All was pleasant confusion and excitement at Sunnycrest, for it was circus day! A wee cloud of disappointment dimmed the horizon of Jane’s bliss when she learned that Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did not feel equal to the effort of going. She was afraid she might tire or injure her lame foot; and Jane was sorry, for she would have enjoyed sharing her impressions with the sympathetic and understanding “lady who wrote books.” Still, there would be the happiness of telling her all about it afterward.
Grandmother offered to remain at home with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. But on the other hand, she thought that she ought to go, in order to look after the children. First, they were to watch the parade from the parlor windows of the village hotel, by the invitation of the hotel proprietor, Mr. Grubbs. Afterward there was to be a picnic dinner and then—the circus! Grandmother really could not have stood the strain of remaining at home and wondering whether the children had drunk too much lemonade or fallen into a wild animal’s cage, and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones knew this when she refused to let grandmother stay with her, or to change in any way the household arrangements for her sake.
Joshua was to drive the big, three-seated wagon and Huldah went too, to superintend the luncheon. Jo Perkins, having had permission to take a day off (as indeed had all the farm-hands, for grandfather firmly believed in the old saying that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”) had vanished with the dawn. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was left, together with many instructions from grandmother, to the care of Mary the housemaid, who said she didn’t care much for circuses anyway.
Christopher appropriated the seat of honor in front, beside Joshua, but Jane did not mind. Tucked in contentedly between grandfather and grandmother she was lost in a wonderful dream of the delights to come. Huldah and the baskets had the back seat to themselves and there was only just room for Huldah to squeeze in upon one corner of the seat after everything had been stowed away, for Huldah, as has perhaps been hinted before, was a “generous provider.”
The little town of Hammersmith presented a very different appearance from its every-day sleepiness. The narrow sidewalks for its whole mile length were packed with squirming, excited children and their no less excited if quieter elders. The reason that children are so restless is because they have not yet learned to soothe their nerves by wagging their tongues instead of their arms and legs.
Farmers had come in from all the neighboring districts with their families. A good many had given their workmen, too, a holiday, as Grandfather Baker had his. Circuses did not come to Hammersmith very often.
Grandfather, in spite of frowns and head-shakings from grandmother, bought Jane and Christopher each a bag of roasted peanuts and another of sticky pop-corn. Then he placed them side by side in an open window, with due caution not to fall out. The children were absolutely happy.
“Oh, Kit, I’m so glad I’m alive!” half whispered Jane. “I don’t think that even the sorts of things that happen in story-books could be nicer than this. Aren’t you glad we bought the apples?”
“Oh, I guess so. But we’d have got to the circus anyhow. Grandfather never would have kept us home.”
“No, I don’t believe he would,” acknowledged Jane. “He’d be too generous. But we’d have deserved it, Kit, and I’d much rather be here with things the way they are now. It’s comfortable to my insides somewhere. Do you suppose the lady in the pink tights will be in the percession?”
“She may be in the percession, but she won’t have on the pink tights. She has to save them for the tent, where it’s nice and clean. Outdoors they’d fade or get dusty, or she might fall off her horse into a puddle and spoil ’em.”
“Oh, Kit, she’d never fall off her horse! She can ride too well. Just think of the things she does in the pictures!”
“Huh! I know a boy at school that saw a lady fall off her horse—right in the circus ring, too. It hurt her awfully. Broke her back or something. Wish I’d seen it.”
“Oh, dear, I’m glad I wasn’t there,” exclaimed Jane, who had no thirst for the horrible.
“Hullo, I guess they’re comin’,” cried Christopher. “See how the people are yelling and clapping down by the post-office. I say, grandfather, they’re coming, they’re coming! Hooray!”
Christopher tried to see his grandfather, not by turning around but by looking out of his window, across the space of wall and in at the next window where grandfather and grandmother were sitting. He lost his balance, of course, and nothing but Jane’s sudden grasp at the loosest part of his trousers, and the special providence that protects small boys, saved him from tumbling down upon the crowd below. He lost both his bags in a wild clutch at the window ledge and drew himself back, sputtering and red-faced with disappointment. He looked down to watch a group of small street urchins scrambling for their contents.
“Pshaw, Jane, why didn’t you catch the bags?” he exclaimed in disgust.
Then he straddled the window sill and forgot all about his lost goodies in excitement, for the procession was really coming. It was not a very wonderful display. Indeed, the grown-ups thought it rather melancholy. There were half a dozen tired looking men on tired looking horses, half a dozen others dressed up as Indians, also on horseback, several cages of wild animals and a brassy brass band in a gilded chariot drawn by four horses. This band headed the procession and was the grandest thing in it except one other gilt chariot upon which a plump, pretty young woman in a Diana sort of costume sat enthroned. She rode just behind the wild-animal cages and Jane gazed after her enthralled until she passed out of sight.
“I am sure she is the lady who wears the pink tights and does such wonders on horseback,” she confided to Christopher. “Wasn’t she lovely?”
Then followed a long line of animal cages with closed sides. A man who rode beside the driver on the first of these called out to the people that the beasts within were too fierce and wild to stand the excitement of having their cages opened on the sides so that people could see them. The spectators had to guess as to what kind of animals were shut up in these cages; the pictures painted on the outside were no guides, as each represented a whole menagerie. An elephant followed, tired looking and dejected, led by two men, and after them appeared a young girl, dressed in a purple Roman toga, driving a pair of piebald Shetland ponies.
At sight of these ponies it was Jane’s turn almost to fall out of the window in her excitement.
“Oh, Kit, grandmother, grandfather, it is Letty! It is, it is! And she’s driving Punch and Judy. Mayn’t I call to her? Oh, mayn’t I?”
“Hush, Janey, not now,” replied Mrs. Baker, clutching the squirming, excited child firmly around the waist. “We’ll arrange about it later. Grandfather will see the manager of the circus.”
“Punch and Judy look as nice as ever,” commented Christopher with a condescending air. “And Letty drives ’em well, too, you bet. But why is she rigged up in that queer way? All that purple stuff slung over her shoulder. I should think it would be in her way.”
“That’s the way people used to dress hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Don’t you remember the picture of Ben Hur in the chariot race? Letty’s dressed like that and she’s driving a sort of chariot, too.”
“Poor kind of a thing to ride in, I think. You can’t sit down,” commented Christopher. “I like the little carriage better that she used to drive.”
The heavy, closed wagons, painted red and gold, that are used to carry the tents and luggage of a circus, now appeared in line. Upon the top of every third or fourth wagon stood comic figures, men dressed in false heads of exaggerated size, who nodded and danced and performed antics to make the crowds laugh. A painted clown in a donkey cart, and a calliope (so necessary to every circus parade) brought up the rear of the procession. The calliope was playing “Wait till the Clouds Roll by, Jennie” in a loud squawk, and the people along the street whistled the tune as they shouted and exchanged jokes with the clown. It was not at all an appropriate tune, for there was not a cloud in the sky. Indeed, the light was almost too bright, for it revealed mercilessly all the bare spots on the wagons where the scarlet paint and gilt had peeled off; and it shone pitilessly upon the shabby trappings of the horses and upon the anxious, tired faces of the performers. But the crowd was neither particular nor critical and after cheering and whistling the procession out of sight, it scattered gayly to hunt up families and lunch baskets.
“Now then,” exclaimed Jane with great satisfaction, “we shall see Letty again,” and she tucked her hand into her grandmother’s.
The circus tents were pitched in a wide field just outside the town and grandfather selected the adjoining field, under a clump of trees and beside a brook, for the picnic dinner. While Josh and Huldah were unpacking the hampers Mr. and Mrs. Baker, with the twins, crossed to where the circus people were grouped. The troupe had reached Hammersmith rather late in the morning, only just in time to form for their parade, so that the tents were just now being put up.
While grandfather went in search of the manager, grandmother and the children stood watching this ceremony of tent pitching with absorbed interest. Men ran here and there with coils of rope and long stakes which they drove into the ground and then stood in a circle around a broad sheet of canvas that lay spread on the ground. At a given word the men tugged at their ropes and slowly a mountain of dingy yellow white rose in their midst. It swelled and swayed and flapped and then took shape. More tugging of ropes, more shouting, the last securing hammer on a stake or two and lo, the circus tent was raised!
A second tent was erected over the animal wagons and vans which had been arranged in a half circle and the horses removed. Then smaller tents were put up and painted signs hung out to advertise different side-shows.
“Where do you suppose all the queer people of the side-shows were while the percession was going on? The bearded woman, the armless man and all those?” whispered Jane to her brother.
“I don’t know. Maybe they were shut up inside of some of those closed wagons.”
“Oh, I should think that would be lots of fun,” laughed Jane. “Making people think you were some kind of a wild animal when really you were something lots more wonderful.”
Presently grandfather reappeared, followed by Mr. Drake and Letty. Mrs. Drake joined them, carrying her baby, who insisted upon Letty’s taking him at once, and chuckling with delight in her arms.
“So you are the little girl who saved my precious grandchildren from the dreadful bear?” said grandmother kindly, holding out her hand to Letty. “I am very glad to see you at last, to thank you for your brave act.”
“Oh,” replied Letty, with a catch in her voice, “it seems like another life when I did that. It happened so long ago and so much else has happened since. I was very happy then,” and the tears she could not control filled her sad brown eyes.
Jane looked at her in distress.
“Don’t cry, Letty,” she whispered, drawing her aside. “You never used to cry. Aren’t they kind to you?”
“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Letty, drying her eyes quickly, as she saw Mrs. Drake approaching, “they are very kind to me. But I—I don’t like being in a circus.”
“Poor little girl,” murmured grandmother sympathetically.
Then Mrs. Drake joined them and grandfather went away with the manager to buy tickets for the performance and then to look at a group of work horses tied to stakes at the back of one of the smaller tents.
“May we see Punch and Judy?” asked Jane.
“Would I have time before dinner?” Letty inquired wistfully of Mrs. Drake.
Mrs. Drake saw how eager Letty was to go with the children and good-naturedly gave her consent, taking the heavy, unwilling baby again into her own arms. The children ran off, leaving the two women standing talking together.
“Tell me what you can about Letty, Mrs. Drake. We are very much interested,” said grandmother and she explained who she was and why she was so much interested in the little circus girl.
“I am very sorry for Letty, mem,” replied Mrs. Drake sadly. “Her mother’s death was very hard on her, poor little thing, and then when her brother was killed last year she could scarcely get over the shock.”
“Poor, poor child! But you have been very good to her, Mrs. Drake. She spoke very affectionately of you just now.”
“She has been with us ever since her mother’s death, but I don’t know what’s to become of her now,” and the good woman sighed. “I promised her brother she should be to us like our own child, and so she has, up to now.”
“And what is to happen now?” asked Mrs. Baker with sympathy.
“Oh, didn’t my husband tell you that we are giving up the circus? This will be our last appearance; the circus breaks up to-night. Mr. Drake has sold the menagerie and most of the troupe have got other positions. We shall stay here two or three days, I think, until Mr. Drake sells some of the work horses.”
“Have the Shetland ponies been sold?”
“Not yet. They’d be very nice for children to have as pets,” replied Mrs. Drake quickly, with an eye to business.
Mrs. Baker smiled understandingly.
“I was not thinking of ourselves, but of a friend of mine,” she said quietly. “But, Mrs. Drake, I want to ask you please to keep me posted about Letty’s whereabouts. Here is my card with the address on it. In the autumn I think I should like to place her in some good school where she can study and be equipped for making her way in the world. I am sure my daughter-in-law would be glad to have me do it in return for Letty’s act of heroism in saving the children’s lives. My daughter did try to find the child that same autumn after her mother’s death.”
“She was living with us, quite in the neighborhood. But I never thought of leaving an address,” exclaimed Mrs. Drake in some dismay. “I should hate to think I had stood in Letty’s way of getting settled in life. Indeed, Mrs. Baker, she would repay any kindness shown her, no matter for what reason,” she continued earnestly. “Her mother was a real lady and always hoped her little girl could be properly brought up. She’s far above such folk as us, mem,” she added humbly.
Indeed, Mrs. Baker’s idea was to begin doing something for Letty’s good before the autumn, but this plan must be considered very seriously before it could be carried out.
Letty and the twins came running back to them. Letty’s eyes were shining and there was a pink glow in her thin cheeks. She looked more like her old, bright, cheerful self than she had since her mother’s death. The children were greatly excited.
“Oh, grandmother,” exclaimed Jane, “Letty says the Shetland ponies are for sale and we thought——”
“We thought Mrs. Hartwell-Jones might want to buy ’em,” put in Christopher.
“Don’t you remember, grandmother,” went on Jane, “how Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said after she had sprained her ankle that she wished she had a Bath chair and when Kit asked what that was she said it was a big chair with wheels that they harnessed a pony to, to drive sick people about. So I thought——”
“We thought Mrs. Hartwell-Jones might like to buy Punch and Judy,” finished Christopher, taking advantage of Jane’s breathlessness to put the climax to her tale.
Mrs. Baker smiled.
“Bless your hearts, children, I had thought of the very same thing. We must talk it over with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. There is plenty of time.”
“And, grandmother, Josh came to tell us dinner is ready. Please, can’t Letty come to the picnic with us?”
“There’s apple pie,” added Christopher.
Of course Huldah had made apple pie for the picnic. She would have felt obliged to make those pies—with quantities of cinnamon—if she had had to neglect her whole week’s baking to do it!
Mrs. Drake glanced at Letty’s eager, wistful face.
“You want to go, don’t you?” she said aside to her.
“Oh, yes, I would like to go, so much—if you can spare me, Mrs. Drake,” replied Letty, trying to think of some one else before herself.
Grandmother overheard this unselfish little speech and it helped to strengthen the resolve that was forming in her mind.
The picnic was a very jolly affair, and Letty felt that she had not enjoyed herself so much since that happy summer, three long years before—which she and her mother had spent out in the country near Willow Grove. When everybody had eaten as much as he or she could possibly hold (and Christopher a wee bit more) Letty won Huldah’s heart by insisting upon helping with the tidying up.
“I always help Mrs. Drake, so please let me,” she said.
The twins asked leave to help too, and found it great fun to wash dishes in the brook. The time passed by much more rapidly than any one realized and Letty had to run off very hastily at length, in order to be ready in time to take her place in the grand march at the opening of the circus performance. It was agreed before she left that Mr. Baker should return in the morning to see about Punch and Judy and he promised the twins to bring them with him, that they might have another visit with Letty.
Soon it was time for every one who was to attend the circus to go inside the tent. Grandfather gave Joshua tickets for Huldah and himself, and then he and grandmother and the twins crossed the wide field again.
THEY GIGGLED AT EVERYTHING THE CLOWN SAIDTHEY GIGGLED AT EVERYTHING THE CLOWN SAID
THEY GIGGLED AT EVERYTHING THE CLOWN SAID
There was a great hubbub about the group of tents; men were calling out the attractions of the side-shows, a band was playing and boys moved about through the crowd with trays of peanuts and lemonade, shouting their wares in shrill, loud voices.
All boys and girls who have been to a circus know exactly how Jane and Christopher felt when they got inside that tent. It was not the first circus they had been to, by any means, but that does not make any difference; one always has that same furry creepiness in the back of one’s neck, and the same swelled-up, lost breath, wish-to-laugh-without-being-heard feeling.
They giggled at everything the clown said and did, clapped their hands wildly when the trick elephant bowed and waltzed; and shut their eyes tight—at least Jane did—when the “human fly” walked upside down on a piece of boarding suspended from the top of the tent like a ceiling.
Christopher liked the Indians attacking the stage-coach best, and wriggled rapturously at each blood-curdling war-whoop. But Jane was faithful to her love of the lady in pink tights and watched her with open eyes and open mouth, as she stood jauntily upright upon a barebacked horse and sprang gracefully through paper-covered hoops.
“I wonder if Letty knows her,” she whispered to Christopher. “I mean to ask to-morrow.”
But it was the Shetland ponies and their little trainer that held grandmother’s attention. She watched Letty long and carefully, and said something to grandfather in a voice too low for the children to hear.
That evening, after Jane and Christopher were tucked away in bed, the grown-ups, Mr. and Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, had a long, long talk together. It was all about Letty, or most of it, for the Shetland ponies came in for a little share in the discussion.
Dear little Letty, if only she could have overheard that conversation she would not have spent such a wakeful, unhappy night. She had passed three very hard, sad years, but better days were in sight again. As her mother had said, the little girl had the faculty of making friends.
Letty spent a restless night. At first she had been much excited by seeing the twins again and looked forward to their return in the morning with much impatience. Jane and Christopher had wanted her to go home with them that afternoon, to let Mrs. Hartwell-Jones see the ponies and settle the matter at once.
But Mr. Drake could not allow this for two reasons. To begin with, a long country trip would be too much for the ponies, together with their march in the procession and two performances. For there was to be another performance of the circus in the evening, and Mr. Drake’s second reason was that Letty might not get back in time for it if she went out to Sunnycrest. Jane was disappointed, for she had not known about the second performance, and was hoping to keep Letty overnight. But it was settled that they should all return very early in the morning and to that time Letty looked forward eagerly until all at once it came over her that she had no cause for rejoicing.
“Of course I shall be awfully glad to see Jane and Christopher again,” she told herself, lying wide awake and thoughtful on her cot in the small tent in which she slept as guardian of the fat Drake baby, “but after all what good will it do me? They will be here with me for a little while and then will go away again, and I shall probably never see them again. And they will probably take Punch and Judy, too. Oh, oh, I am to lose my dear little friends and what will become of me?” And she began to cry softly.
Poor little Letty! She had not had a happy life since her mother’s death. It was not from lack of kindness, for Mrs. Drake in her quiet, dull way, had been as kind as possible. And dear Ben had been her splendid, good big brother, gay and kind and thoughtful to her always.
But everything had been so different. The winter after her mother’s death had been a time of desolation to Letty.
Letty sat out on the front steps of the boarding-house where she lived with Mrs. Drake whenever the weather permitted, or walked drearily about the Square. She made no friends and had no pleasure except her Sunday attendance at church, where the soft music and wonderful stained glass windows never failed to soothe and comfort her. These stained glass windows represented the only paintings she had ever seen. But it was the music that comforted her most. She learned some of the hymns after a while and ventured to join sometimes in a voice that had a surprising quality in its untrained cadences.
The summer was easier to bear as the traveling about from place to place brought diversion; and she loved her work with the ponies. But long before the summer was over she had grown tired of the roving life and was glad to be back in winter quarters again.
She was happier that second winter, for she had grown more resigned to the loss of her mother and the dreadful, aching desire for her mercifully had lessened. But the restless, moving life of the circus grew more and more distasteful and after her brother’s death—by a frightful accident—she felt that she could endure the life no longer.
But the poor child had no other home, no other friends, and stayed on with the Drakes for want of another home. Her little friend, Emma Haines, lived over in a small town in New Jersey, but her family were too poor to take in and care for another child. The rich Miss Reese who, together with her little cousin, Clara Markham, had been so kind to Letty one winter, had passed out of her life completely, and even Mrs. Goldberg, with the amusing parrot, had not been heard from since her removal to California.
So Letty lived on, a sad, dull, monotonous life. She attended school in the winters but was never happy there, as she was invariably behind her classes and was too shy and sad to try to make friends among the other scholars. Another baby came to Mrs. Drake, which proved a source of much comfort to Letty. He was a big, jolly, lusty baby—the same she had been holding in her arms when she had first caught sight of the twins at the railway junction. And her happiest, or rather her least sad hours were those she spent at church and in nursing Mrs. Drake’s baby.
And now, what did the future hold for her? Mr. Drake had met with losses and failure in his business and the circus was broken up. What was to become of her? Small wonder that Letty wept despairingly as she lay awake in her little canvas bedroom.
But Jane and Christopher were all gay excitement and happy anticipation.
“I am sure Mrs. Hartwell-Jones means to buy the ponies,” Jane confided to Christopher, “and I’m so glad, because, you see, sometimes she may take us for rides.”
“And let me drive,” added Christopher.
And Mrs. Hartwell-Jones really did mean to buy the ponies. She asked grandfather to attend to the matter for her when he returned to the circus grounds to see about his own business; for grandfather had about decided to buy one or two of Mr. Drake’s horses for work on the farm. But Mr. Baker was too businesslike to buy without being sure of the sort of horse he was getting, and arranged with Joshua to have Mr. Drake drive or ride out such horses as grandfather thought of getting, together with the Shetland ponies, to Sunnycrest, for Joshua’s inspection and judgment.
The twins were in a whirl to get started and gave grandfather no peace until the phaeton—a low, wide-seated vehicle with plenty of room for three on the seat when two of them were only nine—was brought round. There was an instant scramble for the outside place and a quarrel threatened; but grandfather settled the whole matter by saying quietly:
“Ladies first, Kit, my boy. Janey shall have the outside place for the first half of the way.”
They started off in high spirits, Jane quiet and absorbed, bending enough to watch the revolving wheel crunch the bits of dust and dry clay, lost in her own happy thoughts or listening to Christopher’s chatter and storing up bits of knowledge. Christopher’s tongue was not quiet a moment and he asked question after question.
It had always been like that with the twins from the time they had learned to talk. Jane seldom asked questions, but Christopher must know the meaning of everything that came to his notice. Not that Jane was stupid because she did not ask questions. She generally listened to Christopher’s continual “why” and learned from the answers given to him. And very often she would speak out unexpectedly some piece of information that surprised every one. Indeed, an uncle of the twins had once said:
“Kit talks the most, but Jane says the most.”
“See that squirrel running across the road?” said grandfather. “Did you see him, Janey? A pretty red one.”
“I could have shot him, if I’d had a gun,” boasted Christopher.
“Oh, Kit, that would have been mean! He wasn’t doing any one any harm.”
“How do you know he wasn’t? Perhaps he was doing something hateful to some other animal. Animals do that, you know; they’re such beasts.”
“Well, anyway, you couldn’t have shot it; squirrels run so fast,” replied Jane with satisfaction.
“I could have if I’d had any practice. When I get my gun I shall practice on the rabbits. They’re no good, anyhow.”
“They are some good. They’re sweet, dear, gentle things and you just shan’t hurt them.”
“They haven’t got as much sense as squirrels and they’re lots greedier.”
Then followed a discussion between the children concerning the habits of squirrels, rabbits and other creatures of the forest, in which each displayed a goodly stock of knowledge of natural history. Grandfather chuckled proudly as he listened, but made no comment.
“Well, well, well,” he remarked, when the subject of red squirrels had been exhausted and he thought he saw another “why” trembling on the tip of Christopher’s tongue, “here we are, half-way to town and nobody has yet offered to relieve me of the hard task of driving.”
There was instant strife for possession of the reins.
“Tut, tut, play fair. Kit, my boy, remember your manners. Ladies first.” And grandfather handed the reins to triumphant Jane.
“Aw, she’s not a lady, she’s only a girl,” growled Christopher in chagrin. “Anyhow, it’s my turn to sit on the outside. I’m sure it is, and I’m going to have my turn. Move over, Jane, you needn’t think you can have everything. She needn’t be a pig, just because she’s a lady,” he added to his grandfather, who had laid a restraining hand upon his sleeve. “Move over, you!”
“Grandfather didn’t say to. Don’t push so, you rude boy. Ow! You’ll make me drop the lines.”
“Pig!”
“Rude-y!”
“Prude-y!”
“Grandfather, Kit——”
“Telltale!”
“I don’t care. You’re a rude, horrid boy,” said Jane, beginning to cry.
“And you are a stingy, tattling cry-baby. I just wish——”
“Children!” cried grandfather sternly. “I’m astonished! Why, do you realize what you are saying to each other? Jane, give me those reins. Christopher, stay quiet. I should not allow you to sit on the outside now, for any consideration.”
The children succumbed meekly. When his grandfather called him “Christopher” the boy felt doubly crushed. Jane’s tender little heart at once began to ache. She felt that it had all been her fault. It was Christopher’s turn to sit on the outside and there was no real reason why she should have been given the privilege of driving first. She would have liked to tell Christopher that she was sorry, to whisper to him to make up. But she glanced at his face and saw that it would do no good to speak for the present. Christopher was in the sulks and she knew that if she apologized now he would only say “shucks” and shove her. Yet, if she waited until he was amiable again, he probably would have forgotten all about it and call her silly.
But she herself soon forgot the quarrel in the excitement of arriving at the field again. Letty was not in sight and grandfather was engaged with Mr. Drake, so the children went on a tour of investigation. They visited the menagerie and stared at the blinking, sleepy looking animals for a time and then went in search of the ponies, which they found stabled in a small tent placarded as containing the marvelous fat lady and thinnest living skeleton.
As they stood feeding grass to the ponies and chattering, Letty joined them. She came up so softly over the thick turf that they did not know she was there until she spoke.
“Do you think your grandmother’s friend will take the ponies?” she asked slowly.
The twins turned, and stared. Letty’s eyes were swollen and red with weeping and her lip trembled as she spoke of the sale of Punch and Judy.
“I guess you hate to give ’em up,” observed Christopher sympathetically.
“Is that why you’ve been crying so, Letty?” asked Jane.
“Not altogether, though I shall miss the ponies. But I have to go away, and I haven’t anywhere to go.”
The sadness of this state of affairs touched the happy, well-cared for twins faintly.
“I guess you’ll find another circus to go with,” comforted Christopher cheerfully, after a little pause.
“Oh, I don’t want to go to another circus! I hate ’em!”
“Then why do you cry because you are leaving this one?” demanded matter-of-fact Christopher.
“Because I haven’t any home. Oh, Jane, do you suppose your grandmother knows of any one who wants a maid? I’d be willing to do anything to help and have a home.” And the tears rushed to her eyes again.
“Do you mean to say you’d give up a circus to do housework!” ejaculated Christopher in great astonishment.
“Oh, I should be so happy to! And maybe I should get time to study some.”
Christopher stared. Here was a curiosity indeed; a girl who liked housework and study better than traveling around with a circus!
“Mrs. Hartwell-Jones is staying at our house while her ankle gets well,” put in Jane. “She will be awfully good to Punch and Judy.”
“Is she the lady that wants to buy them?” asked Letty.
“Yes,” answered Jane, “and she was on the train when we were coming to Sunnycrest, and saw you. And oh, Letty, she writes books, lots and lots of them.”
“But she’s awfully nice,” added Christopher reassuringly. “Not a bit prosy or stuck up.”
Two red spots came into Letty’s cheeks.
“To think that you know somebody who writes books! Oh, how I wish I could see her!” she exclaimed impulsively.
Jane stared thoughtfully for a moment at the ponies and then said quickly:
“Oh, Kit, let’s ask grandfather if Letty mayn’t drive the ponies out to Sunnycrest herself. Then she can see Mrs. Hartwell-Jones.”
“And we can show her the farm, too. That would be jolly,” agreed Christopher. “I speak to ride with Letty in the chariot.”
Letty burst out laughing. She was feeling very much excited over the children’s plan.
“I shouldn’t have to drive the chariot,” she said. “Mr. Drake still has the little carriage I used to use at Willow Grove. Do you remember?”
“And I’ll ask grandmother about getting you a place,” said Jane confidentially to Letty, with a little air of importance. “Perhaps Huldah would like somebody to help her in the kitchen. It would be nice if you could stay with us, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, that would be too good to be true!” cried Letty, bursting into tears again at the very thought of such happiness.
“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed Christopher, turning his back.
Crying always embarrassed him.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had limped painfully down-stairs from her bright, chintz-hung bedroom at Sunnycrest, to be in readiness for the two o’clock dinner. She seated herself in one of the comfortable armchairs on the veranda to await the return of Mr. Baker and the twins.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had found these days of her unexpected visit at Sunnycrest very happy ones. She was often lonely, in spite of having her brain so full of people. Book friends, even when you make them up yourself, are not the same as real, living, loving people. If it were not that she felt a little in the way, because of her helplessness, she would have wished to stay longer. Her solitary two rooms in the village did not appear very inviting when compared to the busy farm with its constant movement of life and industry, its cheerful master and mistress and above all, the sound of children’s voices in the house.
When Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was much younger, many years before the beginning of this story, a very great sorrow had come into her life; her husband and dear baby were taken from her by a dreadful accident, and ever since her life had been sad and lonely, given up to trying to make others happy and in learning to bear her grief bravely and patiently. Since she no longer had a child of her own to care for, she set herself the task of making other children happy by writing stories for them. She was so successful in this that her readers were always begging for more, and some of Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s most precious possessions were the letters written to her by little children, to thank her for her stories.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was thinking of all these things as she sat on the vine-covered veranda in the soft summer air, and perhaps was planning another story, when she happened to look down the road. She looked hard for a moment, then she got up suddenly and walking to the door as quickly as her lame foot would allow, called to grandmother to come and look, too.
A peculiar procession was turning in at the gate. First came grandfather, driving alone in the phaeton. Following was a man on horseback leading three other horses, splendid, strong looking animals; and last of all a girl in a pink cotton dress driving a pair of Shetland ponies harnessed to a tiny, low, old-fashioned basket-phaeton. Beside her on the seat sat Jane like an exalted mouse, while behind, perched on a miniature rumble, Christopher gyrated and squirmed ecstatically.
“It looks as if they had hired the circus to parade out here,” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to grandmother, in great astonishment.
The cavalcade drew up at the front steps and grandfather handed the reins to Joshua, who had seen the procession from the stable and had come on a run, wondering if Mr. Baker had bought the whole circus.
“Now, children, ‘I choose to tell,’ as you say,” said grandfather as Jane and Christopher began to babble in duet. “I thought it wiser, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, to have you see the ponies for yourself before buying them and also to have Joshua examine them to be sure they are sound.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones from the top of the steps, and looked more closely at the ponies.
She also looked at Letty without seeming to, and then turned and said something to grandmother in a low tone.
“This,” said grandfather, getting out of the phaeton and going to the side of the pony carriage, “this is Miss Letty Grey, who knows all about the ponies.”
“And isn’t the carriage great!” exclaimed Christopher, who could not keep still another instant. “I thought Letty would have to drive her chariot, and wouldn’t that have made a hullabaloo going through town! But Mr. Drake had this carriage that Letty used to use in the parade before they got the chariot. This is the one Letty used at Willow Grove.”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones continued to look at the ponies, evidently thinking deeply. Jane sat, still and eager, watching Mrs. Hartwell-Jones with bright eyes. How she hoped she would buy the ponies, dear little Punch and Judy. Presently she slipped out of the carriage and mounted the veranda steps.
“They are so nice!” she whispered, tucking her hand into her grandmother’s. “And Letty drove them because she wanted to see you, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. She wanted to see you because you write books.”
“Would you mind driving them up or down once or twice?” she asked Letty, who had been fidgeting the reins, overcome with shyness.
Grandfather had gone with Joshua and Mr. Drake to the farmyard, for the purpose of examining the other horses. Joshua was celebrated all over the countryside for his knowledge of horses.
“What a nice face that child has!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to grandmother as Letty guided the ponies at a slow trot around the drive, Christopher still perched on the rumble. “Is she the little girl you spoke to me about?”
“Yes,” replied grandmother. “She does not look like a circus girl, does she?”
“She doesn’t want to be a circus girl any more,” spoke up Jane. “She wants to find some work to do. She hasn’t any home. She wants to work. And I told her,” she added importantly, “that I’d speak to you, grandmother, to ask if you knew of anybody who needed a maid.”
“A maid!” echoed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, as if she had been given a new thought. “A maid—and no home!” She turned to grandmother. “Why would I not be the better one to carry out your plan, Mrs. Baker?”
Just then Letty drove up and stopped again. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones began to ask her questions about the ponies; whether they were afraid of trains, motor cars, or things like that.
“No, ma’am, they are very gentle,” replied Letty earnestly, overcoming her awe of the “author-lady” in her anxiety to do justice to the ponies. “They have so much sense and intelligence, from being taught things that they always listen to reason.”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones smiled kindly.
“Their intelligence certainly has been cultivated,” she agreed, “but are they practical? I mean, will they be content to go jogging peacefully about country roads with a quiet old lady? They might miss the spangle and sawdust of the circus, you know. Or if they heard a band play, they might stand up on their hind legs, carriage and all, and begin to waltz.”
Jane and Christopher shouted with laughter at that suggestion. Even Letty laughed, and then reddened with embarrassment.
“I don’t believe they would do that,” she answered politely.
“If they’re anything like Letty, they’ll be glad to get away from the circus,” added Christopher. “Isn’t Letty funny, not to like the circus? I should think it would be bully—specially with such jolly little beasts as Punch and Judy to show off.”
“Those are the ponies’ names, you know,” put in Jane. “They are twins, grandmother, twin brother and sister, the same as Kit and me.”
It was grandmother’s and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s turn to laugh now. Then there were a great many more questions to be asked about the ponies, and everybody was so interested and excited that they forgot all about dinner—even Christopher—until Huldah came out the second time to say everything would be spoiled. Christopher was sent to the stable to fetch Jo Perkins to look after the ponies and grandmother invited Letty to stay for dinner.
“You must be very hungry,” said Jane, as she led Letty up-stairs to wash her hands. “I am always starved when I’ve been to the village. Huldah cooks awfully good dinners.”
It was impossible for any one to feel shy very long in that cheerful household, and Letty soon began to enjoy herself very much, although she was very quiet.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s mind was still busy over that new idea that Jane’s speech had given her and she watched Letty very closely without seeming to do so.
“She is a very sweet-mannered child,” she reflected. “I find it hard to realize that she is only a little circus girl. She must have had a wonderfully good mother. I must manage to have a long talk with her.”
After dinner the real business began. Joshua examined the ponies carefully while the twins looked on with bated breath. Suppose Joshua should find something wrong with those delightful, charming little animals!
“But he couldn’t, oh, he couldn’t!” whispered Jane to herself over and over.
And Joshua didn’t.
Then the price must be settled upon. As this subject did not interest the children, and as they were forbidden to drive the ponies again because they must be rested for the return trip to the circus field, they carried Letty off to show her Juno’s puppies, the orchard, and their treasures and playgrounds generally.
“If I’d a-thought the lady would surely take the ponies,” said Mr. Drake when the transaction was satisfactorily concluded, “I’d a-druv over with another horse, so’s Letty an’ me could of got back and I could of left the ponies right now. But I guess my wife’ll be glad to have one more good sight of ’em. It’s strange how fond we all are of them ponies, mem; something like they was pet dogs. The little un,” pointing with his thumb in the direction in which Letty had disappeared, “she’ll most cry her eyes out, I guess. Poor little un, I’m afraid there’s a good many troubles ahead o’ her.” And he shook his head regretfully. He had a kind heart under his rough jacket.
“I was given to understand that the girl is to leave you?” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones thoughtfully. “Is she no relation at all to you or your wife?”
“No, mem, none at all. Her big brother Ben was our prize tight-rope walker. A wonder, he was. But he fell an’ broke his neck; dreadful accident, mem. It happened only last summer. The little un took on dreadful. She always lived with her big brother; all her folks are dead and she hasn’t any friends but us. Folk ain’t very cordial to circus folk and their kin, for some reason, though you couldn’t find a nicer spoken child than Miss Letty there. After the accident we kept her on with us. She’s most astonishin’ helpful. My wife she sets great store by her, but Letty don’t seem to care for the rovin’ life. I guess she won’t mind parting company, ’cept for bein’ sorry to leave my wife an’ the kid. But it’s powerful uncertain what’s to become of her. My wife’ll do the best she can for her when we get to the city.”
“I was thinking,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones slowly, “that perhaps I could find a position for the girl. But I should like to talk to your wife first.”
“Yes’m?” replied the man hopefully. “I guess my wife could suit you all right about Letty’s character, mem. We’d like first-rate to see Letty get a good place of some sort, where she was treated kind and not worked too hard.”
“Mr. Baker,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, turning to grandfather, “I’d like to ask a favor of you. Might Joshua drive the phaeton into the village—to where Mr. Drake has his tents—to bring me home? I think I should like to take a drive behind my new ponies to see how I am going to like them and the little carriage.” For the basket-phaeton had been bought, too.
Grandfather was only too delighted to put any carriage at all at Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s disposal, and word was sent to Joshua at once, while Mrs. Hartwell-Jones limped into the house to consult with grandmother.
When Jane and Christopher learned that Letty was to drive Mrs. Hartwell-Jones into the village in the pony carriage they were very eager to go too, of course, but grandmother said no, they might not go. They would make too big a load in the pony carriage for so long a drive, and would crowd Mrs. Hartwell-Jones too much in the phaeton coming back. Christopher had a dozen or more arguments and different arrangements by which he and Jane could dispose of themselves for the excursion.
“I could drive the ponies, Jane could sit in the rumble and Letty could squeeze in between Josh and Mr. Drake in the phaeton,” he exclaimed, in a positive tone, as if no possible fault or objection could be found to so excellent an arrangement.
But grandmother was firm. The fact was that Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had confided her plan to grandmother and in order to think of carrying it out that lady required to have a long talk alone with Letty and with Mrs. Drake, the wife of the circus manager.
The “lady who wrote books” felt very hard hearted as she was helped carefully into the low pony carriage, at thus leaving Jane and Christopher behind. They took such a long, affectionate farewell of the ponies and Letty, and stared so wistfully at the little rumble! But she comforted herself with the thought that if her plan worked out properly, the children would have many opportunities during the summer for long drives and games.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty were very silent at first as they drove along. Letty was quite overcome with shyness and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was considering what it was best to say first. She was very anxious to have a long talk with Letty, which was the reason why she had not wished Jane and Christopher to come too. For Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s plan was nothing more nor less than to take Letty herself, to act as little errand girl and companion during the summer; then in the autumn when she returned to the city, to put the child in school and enable her to grow up well-taught and fitted to take her place in the working world. But there were a great many things to be thought about and talked over first.
“My dear, tell me something about yourself, will you?” she asked gently, after the gate had been passed and the ponies were trotting sedately over the smooth country road toward the village.
“About myself!” exclaimed Letty in astonishment. “Why, there isn’t anything to tell. I’m just Letty Grey.”
“How long have you been with Mr. and Mrs. Drake?”
“Three years this fall. My brother——” She stopped a moment to swallow hard and then went bravely on: “My brother was with the circus. He performed on the tight rope. Then after he fell and—and died, Mrs. Drake said I might stay on and help round. I had nowhere else to go. I am fond of Punch and Judy, and Mrs. Drake was always kind to me, but——”
“But what, dear child?”
“I hate a circus!”
“You poor child! Tell me how you happened to join a circus in the first place. Tell me more about it all. When did your parents die and where was your home when they were living?”
“In Philadelphia. But my father died when I was a tiny baby. I don’t remember him at all. We were very poor and my mother was not strong. My brother Ben was only sixteen years old when father died—he was fourteen years older than I. He ran errands at a theatre, ‘call boy’ I think it was called, and mother took in sewing. After a while Ben learned how to do tumbling from a man who had an act at the theatre and taught me how to spring up and balance on his head. Mr. Goldberg engaged us for his little theatre at Willow Grove. He was a very kind manager and used to give me big boxes of candy. But mother never liked my doing it. She was glad when, about the middle of the summer, a trained bear that had performed in the theatre went mad or something from the heat and they had to take him away; then Mr. Drake brought Punch and Judy and offered to teach me how to put them through their tricks instead of the trained bear. Mother was much happier because I did not have to jump with Ben any more.
“It was a very happy summer!” And Letty sighed. “It was the last my mother ever lived,” she added in a low, choked voice.
“When did it happen, dear little child, and how old were you?” asked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones softly.
“It was that next fall. I—I was hardly ten years old. Mrs. Drake was with us. She lived in the neighborhood and—and afterward she took me with her. I have been with her ever since,” and Letty sighed again.
“You poor, forlorn child!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones tenderly. “What a melancholy life you have had!”
“Only since—since I lost my mother,” replied Letty quickly. “I was very happy before that.”
“Have you ever been to school?”
“Not very much. My mother taught me until she was not strong enough and then I went to school.”
“Did you like it?”
“No, ma’am. Not a bit. The other girls were horrid to me and wouldn’t make friends. At least the girls my own age wouldn’t. They said I was only a little circus girl. I wasn’t as far along in my lessons as they were, either, and had to go into a class with real little girls who thought I was stupid and made fun of me until I read aloud to them. Then they liked me better.
“But that was before mother died. After that I couldn’t bear to go to school any more that winter.”
“You poor, motherless little girl!” cried Mrs. Hartwell-Jones again, with a catch in her own voice. “And was there no joy—no spot of color in all that dull, dreary time?”
“Ben was always good to me. He was very busy at the theatre all winter, but whenever he could spare the time he took me for walks. Once he took me to a concert. A lady sang, oh, so beautifully!
“And there was the church music, too. I loved it there; it was a very big church with beautiful stained glass windows. The organ hummed so grandly and little boys in white gowns and voices like angels sang. Oh, it was wonderful!”
“I see you are fond of music,” observed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, glancing with pleased surprise at the little girl’s flushed cheeks and shining eyes.
“Oh, so fond!” replied Letty eagerly.
Then she stopped, seized with a new fit of shyness. How had it come about that she should be chattering so freely all this time to the great lady of whom she had felt in such awe an hour before; the writer of books! Somehow she had forgotten all about her greatness and riches; she had felt only the loving kindness and sympathy of her manner.
Ever since her mother’s death Letty had had an odd, tight feeling around her heart; as if it had been tucked into a case that was too small for it. When Ben died the case had grown smaller and tighter until it cut like a metal band. She had never been able to talk to any one of her grief until something in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s manner had appealed to the trustfulness of the sensitive, lonely child. And her heart felt less swollen and sore after she had spoken.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones asked no more questions for a time, and Letty went over in her mind her day’s experience; the gay, happy children, the big, sunny farmhouse with its green lawns and orchard and last, but not least, the good dinner and general homey feeling.
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s thoughts were busy too, and all that Letty had told her made her the more decided to take the girl from her present surroundings. But she said nothing to Letty. She would wait until she had had her talk, as she had determined, with Mrs. Drake.
In the meantime the twins, left at home at Sunnycrest, felt a bit flat.
“I’m glad Mrs. Hartwell-Jones has bought the ponies,” said Jane, idly swinging on the gate. “’Cause she’ll take us driving with them lots of times, I think.”
“It’s lucky Josh found ’em all right,” responded Christopher. “He knows a lot about horses, Josh does, and he might have found something wrong.”
“Oh, he couldn’t have been so mean as to say anything was wrong about ’em. He just couldn’t help loving the cunning little things.”
“It isn’t a question of loving,” retorted Christopher grandly. “It’s a question of spavins or—or heaves, or heart disease. Those are horse’s diseases, you know.”
“They aren’t all horse’s diseases. People can have some of ’em. Leastways, nurse said Norah Flannigan had heart disease and that was what made her eyes stick out, like a frog’s.”
“What did her eyes sticking out have to do with it?”
“Why, greeny, don’t you know that when people have heart disease their eyes always bulge? It’s a symptom. I asked mother and she said so. But who I’m sorry for is Letty,” she went on hastily. She saw that Christopher was about to question further about this most interesting symptom of heart trouble and she did not wish to betray the fact that she had come to the end of her knowledge.
“What are you sorry for Letty for? Has she got heart disease?”
“No, but she hasn’t any home.”
“Well, but she’s got a circus to belong to and that’s lots more exciting.”
“But she doesn’t like a circus. She said so. She doesn’t like traveling around and living in a tent. And now that Punch and Judy are gone from the circus she won’t have anything to do. I wish grandmother had let her stay here to help Huldah.”
“So do I,” replied Christopher cruelly. “’Cause then she’d be around to play dolls with you and I could get off more to go with the boys.”
“If you want to play with the boys, why don’t you go?” said Jane loftily. “I’m sure I don’t want your company if you don’t want to stay.”
Just then she spied something enveloped in a cloud of dust coming up the road, and her tone changed.
“Kit Baker, who’s that?”
“Huh?” asked Christopher, glancing at the approaching dust cloud with pretended surprise. “Oh, that’s just Bill Carpenter coming out to see the pups. Grandfather said I might give him one. And we’re going to talk baseball too a bit. The fellows want me on the nine. You needn’t go away, though; there’s no secret,” he added politely, as Jane climbed down off the gate.
The dust cloud had by this time revolved upon them and disclosed a small, freckled boy on a big bicycle. Jane gave her brother one hurt, angry look, turned her back and without a word ran into the house.
“What’s the matter?” called grandmother, catching sight of the red, scowling face as Jane passed the sitting-room door.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Jane carelessly, turning and entering the room. “Kit’s got a boy out there, so I thought I’d come in and see if Huldah wanted me to help her.”
Grandmother peered out the window at the backs of two boys disappearing around the corner of the house in the direction of the stable.
“I don’t believe Huldah is in the kitchen, dear,” she said, “but perhaps you would like to sit with me for a little while? I have some pretty bits of silk put away that I have been saving up for you to make a doll’s quilt. I thought they might come in useful when you and I were sitting together over a bit of sewing.”
This suggestion made Jane feel very grown up—almost like a lady come in to spend the afternoon. The sulky frown smoothed itself out at once. Grandmother directed her where to find the box of silks, threaded her needle and advised in a most interested way about the choice of colors.
Jane seated herself in a low rocking-chair beside an open window and felt very important indeed as she snipped squares of silk and sewed them together. She forgave her brother his preference for boys, she forgot to be curious as to which puppy Billy Carpenter might choose. She even forgot, in the general grown-upness of the occasion, that she did not like sewing. And crowning joy, when Huldah brought a tea tray in at five o’clock, grandmother poured her out a cup of tea—with plenty of hot water, to be sure—from her own teapot. Jane pretended that there were other guests present, taking tea, too. This game added to her dignity and it also accounted, most conveniently, for the rapid disappearance of the cakes and cookies.
“Grandmother,” said Jane, feeling quite grown up enough to discuss any subject, “I was so sorry for Letty.”
“Yes, poor little child. It is hard to be motherless.”
“She asked me if I thought there was any chance of her getting a place around here. I thought perhaps you might like to take her to help Huldah.”
Mrs. Baker did not answer for a few moments, but bent silently over her knitting. Then she said:
“Janey, dear, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did not wish anything said about it until the question was settled, one way or the other, but I am going to see if you can keep a secret.”
“Oh, grandmother, dear, of course I can! Oh, what is it?” cried Jane eagerly, jumping up and spilling the whole box of silk scraps out upon the floor.
“She thinks of taking Letty—that is, if Mrs. Drake can answer satisfactorily all the questions that must be asked—to wait on her this summer; and then in the fall to put her at some good school where she will be taught how to earn her own living when she grows up.”
“Oh, grandmother, how perfectly perfect! And can’t Mrs. Hartwell-Jones stay here with us all summer, instead of going back to Mr. Parsons’ house in the village?”
“I shall keep her, certainly, as long as she will stay, Janey dear. But do you see how wonderful all this is going to be for Letty? Now, she is a homeless little girl, with nowhere to go in the wide, wide world; but if Mrs. Hartwell-Jones takes her she will be housed and cared for and protected. It is a fearful thing to be a little girl alone in the world, Janey.”
“Yes, grandmother,” replied Jane solemnly. “And wouldn’t it be a surprise if Letty should turn out to be a relation of Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s? It would be like one of her own stories, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly would be wonderful. But there is not much likelihood of that, dear. There are a great many Joneses in the world.”
“Yes, it seems to be a very popular name. But, grandmother, when shall we know surely, if Letty is coming back?”
“I think it is pretty certain,” replied grandmother with a smile. “Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had about made up her mind before she started, and Mrs. Drake will not have very much to say against Letty, if we are to believe Mr. Drake’s account. The child will be a great help to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, with her lame ankle.”
Jane was gathering up the scattered scraps of bright colored silk.
“I think I won’t sew any more just now, grandmother, if you will ’scuse me. I want to go out to the gate and watch for them to come back.”
Outside the sitting-room door she met the boys. Her superiority in having been confided a secret made her very amiable, and when she saw that Billy Carpenter carried a puppy, she forgot her injury in examining the ball of fur to decide which puppy it was. But she kept one eye on the gate and presently tumbled the puppy back in to Billy’s arms and ran off toward the driveway with a shout.
Bill was not expecting the burden at that moment and the fat puppy fell yelping to the ground. But Jane did not turn round.
“What in the world!” ejaculated Christopher, who had never before seen Jane deaf to cries of distress.
“Perhaps she feels bad about your giving away the pup,” suggested Billy, picking up the whining little beast.
The two boys bent over the puppy to see if its fall had injured it and neither of them noticed the approach of the pony carriage, again being driven, to Jane’s unspeakable joy, by Letty.