On Monday morning, Gustus came to Beth, bringing a cat with three kittens. The cat was of only a common breed, but Beth was delighted with the present.
Gustus was no longer ragged, but he looked very comical. There had been no boy's clothes in the house for him, and so Mrs. Davenport had fitted him out in an old suit of her husband's until another could be had. Of course, everything was much too large for Gustus, but he was as proud as Lucifer. He strutted up and down before Beth with his hands in his pockets and Fritz as usual tagging at his heels.
"Missy, I looks like de quality now shure, don't I?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear; and, not waiting for an answer, he added, "Yo'se been powerful good to me, missy, an' I'm goin' to give yo' Fritz, too."
Such generosity quite overcame Beth. "But, Gustus, I couldn't think of taking him away from you."
"Don't yo' worry, missy," he answered with a chuckle. "Yo' ain't takin' him 'way from me. I'se yo'r niggah now. Yo' owns Fritz an' me."
Beth hardly knew what to say. She thought it would be wrong to "own" Gustus. Slave days were a thing of the past. However, his devotion made her feel self-important.
"Well, Gustus, you must be a good boy," was all she could think to say.
"Yes, 'deed, missy. Come with me, an' I'll show yo' a bird's nest."
"I can't, Gustus. Mamma told me I must play indoors unless it clears. You know she's gone to town with Marian to see about a school for her. I'm not to go until next winter.
"I went to school once for a little while," she continued presently. "It happened this way: Marian attended a private school kept by a poor lady that mamma felt sorry for. Marian was not well, so mamma let me go in her place, so the lady wouldn't lose money. They didn't think I'd study hard, but, Gustus, I like to know things, and learning to read was a great help. So I studied very hard. Then I was taken very sick and was out of my head. I talked about books all the time. The doctor said I came near having brain fever, and it wouldn't do for me to go for awhile. I don't believe it would hurt me, but that's why I'm not going to school this year. Did you ever go to school, Gustus?"
"No, missy; me an' Fritz don't need no larnin'."
"But you do, Gustus, and I'm going to teach you."
He did not look particularly pleased at the offer. Nevertheless, Beth put the cat and the kittens down, and started to run for her books.
Bent as usual on mischief, Fritz made a dive and, catching the prettiest kitten by the neck, started away with it. The mother cat was after him in an instant. Her back was ruffled, and she struck Fritz with her sharp paw. He dropped the kitten and ran howling from the room. Gustus thought it a good opportunity to escape and started after Fritz.
"Gustus, come back," called Beth.
He looked crestfallen, but felt in duty bound to do as his little mistress bade. She brought her books, and had Gustus sit down beside her. Then she tried him with the alphabet. He proved woefully ignorant. After pointing out to him, A, B, and C, many, many times, she said:
"Show me A, Gustus."
He grinned. "A what, missy?"
"The letter A, of course, g——" She almost said "goosie," but thought in time that such a word would not be dignified for a teacher to use.
She did not find the fun in teaching that she had expected. Nevertheless, she persevered. Her face grew flushed as Gustus proved himself more and more ignorant.
When Mrs. Davenport returned from town, she found Beth at her self-imposed task.
"Mamma, Gustus ought to go to school."
"I don't wants to go," he cried, his eyes rolling so there was hardly any black visible in them.
Mrs. Davenport did not press the point. She intended to talk it over with her husband.
"Mr. Davenport and I bought these for you," she said, untying a package and drawing out a suit of boy's clothes, stockings, shoes, and underwear.
Gustus's pride now passed all bounds. He let forth a perfect avalanche of thanks, using large words, the meaning of which he had little idea. Even young darkies like big-sounding speech.
The morning passed quickly to Beth. To her delight, towards noon the sun broke through the clouds. This reminded her of Harvey Baker's invitation to fish.
"Mamma, may I go down to the wharf?" she asked immediately after luncheon. "Harvey Baker asked me to fish with him. He's a neighbor's boy I met Saturday."
"Well, I declare. Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I forgot." She had had so many things to think of and talk about, that she had not thought much about Harvey except at night. Then that awful alligator haunted her until she wanted to call her mamma, but she had not dared because of her promise.
"May I go, mamma?"
"But I do not know anything about him. He may not be nice at all."
Maggie, who chanced to be present, now spoke up:
"De Bakers am quality, Miss Mary. I wouldn't be feared to let missy go wid any Baker. I'se s'prised, do, dat Harvey axed her, 'cause he don't like girls. Are yo' sure, honey, he axed yo'?"
"Of course I am."
"Den yo' needn't fear, Miss Mary. Harvey's a big boy, and he'll take good care of her."
With this assurance, Mrs. Davenport gave her consent.
Beth put on her hat and hurried down the avenue to the river. On the end of the wharf sat Harvey, holding a fishing pole. He turned his head at her approach.
"Hello, Beth. I hardly expected you. I thought your mamma might be 'fraid to let you come."
She smiled. "Maggie said you were 'quality,' and would take care of me."
Harvey gave a grunt. "Don't know about quality, but as long as your mamma trusted me, she shan't repent. Take this line, and go to fishing."
He handed one to her and she dropped the end into the water. Harvey broke into a hearty laugh.
"You don't 'spect to catch fish without bait, do you?"
She answered meekly: "I s'pose not, but what is bait?"
Harvey laughed harder than ever. "Well, you are silly."
Beth felt aggrieved over being called silly, but she tried to look dignified.
"Don't care, you're just as silly as me. My papa says if people don't keep quiet, they'll scare all the fish away. You're laughing awful loud."
He immediately sobered down. "True for you, Beth. It is silly to laugh and you're a wise girl. You'll make a good fisher. Here, I'll put the bait on for you."
He baited her line and threw it out into deep water for her.
She waited patiently for the fish to bite, but it seemed as if her patience was to go unrewarded. She wished for Harvey's good opinion, and so she did not even speak. It proved pretty dull work and to make matters worse, Harvey pulled in a number of fish, while she did not get even a nibble.
She would have given up in despair had not her pride prevented. Harvey felt sorry for her and proved himself magnanimous.
"Beth, the fish are biting lively here. You take my place—yes, you must, and I'll go around on the other side."
Matters did not mend for Beth even with the change. The fish seemed to follow the boy. He caught several on the other side of the wharf, while the patient little fisher maiden waited in vain for the fish to take pity on her.
Presently, she almost feel asleep, fishing proved so uninteresting. Then there was a terrible jerk on her line, followed by a steady pull. Beth was afraid the alligator had swallowed the line, and that she would be dragged into the river. Nevertheless, she hung on bravely.
"Harvey, Harvey, come quick. I can't pull it in. Come quick."
He rushed to her assistance. The two children began pulling together. Harvey's eyes grew almost as big as his companion's.
"Beth, I believe you've caught a whale."
It was a very hard tug for them, but finally something black wiggled out of the water. Beth gave a little cry.
"Harvey, it's a snake. I don't want it, do you?"
His eyes sparkled. "It's no snake, Beth. It's an eel and a beauty too. My, what a monster!"
"Are you sure it is not a snake?"
"Of course I am. Darkies call them second cousins to snakes and won't eat them, but they are fine eating. My, just see him squirm. Isn't he big, though? You're a brick, Beth, to catch him."
By this time, the eel was safely landed on the wharf, and proved to be indeed a monster. It was a wonder that the children had ever been able to pull him in. Harvey tried to unhook him, but failed; for just as the boy thought he had him, the eel would slip away.
"Let's take him up to the house on the line. I want to show him to mamma," cried Beth.
"All right, but first we'll fix some lines for crabs."
"What are crabs?"
"My, don't you know? Well, we'll catch some when we come back and then you'll see."
He took some lines without hooks and tied raw beef on the ends of them. Then he threw them into the water.
Beth, as proud as if she had caught a tarpon, took up her line with the eel on it, and away marched the children to the house.
"Mamma, just see what I caught."
"Well, I declare," cried Mrs. Davenport at sight of the eel. "Did you really catch that all by yourself, child?"
"Yes, mamma, except that Harvey had to help me pull it in, or else the eel would have pulled me into the water. It tugged awfully hard, but I wouldn't let go. Mamma, this is Harvey and we're just having heaps of fun." She had forgotten, already, that a few minutes before she thought she was having a very stupid time.
Harvey raised his cap. Mrs. Davenport liked the boy's appearance.
"Mamma, you keep the eel to show papa. Harvey and I are going back to catch crabs. Come on, Harvey."
Mrs. Davenport detained them a moment. "Harvey, you'll take good care of my little girl, won't you?"
"Yes, ma'am," and back the children scampered to the wharf.
"You see if there is anything on this line, Beth, while I go around to the other lines. If there is, call me, and I'll come with the net, and help you land him."
Away went Harvey. Beth began pulling in the line. There, hanging on the meat with two awful claws, was a great big greenish crab. His eyes bulged out, and altogether he looked so fierce that Beth was somewhat frightened at him, but she wished to surprise Harvey. Therefore she overcame her fear, and continued pulling up the line. For a wonder, the crab hung on all the way from the water to the wharf. Beth was delighted to think she had caught something without Harvey's aid. Mr. Crab, however, as soon as he felt himself trapped, let go of the meat, and began crawling towards the side of the wharf. Beth saw her prize vanishing, and made a dive for it. Up went the crab's claws, and caught the child by the fingers. A scream immediately rent the air.
Harvey came running to find the cause of the commotion. He had to laugh, notwithstanding tears were streaming down Beth's face. She looked so ludicrous, dancing up and down with that awful crab hanging on like grim death.
"'Beware of the Jabberwock that bites, my child,'" quoted Harvey.
Beth stopped screaming an instant. "I thought it was a crab."
"So it is. I was just repeating a line fromAlice in Wonderland."
While Harvey spoke, he was trying to loosen the crab. The harder he pulled, the more angry it grew, and the harder it bit. Finally, he pulled so desperately that the crab came, but a claw was left hanging to poor Beth's finger.
Harvey started to drop the crab. Again Beth ceased her yelling.
"Harvey, don't you dare let my crab go. Put it in the basket and then come and get this awful claw off my finger."
He did as he was bid, secretly admiring his little friend's pluck. They had a great time getting off the dismembered claw, but, finally, they succeeded. Poor Beth's finger was bitten to the bone. Harvey really felt very sympathetic, but, boy-like, was somewhat bashful about expressing it.
"Beth, does it hurt much?" was all he said.
"Pretty bad," she admitted, forcing back the tears. "Say, Harvey, were there any other crabs?"
"I had time to look at only two of the lines, I got three crabs from the two. There were two on one line, so with yours we have four. But never mind the crabs; we must go up to the house and have your finger dressed."
"No, we must first see if there are any other crabs. Here, tie my handkerchief around my finger. I guess I can stand it awhile."
The handkerchief was tied about the sore finger, and then Beth watched Harvey while he pulled up the lines. There were crabs on every one, and on some of them there were two. Harvey would pull the crabs to the surface of the water and then scoop the net under them. In moving the crabs from the net to the basket, he held them by the hind legs, because, in this position, a crab cannot reach around with its claws to bite.
Altogether, the children caught about fifteen crabs, and they took them up to the house with them. Arriving there, they found that Mrs. Davenport had driven to town to bring home Mr. Davenport and Marian.
Beth therefore went to Maggie about the finger, and Harvey accompanied her. Maggie proved very sympathetic.
"Yo' precious little honey, yo'. Dat finger jes' am awful, but I knows what'll cure it in no time. Here, yo', Gustus, yo' run and fetch me some tar. Hurry, yo' lazy niggah yo'. Dar, dar, honey chile, it'll be all right in no time. Tar am jes' fine for a sore."
For a wonder, Gustus did hurry and was back in no time with the tar. Maggie dressed the wound with it very gently and Beth began to feel easier immediately.
"Now, honey, it'll be all right. If yo'd only known, and jes' held yo'r finger with dat crab out over the watah, it 'd have seen its shadah and gone aftah it."
"Here, Beth," Harvey now said, "you can have all of the crabs; I guess I'd better go."
"Please don't go, Harvey; I want you to stay. Say, Harvey, are crabs good to eat?"
"Of course, they are. You just put them in water and boil them and they are dandy."
"Oh, how I wish we could boil them. Wouldn't papa be surprised? Maggie, can't we boil them?" and Beth seized the cook's hand and held it, pressing it coaxingly.
"Law, honey, dar ain't no room on de stove. I's gettin' de dinnah."
"Please, Maggie, make room," continued Beth, already having learned her power of persuasion over her new mammy.
"I can't, honey, but I'll tell yo' what. Yo' an' Harvey kin do it if he knows how to boil dem."
"Of course, I know how."
"Well, I'll let yo' take dis big iron kettle into de library. Yo' kin put de kettle on de fire, dar, an' boil dem."
Beth danced up and down for joy. "Oh, won't that be fun. Thank you, Maggie. You're a lovely Maggie."
"Dar ain't no hot watah, but I'll take dis cold watah in fur yo', an' it'll heat in no time."
Maggie carried the kettle, half-filled with water, and placed it securely, as she thought, on the big open wood-fire in the library. Then she left the children to their own devices, Fritz alone keeping them company. A watched kettle never boils, and the children did not have the patience to test the truth of this.
"I hate to wait for water to boil," said Beth.
Just then Harvey conceived a brilliant idea.
"Say, Beth, we'll put in the crabs before it begins to boil. Then we can play until they're done."
"And the cold water won't hurt them like hot, will it, Harvey?"
Without answering, he emptied the crabs into the kettle. Beth viewed them critically.
"There's the horrid old thing that bit me. I know him by his one claw."
"He shall be the first one eaten to show how mean he was. What shall we play?"
"Let's play stage."
He accepted the suggestion, and while they played, Fritz snoozed comfortably before the fire.
The water began to get hot, and the crabs became lively. They crawled around so vigorously that a log slipped and upset the kettle. There was a sizzling of water, and, in an instant, fifteen crabs were loose in the Davenport library.
This avalanche of crabs awakened Fritz, who opened his eyes halfway and beheld a crab at his very nose. Perhaps in his sleepiness, he thought it another kind of kitten ready for a frolic. At any rate, he put out his paw towards the crab, which met his advances more than halfway. With a wild howl, Fritz jumped up on three feet while the crab clung grimly to the fourth.
"Poor Fritz! You, too, should beware of the Jabberwock that bites," cried Beth from the lounge where she had taken refuge.
Around and around whirled Fritz in a most lively manner.
"Just see him," cried Beth triumphantly. "Gustus always said he could dance, and this proves it."
Harvey, who was trying to catch some of the crabs, grunted disdainfully, but continued his unsuccessful chase without any other comment.
Fortunately for Fritz, the crab dropped of its own accord, and the frightened dog tore like a streak of lightning through the house and on outdoors.
Once Harvey stooped and thought he surely had a crab, when Beth beheld another crab with claws upstretched right behind.
"Harvey, come here quick," cried Beth; "a crab's going to bite you in the back."
Thereupon, he, too, jumped upon the lounge to escape the threatening claws. Immediately, however, he said:
"Oh, pshaw, it's silly to be afraid of crabs. I'm going to get down again." Beth, however, caught hold of his hand, saying:
"No, I won't let you. I wish somebody would come to help us. I'm going to try to make Maggie hear me. Maggie. Maggie."
Back from the kitchen floated the slow tones of Maggie.
"What am it, honey?"
"Maggie, come here, quick."
Then they heard the soft tread of her feet crossing the piazza.
"She's coming, Harvey."
Maggie poked her head through the door and beheld the children upon the lounge.
"Laws a massy, what am yo' doin' thar, honeys?"
Then she saw the crabs on the floor, and she began to laugh.
Now when Maggie laughed it meant more than ordinary merriment. Her eyes rolled and her sides shook.
"Ha, ha, ha. Oh my, oh me. Ha, ha, ha. Well, dis am a sight. I jes' 'lows I must go to Titus about dis yere. Ha, ha, ha," and away she went.
"But, Maggie," cried Beth in protest, "I think you're real mean. We want you to help us catch them."
But Maggie paid no attention to the appeal.
The one-clawed crab stopped for a moment in front of the lounge.
"Harvey, he's making fun of us, too,"
"The impudent thing," exclaimed Harvey, jumping down.
By a dexterous move, he captured the crab.
"Don't you come back here with it," commanded Beth.
There was a space free from crabs between Harvey and the window. He ran to the window and threw the crab out.
January chanced to be working not far away, and Harvey spied him.
"Come in here quick, January," he cried. "There are a lot of crabs after us."
January, for a wonder, came running, and his valor for once proved remarkable. He showed no fear of the crabs, and darted around so quickly that he caught every one in the room. The one-legged one that Harvey had thrown out of the window was never found. Perhaps it made its way back to the river, and told of its harrowing experiences on land, and especially how it had lost its claw.
Fritz limped for several days after his experience with the crab and Beth had a terrible nightmare that night in which crabs were giants with claws of iron.
Beth was seated with Fritz and the kittens in a large Mexican hammock on the front porch. She held up a warning finger to her mother who stood in the doorway.
"Mamma, do not frighten birdie away. He is not the least bit afraid of me, and I love to hear him sing."
Mrs. Davenport was surprised to see a mocking bird perched on the railing directly by the side of Beth. His little head was cocked sidewise, and floods of sweet sounds issued from his throat.
His spouse, who was guarding their nest up in the big live oak in the front yard, trilled her limited paeon of praise.
Beth, who often acted as interpreter for beast and bird, thought the proud wife-bird meant to say:
"Bravo. Isn't he the most wonderful tenor that ever lived? Are you surprised that I love him so? He is the best and smartest husband in all the world."
Fritz and black pussy grew restless. She spit at him, and he barked at her.
"Now, my dears, do let me enjoy this beautiful music in peace," Beth said reprovingly.
Hardly had she spoken, before black pussy sprang away, and Fritz was after her in an instant.
Beth did not dare follow for fear of frightening away Mr. Mocking Bird, who stopped singing as cat and dog scampered away, but who had not yet flown back to his mate. He was watching fearfully every move of the frolicsome pair.
Away scurried kitty to the other end of the porch with Fritz a close second. Suddenly, she turned, settling down on her back with her claws out-stretched, ready to receive Fritz. In an instant he was on her. Over and over they rolled in their wild play. Fritz became too rough to suit puss, and she gave him a sudden dab with her sharp little claws. The blow disabled him for a moment, allowing puss to spring away from him. She scampered down the steps and towards the big tree with Fritz again after her.
Mr. Mocking Bird was up in arms in an instant. How dared the impudent creatures approach that tree where dwelt his wife and children! He flew to the rescue.
Mrs. Mocking Bird, too, had grown so nervous that she, also, left her young, and joined in the fray. Together Mr. and Mrs. Mocking Bird dived and pecked at the cat and the dog in a most ferocious manner.
Beth rushed out, ready to assist the birds, if necessary, but her aid was not needed.
Black puss and Fritz were so taken by surprise at the fierce onslaught of the birds that they turned and sneaked away as fast as they could go. Thus, through the power of love, the weaker triumphed over the stronger. Later on the mocking birds also came out victors in another contest, and against greater numbers, too. It happened in this wise:
As the days went by, Beth grew somewhat restless. She did not exactly tire of Fritz, puss, and Arabella, but she longed for diversion. Then one evening Mr. Davenport brought home a large coop of chickens, and calling Beth to him, he said:
"You are to tend these, daughter, and hunt eggs every day."
"Oh you dear, good papa. I want to take one of the sweet things in my arms."
Thereupon she tried to get a chicken, but somehow, in so doing, she upset the coop. Away flurried the chickens in every direction. Beth felt ready to cry.
"Never mind," said Mr. Davenport; "when they go to roost to-night, we can catch them, and put them in the chicken house."
That night, some of the chickens perched on sheds, and some on trees. A few had the hardihood to fly up on the branches of the live oak in the front yard.
Mrs. Mocking Bird was just falling asleep in the nest with her young, and Mr. Mocking Bird was already asleep not far from her side. The chickens aroused the mother bird in an instant.
"Dearest," she piped, "I hear a dreadful noise down-stairs. I think there must be burglars in the house. You must go down and see."
Now, every one knows that a man hates to be disturbed from a sound sleep, and Mr. Mocking Bird proved no exception.
"Oh, birdie," he grumbled, "do leave me alone; you're always imagining things."
"Imagining things, am I?" she answered shrilly. "Just hear that awful noise. You're so lazy that you would see me and the children murdered before you'd move. If you don't want me to think you a coward, you'll go down this instant. This instant, I say."
Now Mr. Mocking Bird was, as Mrs. Mocking Bird knew, very brave, and he also loved her praise. So he only blinked his eyes once more, and literally flew down-stairs. There he spied the chickens settling down for a good night's rest. Such impudence aroused his ire. He did not hesitate a second, but dived into their midst and pecked furiously at the poor, unsuspecting intruders. The chickens, taken utterly by surprise, fluttered to the ground without offering any resistance. They cackled so loudly, however, that the noise brought Titus to their rescue, and he succeeded in capturing the badly frightened hens.
Mr. Mocking Bird, triumphant, ascended to his anxious spouse.
"Dearest," she cried, "you're not hurt, are you?"
"Hurt!" he repeated boastfully, "hurt? Well, I should say not. It was only some upstart chickens who dared to sneak into the house, and I'm more than a match for any number of such. I guess we shan't be disturbed again by chickens or by impudent dogs and cats."
Mr. Mocking Bird proved right in his surmise. The birds thereafter enjoyed their home without further intrusion.
Under Beth's care, the chickens flourished finely. They laid many an egg which in due time were placed beneath mamma hens.
There was a very proud little girl in the Davenport family when finally balls of yellow broke through the egg shells.
Then Beth began saving eggs for Easter, and, on Easter Day, she found that she had enough to give every darky one, besides having all that were wanted for her own family.
This Eastertide brought new diversions to Beth. For one thing, she received an invitation to spend a night in town with a little girl named Laura Corner. The Davenports and the Corners had been friends in the North before the two families moved South.
Beth had never before spent a night away from home. She thought it would be a "sperience" to go, and prevailed upon Mrs. Davenport to let her accept the invitation.
The momentous day arrived at last. Beth wished to take all her belongings with her, from Fritz to a small trunk. She had to be content, however, with a valise.
Fritz and Arabella were admonished to be good during her absence, and the chickens were entrusted to Marian's care.
Mrs. Davenport drove Beth to town. Upon reaching the Corners' home, Beth's heart sank unaccountably, and she had a hard time to keep the tears back, when she kissed her mother good-bye. However, Laura and the Corners were so very cordial that her spirits soon revived.
In the afternoon several little girls, who had been invited to play, came in. Among the number was one who especially attracted Beth. She was slight and graceful. Her hair was golden and her eyes were blue. Beth, of course, was introduced to all the girls, but did not catch the name of this one.
"She looks like that picture of the cherub we have at home," decided Beth. "I wonder what her name is. I guess I'll call her 'Cherub' to myself. Cherub, you're very pretty, but you're too quiet to be much fun."
Most of the little girls had their dolls with them; all, in fact, excepting Beth and the "Cherub." The latter sat apart from the other children. She looked so very demure that Beth thought her bashful, and took pity on her. Seating herself beside her, she asked:
"Wouldn't your mamma let you bring your doll? My mamma thought I had better not bring mine so far."
The "Cherub" showed little interest in the conversation. She answered curtly:
"I haven't a doll."
Beth's eyes opened in surprise. "You haven't any doll? What a pity."
Then she hesitated. She feared the "Cherub" might be too poor to afford dolls. She was soon undeceived, however, by the "Cherub" exclaiming:
"Idon't think it a pity. I don't care for dolls; they're a nuisance. I like to play outdoors."
"So do I."
The "Cherub" grew animated. "Do you? Say, can you climb trees and walk on stilts and——"
"What are stilts?"
"Don't you know?" There was a slight contempt expressed for such woeful ignorance. "They are long pieces of wood with places for your feet up from the ground. It's just as if you had wooden legs, only they make you tall so that you feel quite grown up."
"I'd like to walk on stilts."
"Would you? Where do you live?"
"Out on the old shell road."
"What! are your folks the people who bought the place near us?"
"Do you live on the shell road, too?" Beth was delighted. She was beginning to think the "Cherub" might prove very companionable.
"Yes. Your name is Beth Davenport, isn't it? Mine's Julia Gordon. Say, Beth, I'll come to see you and teach you how to walk on stilts if you like."
"Will you, really? When will you come?"
"To-morrow morning."
Beth's face fell. "Oh, that's a pity. I shan't be home. I'm going to stay here all night."
"Well, never mind. I'll come the morning after."
"All right, don't forget."
"No, I'll be there right after breakfast."
Games were started at this juncture, and then came refreshments. Soon afterwards, the guests took their departure. The "Cherub" said in parting:
"We'll have a jolly time with the stilts, Beth. I've been wanting to teach somebody for a long time."
Laura and Beth had a merry time together until tea-time. Then, after tea, Laura's older sister, Florrie, told them stories. Beth was simply fascinated. She could listen forever, she thought, and not grow weary. Florrie made her characters live by the magic of her voice and words.
Just before it was time for the children to retire, Florrie took down the Bible and read a chapter to them.
Then the children went up-stairs to bed. They had a pillow fight after they were in their night-dresses. Sad to relate, in the scuffle, their clothes were strewn around the room, and Beth carelessly failed to gather hers together again.
They talked in bed until Mrs. Corner called to them to stop. Laura soon fell asleep, but Beth's heart, again, grew heavy. She missed the good-night kiss from her mamma, and tears rose to her eyes. She tried not to sob for fear of awakening Laura. Minutes seemed hours to her. She realized more than ever the depth of her love for her mother, and she resolved in future to be the best girl alive. That resolve somehow quieted her so that she fell asleep and forgot her heartache in pleasant dreams. She dreamed that it was the day after the morrow, and that Julia had come with stilts so high that they touched the clouds. Beth walked on them without the least difficulty; then, all of a sudden, she dropped them, and found herself flying with the utmost ease. She wondered she had never tried it before; it was so very delightful to fly. But, suddenly, the clouds turned into smoke and fire. Beth awakened with a start. The room was very light, as light as if it was broad daylight.
Beth gave Laura a poke, "Laura, it must be late. See how light it is."
Laura jumped out of bed, and, running to one of the windows, raised the curtain. Both of the children cried out in fright then. Flames shot and curled to the very window of their room. Laura could not tell whether their house was on fire or not. She feared so, and the house next door was one mass of flames.
Beth sprang out of bed, too.
"Mamma, mamma," screamed Laura. Nobody answered. "Come quick or we'll burn." Still only the crackling of the flames could be heard.
"They've forgotten us," cried Beth with chattering teeth. "Laura, you know the way down-stairs, don't you? Let's go."
"We must dress first," answered Laura.
Beth stamped her foot. "I'm not going to wait to dress. Besides, I don't know where my things are. Oh, why didn't I mind mamma and put them away carefully. Now they'll burn."
The more prudent Laura gathered up her clothes from a chair where she had laid them, and led the way into the hall. They found it pitch dark there.
Suddenly Laura stopped. "Oh, Beth, I can't let it burn."
"What will burn, Laura?"
"My beautiful new Easter hat. I must go for it."
"Laura Corner, youmust notgo back for it. We ourselves might burn while you were getting it."
But Laura had thrust her clothes into Beth's unwilling arms, and was off like a flash to rescue her Easter hat. Beth did not know the way sufficiently well to go on by herself, and so, trembling, she awaited Laura's return.
Laura Corner in the treasured Easter hat.[Illustration: Laura Corner in the treasured Easter hat.]
Laura Corner in the treasured Easter hat.[Illustration: Laura Corner in the treasured Easter hat.]
Laura was soon back, pressing the precious hat close to her side. Such treatment was likely to do it great damage, but, in her excitement, Laura did not stop to think of this.
Down-stairs a light shone in the parlor. Guided by its friendly beams, Laura led the way there. No one was within. The house was deserted but for the two trembling girls.
"Beth, God alone can help us," and Laura's face was almost as white as the Easter hat under her arm.
Beth's lip trembled. "He's so far away. I wish mamma were here."
"Beth, God will hear us if we pray. Get down on your knees beside me."
"I'd rather run out into the street," answered Beth, who always believed in action rather than words.
"You're a wicked little girl. My mamma says I must never go on the street without some grown-up person. So get on your knees this minute."
Beth meekly obeyed. Laura folded her hands. Beth imitated her.
"Begin," said Laura.
"Begin what?" and Beth's eyes were wide open from surprise; yes, and from fear, too.
"Why, to pray, of course."
"I'm not going to. You're the one who wanted to. Why don't you begin yourself?"
"I can't. I'm too scared. Go on, Beth, and pray."
"I—I don't know what to say. Would 'Now I lay me down to sleep,' do?"
"No, silly. We're not laying us down to sleep. It's a fire. God's to keep us from burning to death. So pray."
"I—I'm not going to," and Beth jumped to her feet.
Laura began crying: "You're very wicked, Beth Davenport, and we'll burn to death, and it'll all be your fault."
"We won't burn if you'll come with me into the street. I'm going anyway."
"Why, children, what are you doing here?" asked Mrs. Corner, coming into the parlor.
Laura rushed to her mamma and threw her arms around her neck.
"Oh, mamma, we thought you'd forgotten us, and would let us burn to death."
"Why, you poor little things. Of course, I hadn't forgotten you. Our house is not on fire. The fire is next door. We've been over there helping, and we thought we would not waken you unless there was danger of this house burning. They're getting the flames under control. Charlie has been working with wet blankets to keep our roof from catching. Now, children, you must go back to bed. Come, I'll go up with you."
When the two were again in bed and alone, Beth said;
"Laura, you ought to want to make up for calling me wicked."
"I guess you aren't wicked, after all, for God didn't let us burn. I'm sorry, Beth."
The children kissed. Then, worn out by the thrilling events of the night, slumber claimed them and held them captive until late next day.
Julia came on the promised morning, and, to the delight of Beth, she brought not only her own stilts, but bore an extra pair as a gift to Beth.
Poor Beth was black and blue all over before she conquered those unruly stilts, but it took more than bruises to dampen her ardor.
Julia was an expert in stilt walking. She could go up and down steps on hers; she could dance with them, and do other feats that appeared marvelous to Beth, and made her ambitious to do likewise.
However, Beth persevered so faithfully that soon she was on the road to being an expert herself. Stilts took up a good share of the morning, and, by lunch time, both children had fine appetites, although Beth was very tired.
Mrs. Davenport suggested that the children play in the house for a change. They soon tired, however, of the indoor sports, and Beth, although she was so lame that she could hardly move, declared that she had never felt better, and away they ran to their stilts again.
Julia had already shown off about all of her stilt accomplishments, so she thought and thought to devise something new whereby to arouse Beth's admiration afresh.
"Beth, I have it. We'll walk out in the river on our stilts. I've never tried that. It will be great."
Beth looked somewhat doubtful.
"Weren't stilts made for land? They're not boats."
"Oh, pshaw. If you're afraid, you can watch me."
Watch her indeed! Dragons could not have kept Beth from making the attempt if Julia did.
They took their stilts to the river. Beth was in such a hurry to show Julia she was not afraid, that she had great difficulty in starting. Julia mounted, and walked out into the water as proudly as a peacock. Beth followed, but, of necessity, more slowly, and she kept near the wharf. Julia skimmed through the water for a minute or two almost as easily as she went on land. But alas, pride goes before a fall.
The river bed near the shore is of hard sand, but a little way out it becomes marshy.
Suddenly Julia's stilts stuck. She tried to raise them, but they would not budge. Now, as every stilt walker knows, it is impossible to stay motionless on stilts. Over Julia went into the water, headforemost.
Beth was so startled that she herself almost lost her balance, but, fortunately, she grabbed the wharf, and scrambled up on that. Away floated her stilts.
"Hello, what have we here?" and Harvey's boat darted towards them from under the bridge.
"Oh, Harvey, save her," cried poor Beth, almost in tears but somewhat reassured now that her boy friend was near.
"The water is hardly deep enough to drown a flea," he answered.
However, he rowed up to Julia, and held out his hand.
"You had better step into my boat; you might be a worse stick in the mud than ever if you waded ashore."
"I prefer to walk."
Julia tried to look dignified, but the attempt was an utter failure. Dirty water dripped from her matted hair, while her face and clothes were streaked with mud.
Harvey could not keep back his laughter at the odd sight, and it made Julia very indignant. She said nothing to him, however, but instead seemed to be angry with her innocent little girl friend.
Beth ran to meet her and Julia gave vent to her feelings by crying:
"Beth Davenport, are you laughing at me too? Well, I'd rather be laughed at than be a 'fraid cat like you."
Now Beth thought this was very mean, especially when she had considered herself so brave. She therefore could not resist the temptation of saying:
"Well, anyway, I told you that stilts weren't boats."
"I'm going home, Beth Davenport."
Poor Julia looked so forlorn that Beth relented.
"Julia, really I didn't laugh. Please come home with me."
"Beth," called Harvey from the river, "I wish you'd get Miss Stick-in-the-Mud's picture for me. It would be the funniest thing I ever saw."
"What a horrid boy," exclaimed Julia.
By the time the children reached the house, Julia had been persuaded to remain.
Mrs. Davenport refrained from giving them much of a scolding, as she thought Julia really needed coddling a little. She was soon arrayed in some of Beth's clothes.
Shortly after, Mrs. Gordon came in to make a call on Mrs. Davenport. She proved a very lovable woman, and won the hearts of both Beth and her mother immediately.
The accident was related to her. She drew Julia to her side and said:
"Daughter, you really must be more careful. What would mamma do if anything happened to her little girl? Never again try walking in the river on stilts."
Both Julia and Beth immediately experienced a sinking of the heart. Her words reminded them that their beloved stilts had not been rescued from the river. Julia ran towards the door.
"Daughter, where are you going?"
"After my stilts. They're in the river."
"Leave them there. You've had enough of stilts." And remain in the river they did, although the girls pleaded very hard to get them.
Julia was asked to stay all night, and her mother consented, taking her departure alone.
"Julia," said Beth, "I must tell you about a dream I had the night of the fire. It was about stilts that reached up to the clouds, and I walked on them. Then I began to fly. Oh, it was lovely. I wish we could really fly."
"So do I. I believe we could if we tried. Let's try. We'll go up on that great high shed and jump off. We can make our arms go for wings, and it will be just like flying. Come on."
Away they hurried to the shed. After they had climbed up on it, it seemed dreadfully high to Beth, but she did not say so. Perhaps it seemed formidable to Julia, also, but her actions would not have led one to believe it.
"I'll try first, Beth."
Thereupon Julia leaped from the shed, making her arms flap for wings. Strange to relate, she landed safely and without feeling much jar from it.
"Oh, it's lovely, Beth. Come on."
Poor Beth did not think it so lovely. She put a bold face on the matter, though, and jumped as she had seen Julia do, also keeping her arms going in the same manner as Julia. However, she landed with a sickening thud that jarred every bone in her body.
"Isn't it fun, Beth? Let's try it again."
Up Julia scampered upon the shed. Beth, not to be outdone, followed after, but more slowly.
Again Julia Jumped and Beth followed. She felt the jar even more the second time than she had the first.
Fortunately, Mr. Davenport arrived on the scene just in time to see their last leap.
"Children, children, what are you thinking about to jump off that high shed? You might hurt yourselves badly. Don't do such a thing as that again. Run into the house now; it is about dinner time."
The children did as they were bidden; but when Mrs. Davenport beheld Beth, she exclaimed:
"Why, Beth, what is the matter? You seem to be limping."
Beth tried to brace up. "Oh, it's nothing, mamma. I'm a little stiff, that's all."
"What have you two been up to?"
"We've been flying."
Julia clasped her hands in an ecstasy of delight. "And it was such fun, Mrs. Davenport."
"Flying? What do you mean?"
"Well, you see, we got up on that shed back of the barn, and jumped off. We made our arms go for wings."
"The very idea of jumping off that tall shed! No wonder you are lame. Beth cannot play another bit to-day. You two will have to go to bed very early to-night."
Beth for once in her life did not demur. She was so worn out that she was really glad to go to bed. After a good night's rest she was much better, but she continued lame for several days.