A pretty little room had been prepared for Margaret to use as her very own. Mrs. MacDonald believed in substantials, and did not indulge in much ornament. She was extremely fond of flowers, and her greenhouse was her greatest luxury. The house in which she lived was large, old-fashioned, and exceedingly comfortable, but was not as tasteful in its appointments as that of Mrs. Evans, "I am a plain woman," said Mrs. MacDonald to Mrs. Evans, "and I'm not given to fal-lals, I like my flowers and my book; and now my little daughter suits me much better than if she were a beauty."
"She has a nice, sensible, interesting face," returned Mrs. Evans.
"And, please God, she shall be a nice, sensible, interesting woman," replied Mrs. MacDonald, "and I hope a contented one. It's just wonderful what one little child can do. I'm thinking, Mrs. Evans, of that little child Edna. She has brought gladness to more hearts than one by the loving little spirit in her."
"She's a dear little body," replied Mrs. Evans, "She always makes the best of things; her little cheery ways are good to see, and are a lesson to us older growlers."
"I think my Margaret is going to be much the same," said Mrs. MacDonald. "It's no wonder they took to each other. When poor little Margaret has forgotten how ill a world she lived in, I think she'll brighten many a life by her own content."
Meanwhile the children thus discussed were making the most of their opportunities, for the day was at hand when Edna must return to the city. It must be confessed that all these good times had rather spoiled the little girl for the taking up of her life at school. But she was very brave about it, and, indeed, rather reproached herself for having any regrets at all in leaving these pleasant friends. Then she began to wonder about Louis, feeling quite selfish at having been too much taken up in the affairs which had lately interested her to think of how he might be faring, and she set out with a serious mind for her journey home.
"We will stop at the post-office and see if there are any letters," said Mr. Evans, who had taken the little girl under his protection. "The train will not be due for some minutes."
And Edna stood on the platform until he should return.
"I did find a letter for you," he said, as he joined her, and she was handed an envelope addressed in Louis' schoolboy hand.
The train was now in sight, and, after establishing the little girl in a seat by the window, Mr. Evans left her for a few minutes and Edna opened her letter.
It was dated a day or two earlier. "Dear Edna," it read, "I am going to run away. Don't tell anyone. I know you won't go back on me. I am going to my father and mother in Pasadena.
Affectionately,Louis"
A distressed little child it was who turned the letter over and over, helplessly. She had been having such a good time; all unhappy things had been smoothed away from her, and it seemed as if this going back became suddenly more dreadful than she could possibly have expected. She was very quiet during the short trip, once in a while casting furtive glances at Mr. Evans, who, absorbed in his newspaper, did no more than address a word or two to her. He set her down at her uncle's door, bidding her good-by pleasantly, and telling her that they should hope to see her in the country often.
The latch of the door being up, Edna went in, feeling very heavy-hearted.
It was early on Saturday afternoon, the house was very quiet; there was no one in the sitting-room and Edna went through the dining-room and on to where she heard voices.
Ellen in a freshly scoured kitchen was chatting with a friend while she set things to rights. She turned with an exclamation at the sight of Edna.
"Bless the choild!" she cried. "Comin' in like a bit of a ghost! It's good to see ye, darlint. An' are ye well again? Let me see. Thim cheeks bid to be a bit more rosy."
"Where is uncle?" asked Edna.
"Sure the two of thim is after foll'in' Masther Louis."
"And Louis?" Edna's lip quivered. She hoped against hope.
"Hear now; he's gone, av coorse."
"When did he go?" asked Edna, her voice shaking.
"Poor dear; don't mourn; to be sure ye'll be missin' him. He went to-day. Let Ellen take off your wrap, and thin ye can go up and see how nate an' nice yer room looks," and Ellen turned to continue an exciting bit of gossip for her friend's benefit.
Edna slowly went up stairs. She felt, O, so lonely, and such a weight as Louis' secret gave her. Ellen couldn't understand, and didn't seem to care. What should she do? If Louis' father and mother only knew, perhaps they could do something; grown people had so many ways of preventing mishaps; time and space were often no obstacles to them. Suppose Uncle Justus and Aunt Elizabeth should find him and bring him back. Edna's sympathies were divided. She knew her cousin would be punished, and yet she knew the others would be troubled sorely if he did not return.
She sat on the top step of the stairs, thinking, thinking harder than ever before in her life. Louis had run away because he was unhappy. He had not let his parents know for fear they would tell his aunt and uncle to take measures to prevent it. But if they knew he had actually started, they would realize, maybe, how miserable he had been and would take his part. If she could only let them know. Why, she could, of course she could. She could send a telegram. She knew she could. There was a telegraph office down at the depot from which she had just come. Perhaps she could get there and back before her aunt and uncle returned, and no one would miss her.
Fired by this idea, she started out intent upon the business in hand. She had little difficulty in finding the place, and went timidly up to the desk.
She stood still, not knowing just what to do until the clerk, looking up, said, "Well, little girl, what is it?"
"I want to send a telegram;" she answered.
"Where?" asked the man, pulling a blank toward him.
Edna carefully unfolded the letter from Louis. "Pasadena, California," she said.
"Name?" continued the man.
"Mr. William Morrison."
"Well, what is the message?"
Edna looked doubtfully at him.
"Have you forgotten it?" he asked.
"No, but I—but I—"
"Well, then, out with it." The man was a trifle impatient.
"I think I had just better say Louis has runned away."
The man looked at her a moment, and a smile came over his face. "O, you are sending it yourself, are you?" he said.
Edna nodded.
"Do you want to pay for it, or shall it paid at the other end?"
Here was another dilemma; but Edna concluded that since the contents of her little purse might not cover the expense, it would best be paid for at Pasadena. Then having asked her name, the man told her it was all right, and she left with a sense of relief.
She was making her way home again as fast as possible, when suddenly she stood still with terror, for coming up the street, directly toward her, was a herd of Texas cattle on their way to the stock yards.
If there was anything that Edna feared, it was these creatures; their wide-spreading horns seemed to menace her even a block away, and as the foremost one was quite near, she turned in a perfect agony of fear and went tumbling pell mell up the first high flight of steps which she happened to see. It seemed to her that she would never be able to get out of the way of those dreadful horns, and the rushing sound of hoofs and the bellowings which were issuing from the creatures appeared to surround her completely.
How she reached the top step she hardly knew, but, scrambling, falling, in her haste she gained her place of safety, sprawling flat on her face as she did so.
Meanwhile Uncle Justus had returned and was told by Ellen that Edna had arrived.
A pleased look came into Professor Horner's face. "Send her to me, Ellen," he said, and Ellen hastened up stairs to do his bidding. Failing to find the child in her room, she hunted high and low, but no Edna, and she returned to Professor Horner in perplexity.
"Shure, sor, I've looked the house over, an' the choild is nowhere at all, at all," she informed him.
Uncle Justus looked annoyed. "Some one should have been here when she came," he said to himself. "Perhaps she went to the candy shop to spend some pennies; no doubt that is it. She will be here in a few moments;" and he settled himself comfortably.
But the time passed and Edna did not appear. Professor Horner walked the floor thoughtfully, then putting on his hat and coat he went out, first to the candy shop, where nothing was learned of Edna, then to the different houses in the neighborhood in which the little girl's schoolmates might be found, but no one had seen the child, and Uncle Justus returned home to find that his wife had arrived.
She, too, looked anxious as her husband appeared with no little niece. "Edna is an obedient child," she said, "and she is not prone to get into serious mischief, but—"
"That is why I am the more anxious," replied Uncle Justus.
"I was about to say that this influence, under which she has been, may have spoiled her," continued Aunt Elizabeth, remembering that it was at her husband's suggestion that the visit to the country was made.
Uncle Justus frowned. "That is not likely; and if it were, what has it to do with the case?"
"She may have taken a fancy to go back there."
Uncle Justus caught at the suggestion. He rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Horner. "I am going to see if she has gone back;" and he was soon on his way to Mr. Evans' office. That gentleman insisted on making the journey with the perturbed professor, and the two set out together But on arriving they found only the family, and the situation grew more and more perplexing. "I am sure Edna is too conscientious to start back here without leave," said Mrs. Evans. "She talked very cheerfully of her return."
"I am so afraid she is run over by a trolley car," said Agnes, in distress.
"Or maybe she is lost and will be out in the dark night all alone," wept Dorothy. "O, papa, do try and find her." And the two men returned to the city together.
No news at police stations of a lost or injured child, and to the railway depots as a last resource they betook themselves. As Uncle Justus was making his inquiries some one stood by listening. It was one of the colored porters.
"'Scuse me, sah," he said, "but I b'leeves I seen de little lady you all's inquirn' fo'. I 'members her on account of de 'casion of a accident when she was on boa'd our train along o' her pa. I reckleck she went to de telegraph office dis afternoon. I were gwine to call myse'f to her remembers, but she slip out whilst I were busy, sah."
Yes, the man at the telegraph office did remember her. "A little girl," he said, "yes, sir, wore a plain frock and a big hat. Yes, she came here and got us to send a message."
"What was it?" asked Uncle Justus, eagerly. The man smiled. "As near as I can recollect, it was, 'Louis has runned away.' It was sent to Mr. William Morrison, Pasadena, California."
Uncle Justus looked puzzled. "I cannot understand why the message was sent," he said, and after some further questions he concluded to return home.
Meanwhile how fared it with Edna? At the instant that she fell upon the stone step, in her flight from the cattle, the door opened and she was lifted to her feet by a pleasant-looking boy, who, followed by another, came out of the house.
"Why, little girl," said the boy who gave her his help, "you've cut your lip; it is all bleeding. Did you fall down? That is too bad." And he began tenderly to wipe off the stains of blood. "Come in and let mother wash it off," he continued. "You call mother, Steve," he said to the other boy, and Edna was drawn into the house whether or no.
Some one came swiftly down the hall. "What is the matter, Roger?" a voice asked. "Why, I know this little girl. I have wondered for a long time if I should see her again. It is little Edna Conway;" and, looking up, Edna recognized her kind travelling companion, Mrs. Porter.
"And you never came to see me," continued the lady, reproachfully. "I had quite given you up, but 'better late than never,' and now that I have you I mean to have a good long visit to make up for your not coming before."
"I couldn't come before," replied Edna; "my aunt doesn't allow me to visit." She looked up wistfully, not liking to explain that this appearance of herself was purely accidental. "But I'm very, very glad to see you," she added.
Mrs. Porter was busy washing off the stain. "It isn't very much of a cut," she said. "I do not think it will trouble you much."
"I was so afraid of the cows," replied Edna, "and I ran up the steps as hard as I could scramble out of the way."
"They are rather terrifying, I admit. How came your aunt to allow you away down here alone, when she is so particular?" asked Mrs. Porter.
Edna was silent, and stood with downcast eyes. Then she looked up, saying, candidly, "My aunt didn't have anything to say about it. I had to come. I had to, indeed I did, but I'd rather not tell why."
Mrs. Porter looked down into the clear eyes, but they answered her look too innocently for her to suspect any wrong motive. So she smiled and kissed her little visitor. "Never mind, then," she replied. "Now you are here you must stay and take tea with us. I want you to know my boys. You look rather pale. Have you been sick?"
"I've had the measles. But I must go home, Mrs. Porter. They will be worried about me."
"No, they won't. I will send Steve with a note right away. I will tell your aunt that you tumbled up my steps, and that I am going to keep you a while. I will make it all right."
And this was done forthwith. There was no resisting Mrs. Porter, but yet Edna had a little uneasy feeling at heart that it was not just right for her to remain, although she felt tired and her head ached.
Stephen was dispatched with the note, and soon returned, saying he had delivered it safely into Ellen's hands. And the two boys proceeded to amuse their little visitor with as much gallantry as possible. Roger brought out his Punch and Judy figures. Stephen displayed his electric motor and his gold-fish; therefore the afternoon passed very quickly, and Edna forgot her fright and her troubles in all the new and interesting games the boys had to show.
"I wish we had a little sister," said Roger.
"And I wish my two brothers were here," returned Edna.
"We'll be your two brothers while you are here," said Stephen.
Edna laughed. "Then I'll have to call you Frank and Charlie," and she proceeded to decide which should be which, and to tell the boys of her brothers' pranks and funny sayings.
This was after tea, when the three were having a fine time over a game of "Parchesi," sitting around a big table.
Presently the bell rang; there were voices in the hall—questions and answers—and Mrs. Porter was summoned; then, in another minute, in walked Uncle Justus.
A look at his face told Edna something of his anxiety; but he held out his hand, and she went straight to him, where he kept her close, as if he could not let her go.
"We thought you were lost," he said, in trembling tones; "I have been looking for you since early in the day."
"O," cried Edna, "Uncle Justus, I am so sorry."
"Didn't Mrs. Horner get my note?" asked Mrs. Porter.
"That she didn't receive it made the trouble," replied Uncle Justus. "The maid took the note and put it on the hall table, where it was not discovered until an hour ago, Ellen having forgotten it and not connecting it with Edna. In the meantime I have been searching everywhere."
"It is my fault," cried Mrs. Porter; "I should not have kept Edna this time, but I was so glad to see her, and she had hurt herself; besides, she looked so pale and tired."
"Where were you going when you started down town?" asked Uncle Justus.
"O," Edna said, "Uncle Justus, I felt so dreadfully about Louis. I couldn't stand it."
"Well, my child, I don't understand why you should; but we had better go straight home now, and relieve the minds of your friends."
Edna did not talk much on the way home, but she held Uncle Justus' hand very tightly. "Was I very bad?" once she asked, softly.
Uncle Justus, for answer, gave her hand a little squeeze, and she was satisfied. She did not ask about Louis, for she thought her uncle had been troubled enough. She felt that somewhere and somehow she had made a mistake.
"I don't believe little girls know just what is right to do without asking grown people," she said, as they left the car and neared home. "It's awfully hard to do right every time by yourself, isn't it, Uncle Justus?"
"Yes; it is best to ask advice," he replied, as he opened the front door with his latch-key.
Edna rushed in. The sitting-room seemed full of people. Who were they all? Why, there was Louis—not run away at all, but safe and sound, with an arm fondly around his mother's neck. And there—no, it could not be! There were her own father and mother. Edna gave one scream of joy—ignoring Aunt Elizabeth, whom she had not seen for three weeks, scarcely seeing Louis or anyone, but throwing herself into the dear arms for which she had so often longed during these last months.
"So, my little runaway, we have you safe and sound," said her father.
Edna looked around bewildered. She a little runaway! Did he mean her? Why, it was Louis who ran away. "I didn't run away," she said, indignantly; "it was Louis," and then everybody laughed—why, she didn't know.
"Now, give an account of yourself," said Mr. Conway. "Who told you Louis had gone away?"
"Why, Ellen did," replied Edna.
"So I had gone!" piped up Louis; "I went with papa and mamma to the hotel. They came this morning, and uncle and aunt came to take dinner with us there."
"O," exclaimed Edna, "and I sent word by the telegraph that you had runned away."
"What made you think that?" asked Mrs. Conway.
Edna looked at Louis; he looked rather sheepish, but he was brave enough to help Edna out of the difficulty now that he had his father and mother at hand. "Why—I—I—wrote to Edna," he faltered; "I said I was going to run away, and—and—what did Ellen say?"
"She said—let me see—she—why I asked where you were, and she said you were gone, and, of course, I thought you had run away, and when she said aunt and uncle had followed you I thought it must be so, and I was in such trouble I didn't know what to do 'cept to telegraph your father so he would get you, somehow; and, O, dear! I saw some dreadful cows, and I was so scared that I tumbled up the steps and Mrs. Porter's boys let me in. Then Mrs. Porter made me stay; and O, just think of it! I never knew my own papa and mamma were so near. Did you get my telegram?" she asked Mr. Morrison, innocently.
"No," he said, laughing, "it may be at the hotel now, if it was re-sent by my friends in Pasadena. You were a dear child to think of doing something for Louis, although it turned out to be such a time of trial."
"I think," said Mrs. Conway, "that Uncle Justus is the one who has had the hardest time. We knew Edna was safe as soon as we reached here, for then the note from Mrs. Porter had been found. Poor Ellen was so distressed at your loss that she never once thought of giving Aunt Elizabeth the note. You meant well, daughter, but you were too young to take matters into your own hands."
Then Mr. and Mrs. Morrison took their leave, and Louis went with them.
"I'm going home soon," he said to his cousin. "Say, Edna, I'm awfully sorry about all this fuss. It was all my fault, but I did mean to run away, only father and mother came."
"I'm very glad you didn't go," answered Edna.
It is very doubtful if Louis would have gone any great distance, even if he had started, although he stuck to it that the arrival of his parents alone prevented his making the venture.
"O, mamma! O, mamma! it is really you," said Edna, when her cousin had gone. "When am I going home with you?"
"In a few days," replied her mother.
Uncle Justus, looking at her, sighed.
"Don't you want to stay with us?" asked Aunt Elizabeth, as if she, too, felt that it would be hard to part.
With the dear mother-arms so near it was not easy to think of anyone else, but the feeling sorry for people was always ready to rise in Edna's heart, and she looked from one to the other. Poor Uncle Justus! she did not like to leave him, and even Aunt Elizabeth seemed more lovable when she considered the distance that would soon be between them.
"O," she cried, "I want you all!"
"Well," replied her father, cheerfully, "I don't know but what that can be managed. I have been thinking of a plan which we will talk over to-morrow. Just now it is high time for runaways to be in bed;" and with a kiss all around Edna said "Good-night."
Edna stood at her high-up window fastening her frock and looking out at the scene before her. She saw the white sails in the far distance; the smoke of the train which wound its way along the outskirts of the city past the green meadows beyond; she counted over again the chimneys of the houses opposite.
To-morrow, and to-morrow—and still another to-morrow she would have her mother. It seemed to her that she was never so glad in her life. All the unhappy things seemed to have melted away like snow. Louis was safe; Maggie had a happy home; mamma and papa were with her, and soon she should see sister and the boys; and Edna gave a long sigh of content as she fastened her last button and turned to go down to breakfast.
"Now, mamma, what are we going to do?" she asked, when the meal was over.
"I have concluded not to let you return to school," mamma replied, smiling. "All this excitement has been too much for one little girl to stand, without lessons; besides, the measles do not leave one's eyes in the best condition, and we shall be going home in a day or two, so it is not worth while to begin for so short a time; so we will go shopping this morning."
Edna's face beamed. "O, mamma, then we can get sister's buckle, and take it to her. I never had a chance to go to many shops, because Aunt Elizabeth only deals at one or two places, and so I could not find the buckle I promised sister."
"Very well. Then I want to call upon Mrs. Porter and thank her for her kindness to my little girl, who has had so many rough places to go over."
Edna was thoughtful. "It has been very mixy up, hasn't it, mamma? So many things have happened. What made you come back a month sooner than you expected?"
"Because I was feeling so much better, and papa had business in the city. Should you like to live in the city, daughter?"
Edna laid her head on her mother's shoulder. "I should like to live anywhere that you are mamma; but I think it is nice out where Dorothy Evans and Maggie live. O, mamma, I have a whole bushel of things to tell you. I believe my tongue will wear out before I get through."
CELIA.CELIA.
And truly, mamma told her before the day was over that her tongue must be "hung in the middle to wag at both ends." But what a delightful day it was! So many pretty things to see. Something to be chosen for the boys, and for Celia a buckle, just like Grace Neal's, which was found after some hunting.
"Mamma," said Edna, "I should like to get something for Ellen, she has been so good to me."
"Of course," replied mamma, "that must not be forgotten;" and material for a pretty frock was chosen.
"And, mamma," continued Edna, as with much satisfaction she saw the breadths measured off, "could I get some tiny little something for Uncle Justus?"
"And Aunt Elizabeth?" added mamma.
"Ye-es," said Edna, rather doubtfully; "but—but—"
"But what, dear?"
"I should like what we get for Uncle Justus to be the nicest."
Mrs. Conway smiled. "You love Uncle Justus, don't you, dear? He has always seemed so stern and distant I hardly fancied you would find the way to his heart."
"But, mamma," said Edna, sagely, "it is such a big heart when you do find your way there." A remark which mamma considered a very wise one for such a little girl to make.
"What should you like to get for Uncle Justus?" asked Mrs. Conway. "What very nice thing do you think he would fancy?"
Edna looked perplexed.
"How would a nice umbrella do?" her mother asked.
"He might lose it, and it would wear out. I want something that will not wear out."
"That is not easy to find, although a book comes near it. How would that do?"
Edna shook her head. That didn't seem to please her, and her eyes wandered around the shop in which they were. Suddenly she jumped down from the high stool upon which she had been sitting.
"I know," she exclaimed. "A clock—I'd like a clock, 'cause he'd have to wind it up, and it would remind him of me, and I'll tell him when it is ticking it says 'Ed-na, Ed-na,' just as if it were talking."
Mamma laughed, but thought it a very good choice. A pretty little memorandum tablet was then bought for Aunt Elizabeth, and the shopping for that day was finished.
"I am afraid we shall be too late for a noonday meal if we go back," said Mrs. Conway. "I told Aunt Elizabeth not to expect us, so we will take a luncheon downtown."
This was a very delightful experience, and one that had never come to Edna before; therefore she enjoyed her meal hugely.
"Now we must go to see Mrs. Porter," said mamma, and Edna was made quite happy by having her mother say that she quite agreed with her little daughter in thinking Mrs. Porter a very charming woman.
"And, mamma, don't you think we ought to go to see Mr. and Mrs. Martin before we go home?" asked the little girl.
"To be sure, I want to meet all your friends, Mrs. Evans, Mrs. MacDonald, and all, but next we shall have to go to the hotel, where your Aunt Clara and Uncle William are."
"And Louis," added Edna.
"This is a jolly place," said Louis, when the two children were left alone. "I tell you I enjoyed my supper last night. No one said to me, 'Butter or molasses,'" and Louis' imitation of Aunt Elizabeth made Edna laugh.
"Now tell me," she said, settling herself in a big chair, "were you really going to run away? How was it?"
"Why," replied Louis, a little awkwardly, "I might have gone; but, you see, when I wrote to father and mother about not getting along well and all that, and when Uncle Justus wrote about that time, you know when the boys were there, and said I ought to be in a regular boys' school, where I'd have companions, they concluded they'd send me to a military school next year. I'd like that; I'll learn to drill and have a fine time, with boys to play with all the time, although," he added, seeing a little hurt look on Edna's face, "to tell you the truth, Edna, if it hadn't been for you I don't know how I should have managed; we did have some good times, and you made me ashamed of myself lots of times; so I didn't get into trouble near as often as I might have done if you hadn't been there; but while you were away I couldn't stand it, and I really did think I'd run away—I should have stopped on the way to say good-by to you, though—but when father and mother came I forgot all about everything, you see. I tell you, you are a brick, and stood up for me like a Trojan. I told father and mother all about it."
Praise like this was very sweet to Edna.
"You stood up for me when that boy, that Phil Blaney, was so dreadful," she made answer.
"Ho! that was nothing, I found out what a mean sort of a chap he was that day, and I've not liked him since. I like Charlie Stabler much better. Say, how will you like living here?"
"What do you mean? Am I really to come back? Did you hear mamma say so? And you will not be here. O, dear!"
"I heard some talk of you all coming here to live."
"That was what papa meant then. O, I wish I knew."
"He's in the other room now talking to my father. Let's go ask him," and the children ran tumultuously in to Mr. Conway.
"Well, I'm thinking of it," was his reply to their questioning. "It looks now as if my business would bring me here."
"And we'll really all come here to live?" cried Edna.
"Yes, I think so."
"O, then! O, papa! Couldn't we live in the country where Dorothy Evans lives? Mr. Evans comes to the city every day. It isn't far."
Mr. Conway looked at his wife. "That would not be a bad idea," he said.
"It would be an excellent one provided we can find the right place. I think it would be much better for the children," she replied.
So then and there it was arranged that a trip in that direction should be made the next day.
"Edna will be so happy to be near her friends," said Mrs. Conway to Mrs. Morrison; "although I do believe the child would try to be contented anywhere," she added.
"She has a very helpful spirit," returned Mrs. Morrison. "I don't know what Louis would have done without her. She has been much braver than he." An admission which, while perfectly true, Mrs. Conway thought was a very generous one for a mother to make.
"I can take Moggins to Margaret," said Edna, delightedly, on their way back to Aunt Elizabeth's; "and you can see all the people I like so much, mamma, my dear Miss Agnes, and all."
The gifts were duly presented, and Uncle Justus promised that the clock should say, "Ed-na, Ed-na" to him, and, many a time after, as he sat beside the fire in his easy chair, did the cheerful ticking remind him of the little loving child.
The expedition to the country was a great success. Moggins behaved beautifully, for he was curled up asleep in his basket most of the way. Margaret's delight on again having him was good to see. She was overjoyed at the possibility of having Edna for a neighbor, and Dorothy fairly screamed at the news.
"I know just the place to suit you," said Miss Agnes to Mrs. Conway. "It is about halfway between here and the depot. You know that white house, Edna, with the vines over the porch and the big oak tree on the lawn; it is so pretty there in summer, and is very convenient to the station." And true enough it proved to suit exactly.
After this came the preparations for returning home. At first the question was raised as to whether or not Edna should be left with her aunt and uncle until after the removal, but the sight of the little, wistful, disappointed face went to the mother's heart, although Edna made no protest.
"We expect too much of the child," she said to her husband. "She has been more courageous than most children under many sore trials to a sensitive little heart; and she loves her pets, and has been separated from us all so long." Therefore, Edna was told she could pack up Ada's belongings and make ready for the return.
"We shall not be ready to remove for a couple of months," said mamma, "and you will have a good time running about for that length of time."
It was not hard to say good-by when there was such a near prospect of coming back, and even the parting with Louis was made easy because he was to spend part of the summer with his cousins.
"When we get to our new home we shall have such a good time," said Edna. "The Porter boys can play with our boys, and I can play with Dorothy and Margaret, and sister can have Miss Agnes, and O, it will be just splendid!"
It was very delightful to be at home again; to find everything looking just the same; to discover that Snowflake was nearly ready to hatch out a brood of chickens; that Mooly had a dear little calf; that the boys were as funny as ever; that sister was so, so glad to see the little traveler. And, of course, they were all ready to chatter and question and wonder over the events which had taken place and which were to take place. So the weeks went so quickly that it seemed no time before they were busy making preparations for going to their new home. By the end of the summer they were cozily settled in the white house, and had found corners for gardens and places for their pets. Uncle Justus made frequent trips to see them, and was consulted on such grave subjects as whether a gray kitten or a black one were the prettier, and what flowers would look best in a certain little garden bordered around with pebbles. He was taken to see Mrs. MacDonald, and actually seemed pleased to meet Moggins again—a fact which no one appeared to believe when Edna told it. But, then, no one understood Uncle Justus quite as well as this little niece of his.
Aunt Elizabeth is much more of a favorite than her husband with people generally; she is so bland and affable. She too enjoys an occasional trip to the country, and is always interested in telling Margaret how matters progress at the Home of the Friendless.
Later in the year three little girls, with the sister of one of them, started together to school, going to the city in the morning and returning when school was out; but during the winter months, when the days were shorter, they all remained under Uncle Justus's roof, from Monday until Friday, as Agnes had done—Agnes, who was then going to college. The Porter boys—nice little fellows—are great friends of Edna's brothers, and often come out to spend Saturday with Frank and Charlie. Louis sometimes comes for a holiday, and shows himself much more manly; he is gradually outgrowing his peevishness and selfishness, so that he bids fair to be a fine man.
The three little girls get along famously. It was whispered among the school children that Margaret was an "orphan asylum girl," and there were some who disdained her in consequence, but Edna's love and loyalty, with Dorothy's help, came to the rescue, and now Margaret MacDonald is one of the most popular girls in the school. She is so bright and amiable; moreover, the little romance about her being lost and found gives a zest to the friendships she has formed.
Celia has her own friends, and is a great stronghold for the three little girls when matters go wrong with them, as they must sometimes do. She has never found the way to the heart of Uncle Justus as Edna has, but it is unlikely that any one can do that, for, although the little clock ticking away on the mantel often says "Ed-na, Ed-na" to Uncle Justus, it often speaks another name which he has given to his favorite, but which she has never heard—"Heart Content."
These delightful girls' stories are each written by an authority; one well versed in the particular subject. The stories are timely. At the same time the books make absorbing reading.
Each book has no less than eight full-page illustrations.
12 mo. 224 to 256 pages. Fully illustrated, with six-color cover and six-color jacket.
All these stories are written for live, healthy girls; not the namby pamby kind, but girls that like fun and action. Girls just like you are yourself, that don't want to live in a glass cage and have everything done for them,but who want to do things for themselves and for others.
We are sure you will just love these stories.
You Can Get These Books Wherever Books Are Sold
These books are low in price but are splendid reading. We all like Fairy Tales, no matter what our ages may be.
Be sure to ask for the Whitman Editions.
For sale wherever books are sold.
Whitman Publishing Co.
RACINE, WISCONSIN