed it! Any one would +have guessed you were asleep,” interrupted +Mark.</p> + +<p>“Jack-in-the-Box, go down into your box and +pull the lid down; you’re impertinent, sir!”</p> + +<p>Isabel pretended to be angry. “I thought before +I went to sleep, and while I was waking up; +kind of a sleep sandwich, with thinking between! +And I was thinking that something must happen +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>to keep you from going away, Mark. It just +plain <i>must</i>!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see what can,” Mark began, but got +no farther.</p> + +<p>“I say don’t talk about it,” Prue said firmly. +“We came to gypsy, and have a good time, and +I say let’s have it to the end. It’s hot enough, +too! Isa, will you take Bunkie a while? I’ve +held him all this time, and he’s just like a chestnut +roaster; he’s burning right through my skirt, +and cramping me besides! Take your ragged +little dog and let me stretch.”</p> + +<p>“Little scalawag to follow us! But I’m glad +he found us, as long as he came!” commented +Isabel, relieving patient Prue of Bunkie’s +warmth and weight.</p> + +<p>The subject of losing Mark was thus dropped +for the time, and it was not long before the gypsies +turned in at the gate of the Hawthorne house. +They stirred Cork and Hurrah up to their best +speed, drove up singing, “Marching Through +Georgia,” which Poppy had said was “Hurrah’s +national hymn,” because of the words of its +chorus.</p> + +<p>Motherkins hastened out to meet them, but she +looked pale and her eyes showed that they had +lately been swollen with tears.</p> + +<p>There, on the piazza, stood trunks, three of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>them, new ones, with their lids set back against +the wall, as if waiting to be filled!</p> + +<p>Mark laid a hand on the buckboard wheel and +vaulted it to run up the steps and seize his tiny +grandmother, who always seemed too young and +too small for that title, around the waist and kiss +her hard.</p> + +<p>“Motherkins, little wee Motherkins, what are +these for?” he cried, pointing to the trunks.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mark, dear, I can’t bear to have your +pleasant trip end in grief! We did not look for +you till to-morrow,” Motherkins said.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah got scared and ran away; it wasn’t +safe to let Poppy drive further, so we came back,” +Mark said, forgetting that Poppy was not to +know why Mr. Burke had changed his plans, and +not seeing the anger with which she heard him. +“What do you mean by grief, Motherkins? +What is wrong?” Mark asked, almost as if he +were grown up.</p> + +<p>“Your father, dear, has found that he must +leave here at once, since he is to go, or else lose +the business opening which is too good to lose. +So we are to go away from Greenacres within a +few days. Oh, Isabel, Isabel, I know, and I’m +so sorry, dear child! But, remember, it is hard for +us, too.” Gentle Motherkins patted Isabel’s head +and smoothed her hair, as, with a cry, she threw +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>herself into Motherkins’ arms and sobbed uncontrolledly.</p> + +<p>There was a sad supper eaten in silence by +Poppy and Mark at the Hawthorne house, by +Isabel and Prue in their own homes. It did not +seem possible that they had all been light-hearted +and had set out pleasuring so short a time ago. +As long as the Hawthornes were not to leave +Greenacres until September the children could +postpone grief at parting. But trunks all ready +to receive their contents! The parting but a +week distant! Ah, there was no shaking off this +horrible reality.</p> + +<p>“Mark will come to us summers, Isa, darling; +I have that promise. We shall not lose him,” +Mrs. Lindsay strove to console Isabel, whose head +lay on her mother’s shoulder as they sat in the +deep window seat spending “Isabel’s hour” together +at the close of this eventful day.</p> + +<p>“We shall not lose him, we shall keep friends, +but, oh, mother, a friend on a telephone, or writing +letters, is not the same at all as a friend where +you can touch him!” sighed Isabel, and Mrs. +Lindsay could not answer. She knew better than +Isabel could, with her longer experience, that +separation is a wedge that often makes friends +completely forget.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning Isabel and Prue met +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>Mark and Poppy by appointment at Château +Branche.</p> + +<p>There had been a shower in the night which +had refreshed the heated earth and put new +beauty into every growing thing and had left +them all shining with brilliance in the early morning +sunshine.</p> + +<p>Birds were singing everywhere, the birds which +Mark could name and call. Flowers brightened +the woods here and there; Mark knew them all. +How everything was going to speak of Mark +and emphasize his loss when he was gone! And +Poppy! Funny, excitable, explosive, but honorable, +devoted, high-hearted little Poppy! Isabel +and Prue felt that her plain face was almost +beautiful when they realized that they were not +long to see it.</p> + +<p>Mark sat whittling, whistling between his tight +closed teeth. He was so miserable that he did +not attempt to disguise it, nor to speak. For once +Poppy was not talking. Pale under her many +brown freckles, her lips drawn and drooping, she +stared at Isa, trying to learn her face by heart to +take away with her each detail of its sweetness.</p> + +<p>“Let’s go over to the Toy Shop,” said Prue.</p> + +<p>No one answered, but one after another they +all slid down from Château Branche to follow +Prue, knowing that she wanted to go there because +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>it was the spot in the woods where she and +Isa had found their Jack-in-the-Box. They went +along single file, till Poppy stepped back and, +without a word, put her arm around Isabel’s +waist.</p> + +<p>The Toy Shop was a pleasant little glade; on +one side of it was the hidden opening to the secret +passage up to the Hawthorne house. As they +came into the Toy Shop now, there, just outside +the bushes which concealed this opening, sat the +queer little man whom now they knew as Ichabod +Lemuel Rudd.</p> + +<p>“Jiminy cribs! Look who’s here!” cried +Poppy, as Prue fairly shouted:</p> + +<p>“Ichabod Lemuel Rudd!” as if she had gone to +school with him.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, young ladies,” said Ichabod, +in his high falsetto voice.</p> + +<p>“And good morning to you, Gilbert Hawthorne’s +boy! Now, what I want to say is: Take +me right on to your father, and do it quick, +’cause I’ve got my mind on it, and cats can’t say +how long it will stay set!”</p> + +<p>“All right; come on,” said Mark, taking this +as part of the strange doings of recent days and +not stopping to discuss why cats should be able +to tell how long Ichabod’s mind would stay set.</p> + +<p>“That’s the ticket!” said Ichabod, in evident +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>relief. “If you knew what a time I’ve had! I’ve +fairly hung around. Been down in that secret +passage—I found it when I fell into it—and +going up to the house, and then going back——”</p> + +<p>“Secret passage! You found the box of coins +in there?” cried Mark.</p> + +<p>“Returned ’em, too, undisturbed. More’n +could be said of me, these days,” said Ichabod, +nodding hard. “Been skinning up outside the +house, into a room where I judged you youngsters +played——”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried all four children together.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” said Ichabod. “Once I slept there. +And yet I couldn’t make up my mind to tell what +I’m going to tell to-day—provided you get me +there quick enough. I tell you, Gilbert Hawthorne’s +boy, I’ve been that exercised in my mind, +what with wanting to do one right, and wanting +to do another right——There, if we talk about +it I may slip my cogs and not tell!”</p> + +<p>“Sure, you’ll tell!” said Mark, beginning to +feel that there really must be something important +behind all this. “And it was you came up +into our Club Room! And you slept there? And +you took out our cups——”</p> + +<p>“Not to steal ’em!” cried Ichabod quickly. +“They’re safe. I needed ’em for tea, so I borrowed +’em, but I’ve got ’em for you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>“And we thought maybe it was Kathie!” said +Prue, as one talking in her sleep.</p> + +<p>“Been troublous times. Trouble for your +father, and in my mind! Oh, jiminy cats, are +we there? Oh, I’d rather do a whole lot of worse +things than tell!” cried Ichabod, as they came +suddenly upon the house from the side entrance.</p> + +<p>“Daddy, daddy, come here, quick!” Mark +called, as he ran ahead of the rest up the steps.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Hawthorne was out under the trees; +he came forward from the opposite side of the +house from that around which the children +emerged.</p> + +<p>“Oh, jiminy cats and jiminy kittens!” cried +Ichabod Rudd. “As sure as death, ’tis you, Gilbert +Hawthorne!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Hawthorne, “it doesn’t seem +to me strange that I should be myself.”</p> + +<p>“No, not put that way, but it’s strange to me +to see you at last, when I’ve been backing and filling +about seeing you for dear knows how long! +I’ve been hanging around here, climbing up outside +your house, getting into a room on that rear +side. Been up to every sort of hanging around +stunt! Once I asked a bottle dealer about you, +but when I found he did know you I faded right +out,” said Ichabod earnestly. “I guess I’ll fade +now. Glad to have seen you, Mr. Gilbert.” He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>turned as if to go rapidly away, but Mark caught +him.</p> + +<p>“Not much!” he cried. “Whatever this thing +is you’ve got to tell, tell it and get it over with, +quick!”</p> + +<p>“Is there something you want to say to me? +Shall we go inside? Where have I ever seen you? +I have a sort of recollection of seeing you somewhere,” +said Mr. Hawthorne.</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind the kids,” said Ichabod. He +began to speak quickly, as if he were in danger +of not speaking, and he got his strange tale over +with briefly.</p> + +<p>“You saw me once at Mr. Ditson’s house. I +worked for him for years. He was the best +friend to me I ever could have had. He liked +me; I loved him. His son is putting up a job +to get the money his father left you. He don’t +need it; he has too much. He near killed his +father, sorrowing over him. I got the proof it’s +a put-up job. I can prove the money’s yours. I +hated to speak because, after all, Maurice is a +Ditson. But he near killed his father, and his +father wanted you to have the money. I always +tried to do what my dear old employer wanted +done; alive or dead, I’ve always tried to please +him. So I hated to tell on his son, but I had to tell +to get his way for Mr. Ditson. Take me down to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>the lawyer’s and I’ll come over with the goods. +I can prove by line and word, written and my +own knowledge, that Maurice Ditson has faked +the whole plot. There! It’s told!”</p> + +<p>For a moment no one spoke. Gilbert Hawthorne +looked steadily into the eyes of the queer +little man, but they never flinched.</p> + +<p>“Ichabod Rudd——”</p> + +<p>“Ichabod Lemuel Rudd,” said the little man.</p> + +<p>“Ichabod Lemuel Rudd.” Mr. Hawthorne +adopted the correction with a slight smile. “We +were getting ready to give up all that we love, +our home and its associations, for I have bought +back my mother’s old home with part of Mr. Ditson’s +legacy. I don’t know how to tell you what +this means to us. And two days ago you caught +the horse, and perhaps saved the children from +a horrible accident. I think it is safe to say that +Mr. Ditson would bless and thank you, if he could +speak to you. I think he does bless and thank +you, but that we are not able to hear it. I hope +he will; I can’t!”</p> + +<p>“It was right,” said Ichabod Lemuel Rudd, +struggling with strong emotion. “I hated to give +away a Ditson, but Maurice was the worst sorrow +his father ever had; my dear old master told +me so. And he had money enough, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“Come in and see my little mother; you’ll love +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>her, too,” said Mr. Hawthorne, and gently drew +the queer little man into the house.</p> + +<p>The children stood motionless, gazing after +them and at one another, speechless.</p> + +<p>Then the great truth rushed over them, and +they fell upon one another, yelling like Comanches, +even gentle Isa and staid Prue equaling +Poppy in yelling.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got you all, we’ve got our Jack-in-the-Box +forever, ever, ever!” screamed Isabel, and +Prue and Poppy and Mark joined her, madly +echoing:</p> + +<p>“Forever, ever, ever, forever!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> + +<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br> +<small>HAWTHORNE HOUSE ABLOOM</small></h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">PRUE was the first to sober somewhat after +the first delirium of joy had been vented.</p> + +<p>“I feel as though we’d all been hung up to die, +and some one had come along and cut every single +rope, just as we were going to squirm our last +squirm,” she said, which graphic bit of inelegance +made Isabel exclaim in protest:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Prue!”</p> + +<p>“It’s just like that, a what-do-you-call-it? A +relieve?” Prue persisted, ignoring Isa.</p> + +<p>“A reprieve,” Mark told her. “So it is, Prue! +In stories some one comes riding madly, his horse +white with foam, just as the hero is standing +blindfolded against the wall, waiting to be shot—they +don’t hang heroes in stories. The rider +turns out to be the king’s messenger. He waves +a paper in the air, shouting: ‘Reprieve! Reprieve!’ +The king has found out the hero is innocent, +and has sent the messenger with the reprieve; +he gets there barely in time. It’s always +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>like that in stories. This is like that! Is Ichabod +the king’s messenger? But I don’t dare be glad +till after he has told the lawyers what he knows. +Let’s wait till daddy’s had him down to their +office and they say we’re all right. <i>Then</i> let’s +raise the roof!”</p> + +<p>It needed no more than a suggestion that +everything might not be all right to quiet the +little girls; it would be worse to be disappointed +than not to have hoped, as it always is.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hawthorne went away to the city in the +earliest train that left Greenacres in the morning. +He would not return until the second day, +and the four children were in difficulties with the +intervening time.</p> + +<p>How to fill the weary hours till they could +know positively that the cruel parting was not to +be—they would not consider Ichabod Rudd’s testimony +being useless to the Hawthornes—was a +hard question to solve.</p> + +<p>Prue withdrew herself from her playmates. +She said she “did not want to see Mark till she +knew that she could see him right along.” She +set her bureau drawers in apple-pie order, though +they did not need tidying; Prue was an orderly +child. She got her mother to give her long-promised +lessons in cutting and putting together a +middy blouse—altogether, Prudence filled in her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>time in ways so useful as to be absorbing, which +kept her from fretting too much and gave her the +pleasant sense of being “womanly” under affliction +of mind.</p> + +<p>Isabel, on the other hand, haunted Mark’s +footsteps. She was not capable of thinking of +anything else than of his loss, and now that in +so short a time she was to know whether or not +she should lose him, now that there was likelihood +of keeping him, she could bear the strain of +waiting only by keeping him in sight, and dogged +his footsteps as Bunkie followed hers.</p> + +<p>Poppy did not bear the delay at all. It had +to be put up with, but she did not <i>bear</i> it; she +fumed her way through the two days, getting +so cross that even Motherkins herself, so patient +and understanding, found it hard to excuse her, +though she knew that the child’s nerves were on +edge.</p> + +<p>But Mark, sunny, even-tempered Mark, would +not admit that there was anything to worry over. +He alone of the four was his natural self while +his father was gone to get the evidence that was +going to make such a tremendous difference in +his life.</p> + +<p>With Pincushion on his shoulder, where she +best loved to be, Mark went calmly about his +work and play.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>“No good fussing, Isa Bell,” he said, smiling +into Isa’s worried eyes and using the twist of her +name which he had invented by way of caress.</p> + +<p>“You don’t care, Mark Jack-in-the-Box!” Isabel +reproached him.</p> + +<p>“Don’t I, though! Maybe I care too much to +dare to begin to be afraid it will come out wrong,” +said Mark, and Isa caught a note in the boy’s +voice that betrayed that his anxiety was intense.</p> + +<p>When the train was due on which Mr. Hawthorne’s +return was hoped for, Poppy went down +to the end of the driveway and climbed up on the +stone post. There she sat like a statue, eyes set +rigidly, looking in the direction from which Mr. +Hawthorne would come, although it was long +before he could appear.</p> + +<p>Isabel and Prue had come up to the Hawthorne +house to be there when the decision of +their fate was made known. They and Mark +prowled up and down, from room to room, unable +to keep still. Motherkins tried to hem a +napkin, but her hands trembled and her thread +knotted a great deal; her sewing was not a +success.</p> + +<figure id="Page240" class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> + <img src="images/i240.jpg" width="450" height="568" alt="Children dancing around Motherkins"> + <figcaption> + <p class="caption">“WE’RE ALL TOGETHER, FOREVER AND FOR AYE,” THEY SANG.</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>At last Poppy came tearing into the house.</p> + +<p>“They’ve come! They’ve come!” she shouted. +“Ichybod’s along. <i>Oh</i>, gosh!”</p> + +<p>Everybody who heard her echoed what Poppy +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>meant when she exclaimed: “<i>Oh</i>, gosh!” It +didn’t sound prayerful, but Poppy’s feeling when +she said it made it a prayer for good news.</p> + +<p>“Hello, daddy!” shouted Mark, without turning +to see the expression on his father’s face. If +he were the bearer of ill-tidings Mark wanted +one cheerful greeting to reach him before his +family knew it; afterward no one would be able +to speak quite cheerfully.</p> + +<p>But as Gilbert Hawthorne came into the room, +followed by queer little Ichabod Lemuel Rudd, +before any of the children had ventured to look +at him, Motherkins cried:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Gilbert! Oh, my son!”</p> + +<p>Then the children turned to see. Motherkins +sat erect, leaning forward in her chair, her work +fallen, her hands clasped, her face radiant.</p> + +<p>One glance at Mr. Hawthorne, and they all +knew the gist of what he had to tell. He looked +triumphantly young and happy; his eyes were +beaming. He strode over and caught up little +Motherkins, as he might have swung Poppy, high +in his arms.</p> + +<p>“Surest thing in the world, Motherkins!” he +cried, laughing in joyous excitement. “Ichabod +told what he knew, and the lawyers cross-examined +him—Maurice Ditson’s fellows were present, +too—and he couldn’t be tripped up; besides, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>he had his proofs! And Ditson’s lawyers advised +him to drop it as quick, and considerably quicker, +than he could! He should be grateful not to be +prosecuted for attempted felony. Of course, nobody +wants to bother with him, but it’s not a +pretty thing to have known about a man that he +has tried to steal!”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t of told,” said Ichabod, in a worried +voice, “but I knew my dear old friend, the +kindest friend a man ever had, would have +wanted me to. He’d have blamed me if I hadn’t. +I wish Maurice wasn’t his son; I wish his name +wasn’t Ditson! But often and often his father +wished the same. He was a sore trial to his +father, a sorrow that ate right into him. I know +he’d say I must stop his doing any more harm, +if I could.”</p> + +<p>“Surely he would! Whether we were to gain +or lose by it, I should say the same, you faithful +Ichabod!” said Motherkins, touching the queer +little man’s arm, and as he revered Motherkins +beyond all words, this consoled him for the pain +of doing something that distressed him to do.</p> + +<p>“And we are safe, Gilbert dear?” she added, +turning to her son.</p> + +<p>“Completely safe, and for always,” said Mr. +Gilbert. “Mark, old chum-son, I haven’t spoken +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>to you. Good news, laddie; everything is all +right.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty good to hear, daddy,” said Mark. +“I’m too glad to know how glad I am.”</p> + +<p>Isabel, Prue and Poppy had stood motionless, +soundless, listening and watching.</p> + +<p>Now Isabel stirred, pale from excitement, and +seized Prue around the neck, hugging her till she +choked her.</p> + +<p>“They—are—not—going! They—are—not—going—away—at—all!” +Isa said slowly, in a sort +of rapturous trance.</p> + +<p>This set free Poppy’s pent-up emotion; she +realized that what Isa said was true.</p> + +<p>With a shriek that made everybody jump, +Poppy threw herself over on her hands and cartwheeled +all around the room and out of it before +Motherkins, a little shocked, could stop her. Out +of the room she went and down the hall. Then +they heard her singing at the top of her really +wonderfully beautiful voice, the song growing +fainter, and they knew she was running around +the house, just as Bunkie and Pincushion ran +when they wanted to have a celebration.</p> + +<p>The words of her song reached them; they were +simply these:</p> + +<p>“Oh, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoopity whoopity +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>whoop. And whoop, oh, whoop, <i>oh</i>, whoop! +Forever whoop, whoop, whoop, amen!”</p> + +<p>“What we’re going to do,” announced Isabel +after they had laughed at Poppy, “is to trim this +house all over with all the flowers we can get! +We’re going to take Hurrah—please, Motherkins!—and +get flowers from every one we can. +And we’re just going to hang them all over Hawthorne +House to show it how we feel about it’s +staying Hawthorne House.”</p> + +<p>“Second the motion!” cried Mark, starting up +ready to go.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but, Isabel, Hurrah may meet paper in +the road!” objected Motherkins.</p> + +<p>“Not in such a neat town as Greenacres! Oh, +Motherkins, we took him all the time before that +one day when it happened, so please don’t be +afraid!” Isa pleaded.</p> + +<p>“We must take some risks,” Mr. Hawthorne +said, to Isa’s intense relief, when his mother +looked at him for an opinion. “We don’t have +papers flying around our streets; Isa is right. +The children must have a vent, little mother!”</p> + +<p>So in a short time the buckboard, with its three +girls and a boy, started off to get a load of +flowers. Poppy had thoughtfully taken the +clothes basket, and Mark played at juggling with +a bushel basket, seated on the end of the buckboard, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>facing outward and dangling his slender +legs, as he always did.</p> + +<p>At the Wayne and the Lindsay houses there +were many flowers, so many that it seemed likely +that the children could not pick them in time to +go farther.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lindsay had run across to her neighbor’s +to enjoy the children’s good news with her, and +she said:</p> + +<p>“Helen, we will gather all the flowers that we +have, you and I, and take them up to Hawthorne +House, while the children go on begging for +more; shall we?”</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Wayne had answered:</p> + +<p>“Yes, Margaret; we couldn’t keep away, could +we? Aren’t you quite beside yourself to see dear +little Mrs. Hawthorne with her last anxiety forever +laid at rest? The dear little soul! I’ve been +so troubled over it all!”</p> + +<p>“Drive on, then, Merry Beggars, and ask all +Greenacres to give you blossoms!” cried Mrs. +Lindsay, looking like a happy child herself.</p> + +<p>Flowers! Isabel, Prue and Mark had to walk +beside the buckboard, there were so many! They +had no expectation of what happened, but everybody +loved Motherkins, the whole town knew +how sad her life had been and rejoiced that another +sorrow had not fallen upon her, so the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>Greenacres women showed this feeling by stripping +their gardens of all their bloom to adorn +Hawthorne House for its rejoicing.</p> + +<p>Walking up the street, with Poppy’s red hair +topping masses of red blossoms in the buckboard +abreast of them in the road, Isabel and Prue met +Kathie and Dolly coming around the corner of a +side street, turning in the direction in which they +were going.</p> + +<p>All four little girls stopped and looked at one +another, half smiling, hesitatingly, sheepishly. +None of them had the slightest desire not to +speak, but no one knew whether the others felt +like answering.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” said Isabel, realizing that something +must be done by somebody; it would never do +for every one to stand there always, waiting for +some one else to break the ice.</p> + +<p>“Hello. Are you mad?” asked Kathie.</p> + +<p>“We never were, so we’re not now,” said Prue +reasonably.</p> + +<p>“I was,” Kathie said, “but I’m over it. I’d +like to make up.”</p> + +<p>“We only wanted to know who it was went into +that room; we only asked,” Prue said unwisely.</p> + +<p>“But if we get to talking about that we shall +not make up,” Isabel interposed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>“Call it made up and let it go at that,” Mark +advised. “Every one agreed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Agreed!” the four little girls repeated.</p> + +<p>“Come on up to the house. We’re going to +trim it up and be glad. We know now who it +was climbed up into the Club Room; the same +one who took the coins and returned them; the +queer little man we saw in the woods. Oh, it is +a wonderful story!” cried Isabel, taking Kathie’s +arm, who at once pulled it away to put it around +Isabel’s waist in closer token of reconciliation.</p> + +<p>“Tell it,” Kathie said, and Isabel told it, frequently +helped and hindered by Prue’s and +Mark’s additions, or Kathie and Dolly’s exclamations.</p> + +<p>“And we’re going to trim the house with +flowers everywhere; in all the rooms, anyway. +It looks as though we had enough to trim all the +trees outside, but they don’t reach as far as you’d +think when you see them like that.” Isabel ended +the story of the narrow escape and the queer little +man, with a gesture toward the buckboard, +heaped high with blossoms.</p> + +<p>“There are our mothers with more!” cried +Prue, as they turned into the driveway and +caught sight of Mrs. Wayne and Mrs. Lindsay +on the lawn, shaking out and assorting the baskets +of flowers which they had got Prue’s big +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>brother to help them bring to Hawthorne House.</p> + +<p>It was lucky that Kathie and Dolly had come +up to the rejoicing. There were such quantities +of flowers to place! Everybody talked at once, +but it did not matter; nobody waited for, nor +wanted a reply.</p> + +<p>With amazing speed Hawthorne House was +set abloom. In every room there were flowers, +masses of flowers, and over the front door, on +the ledge of its old-fashioned transom, Mr. Hawthorne +had the bright idea of setting bowls, from +which long festoons of vines and blossoms of nasturtiums +made a glory that looked almost as if a +bonfire were blazing there.</p> + +<p>At last it was done; Hawthorne House was +abloom!</p> + +<p>“Well, it truly does look glad!” sighed Isabel +in profound contentment, leaning her head, all +ringed with her disordered dark hair, against her +mother.</p> + +<p>“What shall we do with Ichabod Lemuel +Rudd, children?” asked Mr. Hawthorne. “Quick +before he comes! He is alone in the world. Mr. +Ditson looked after him, but since his death the +queer, devoted little chap has gone solitary, with +a lonely heart. And he saved us from the loss of +this house and one another. Who can suggest a +plan for him, to be told him when he comes back?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>“I can!” said Poppy instantly. “Adopt him, +like you did me, and we’ll give up the Club Room, +and it can be his, and he can shin up outside whenever +he wants to.”</p> + +<p>Mark laughed, but he said: “Pops hit it! +There’s room enough for the queer little man in +this great place, and we all like him a whole lot +now.”</p> + +<p>“Mother?” queried Mr. Hawthorne, turning to +little Motherkins.</p> + +<p>Motherkins smiled her placid smile, eyes and +lips warm with it.</p> + +<p>“I adopted Bunkie when he was hurt—to be +sure, Isabel took him afterward—but I did +adopt him! And Poppy, too. And then I had +no home that was my own, and no certainty of +enough for myself. I think we ought to give a +share of our happiness to Ichabod Lemuel Rudd—I’m +sure he’ll give us as much as we do him, in +another way! And think of the pleasure of calling +his name!”</p> + +<p>“Trust Motherkins to cover up her goodness +with a laugh!” cried her son.</p> + +<p>“A laugh doesn’t cover up goodness; I think it +often proves it, Gilbert—that kind of laughter!” +said Mrs. Lindsay.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming; tell him, Mark,” murmured +Motherkins.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>“Ichabod, we—I mean Motherkins and my +father—well, all of us—oh, gracious! Say, Ichabod, +we want you to live with us, here, you know; +take that room we had to play in, where you +climbed in and slept, you know. Live with us +right along; will you?” Mark said rapidly after +he had hesitated for a beginning; he blushed painfully, +embarrassed by his office.</p> + +<p>“Oh, jiminy cats! Oh, what’ll I say? I—I—I +appreciate it,” said poor Ichabod, and burst into +tears. He was indeed a lonely, longing little +creature, and it seemed to him that heaven had +almost opened when Mark voiced a desire on the +part of these dear people to befriend him.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do things; I’ll help; you shall never be +sorry,” he managed to say, gulping down great +sobs.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember, Prue and Poppy, the day +we opened the Club Room, we said it was just +opening it, and we didn’t know what would go +into it?” whispered Isabel, drawing Prue and +Poppy’s heads together, the better to hear her. +“It was true, wasn’t it? Isn’t it nice to have the +dear little queer man, who so needs it and all of +us, go into it?”</p> + +<p>“I feel that there is ice cream somewhere!” said +Mr. Hawthorne, sniffing the air. “I smell ice +cream and beau-ti-ful cream puffs somewhere! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>Come on and find them, all of you! I guess +there’s an ice cream freezer full, and that it holds +four gallons—one vanilla, one chocolate, one +strawberry, one caramel! Come and see how well +I can guess!”</p> + +<p>“Because you know!” shouted Poppy with +shrill ecstasy. “Oh, you great Mark’s-daddy! +You treated!”</p> + +<p>“It’s the house,” Mr. Daddé corrected her solemnly. +“The house treats us all—treats us the +best it can. Let’s cheer the house gratefully, +thankful it’s to hold us all together.”</p> + +<p>The cheers arose, loud and prolonged, and +Bunkie and Semper Fidelis barked their parts in +them, while Cushla-machree, alias Pincushion, +ran up a tree to be on the safe side, in case it +meant danger.</p> + +<p>Mark caught Isabel’s hand; she understood +and took hold of Prue, Prue of Poppy, Poppy +of Kathie, Kathie of Dolly, Dolly of Mrs. Lindsay, +she of Mrs. Wayne, and Isabel completed +the circle by taking Mr. Hawthorne’s hand in +her other hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, gracious, there’s Ichabod!” cried Poppy, +and widened the circle to let in the queer little +man, just as they had widened their home circle +to take him in.</p> + +<p>Then, with shrieks of joy, they danced around +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>and around Motherkins, and Isabel put the +meaning of the dance into words:</p> + +<p>“We’re all together, all together, all together +forever and for aye,” she sang.</p> + +<p>The others joined in her song, and thus they +wheeled and danced, grown-ups and children, +quite dementedly singing the words that mean +so much when people love one another:</p> + +<p>“We are all together, all together, all together +forever and for aye!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote"> +<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> + +<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> +</div></div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78419 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78419-h/images/002.jpg b/78419-h/images/002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..43d1016 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/002.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/cover.jpg b/78419-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5b1653 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/coversmall.jpg b/78419-h/images/coversmall.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d9e82e --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/coversmall.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/78419-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..76c40c9 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/i032.jpg b/78419-h/images/i032.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..49d952d --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/i032.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/i064.jpg b/78419-h/images/i064.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5866ea9 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/i064.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/i120.jpg b/78419-h/images/i120.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..564b20e --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/i120.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/i240.jpg b/78419-h/images/i240.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4664994 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/i240.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/publogo.jpg b/78419-h/images/publogo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..39b220a --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/publogo.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/title.jpg b/78419-h/images/title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bed4f3d --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/title.jpg diff --git a/78419-h/images/titlelogo.jpg b/78419-h/images/titlelogo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2338128 --- /dev/null +++ b/78419-h/images/titlelogo.jpg |
