CHAPTER XIVISITORS

After the second Thursday, which was Floribel’s and Zeke’s day out, came the second Saturday of the children’s stay in the Little House, and on that Saturday all the parents came to Satuit from Charlestown to see how their children were getting on: Mr. and Mrs. Brine, Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop, Mr. and Mrs. Clark, Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Arthur had no mother but Mr. Duncan appeared with the rest. Mr. Westabrook appeared at odd moments and helped entertain the guests. The children of these parents were so excited that Maida and Dicky lamented loudly that they had no relatives to show the Little House. This was before the train which brought all these guests arrived. Afterwards, they had no time to regret anything. The hospitality of the Little House was stretched to its furthest expansion. The boys, bunking in tents, hastily erected on the lawn, gave up their beds to their fathers. The girls, sleeping on extra cots in the nursery, gave uptheir beds to their mothers. This did not take care of the entire company. All the rooms in the Annex were filled.

It was a two days, equally busy for hosts and guests. The children were determined to show their parents everything and the parents were equally determined to see everything. One instant Mr. and Mrs. Doyle could be seen being dragged off by Molly and Timmie to view House Rock; the next, Mr. and Mrs. Clark, herded by the twins, were being pulled in the direction of the Fairy Ring. Laura and Rosie displayed every detail of house and barn to their parents. Arthur took his father on two long explorations through the woods. Betsy celebrated the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Hale by her first attempt to run house and the Magic Mirror, and brought back away. She was caught half way between them in triumph, her big eyes sparkling with the mischief which always filled them when she was successful in accomplishing her purpose.

Perhaps though, Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore enjoyed more than anybody this break in their country life; for a happy smile never left Granny’s wrinkled face, and Mrs. Dore talked to the visitors all day long.

The company left on a late Sundayafternoon train with an invitation to come every future week-end; and it looked as though life in the Little House would go on as usual.

However, Monday proved to be an equally exciting day as the two which had preceded it. For when the children—Big Six and Little Six—came back from their swim in the afternoon, they saw, lying placidly on the lawn, the figure of a strange man—asleep or awake they could not at first make out.

The figure decided that for them by leaping to its feet in what seemed one athletic jerk.

“It’s Billy Potter!” shrieked Maida.

“Billy!” “Billy!” “Billy!” the others made chorus. And they raced over to his side; threw themselves in one scrambled heap upon him. Being of athletic build, Billy Potter sustained that shock splendidly.

Billy Potter was one of the oldest friends the Little Shop had had. He was a reporter on a Boston paper, a great favorite with Mr. Westabrook, whom he had many times interviewed; and a devoted friend of Maida’s whom he called Petronilla. It was the first time the children had seen him since Maida left for Europe.

He was rather short—Billy Potter—blue-eyed and golden-haired; the eyes very blueand very observant; his hair closely woven into a thick curly thatch.

The children alternately hugged and thumped him.

“Why haven’t you been here before, Billy?” Maida said, “I’ve been at home two weeks now.”

“Only because I wasn’t in Boston,” Billy declared. “I’ve been away on my vacation. I had to take it early this year. I couldn’t have come over here at this moment, but that I’m on a story.”

When Billy Potter spoke of a “story,” he meant the account which he wrote of events for his paper. “I’m on a kidnapping case,” he explained over their heads to Mr. Westabrook. “I may be here in Satuit on and off for a few days. And if invited, I might become a guest of this noble establishment.”

“Oh do come, oh do, oh do!” the children entreated.

“All right,” Billy agreed, “I’m only waiting for an invitation, Petronilla.”

“Well here it is,” said Maida.

“I accept,” Billy Potter laughed.

The children had to take him the rounds too. He wondered at and exclaimed over thevegetable garden. He exclaimed over and wondered at the flower garden. He went in swimming in the Magic Mirror, and showed them many new water tricks. He inspected House Rock with the Little Six. He climbed to the Tree Room with the Big Six. He declared that the Tree Room was where he must sleep. And he did sleep there, although it took all the ingenuity that he possessed, plus the assistance of the three boys, to pull a cot up into it.

And while Billy Potter was still a guest, as though, as Maida said,wonders would never cease, Dr. Pierce suddenly appeared on the scene.

Dr. Pierce was the Westabrook family physician. He had known Maida all her life and called her Pinkwink. He too had often visited the Little Shop; had been one of its advisors.

The children deserted Billy for a moment and threw themselves pell-mell on the old physician. He stood braced for the shock which made every one of the tight gray curls on his head quiver and brought the twinkliest of twinkles to his happy old eyes.

“Well,Pinkwink!” he exclaimed, “is this the little girl who used to have cheeks as white as paper and eyes like a burnt hole in ablanket? And are these those pale, washed-out, colorless, slim-jim-looking city children I used to know?”

He hugged all the girls impartially, shook hands with the boys; then he too made the rounds of the place.

He played all his old games on them; drawing Betsy out to tell her exploits; listening with great enjoyment to Molly and Timmie; and never ceasing to pretend that Dorothy and Mabel were one girl with a magic power of being in two places at once.

“You must come oftener, Dr. Pierce,” Maida said when at last they found themselves seated in the living room.

“Oh I’m coming often enough,” Dr. Pierce said. “You’ll get good and tired of me before I have finished with you. I’m coming at regular intervals to see that you don’t drown yourselves or get ivy-poison, or sun-stroke or lockjaw or any of those things that children are so fond of. I shall make regular inspections. In fact I am going to make one this visit. Now that I speak of it, this strikes me as a good time. Line up over there against the wall, all of you, and stick out your tongues.”

Life fell into regular habits after a while.For work—two hours every morning, except on Thursdays, took care of that. On Thursdays, however, it was a matter of several hours. For play—it seemed as though the rest of the long golden days was all play.

After the household tasks came bathing which had become a habit as regular as eating. Bathing was almost the best fun they had—especially for Dicky.

Dicky soon rejected the water wings. He was swimming now—not of course as fast or as well as the others—but swimming with that fresh joy which only the amateur knows. The others were perfecting strokes of various kinds and practising fancy diving of various sorts. Arthur was of course the best and strongest performer among them. Maida would never be more than a fair swimmer nor Harold; but Rosie had soon out-distanced Laura, was beginning to work into Arthur’s class. However Laura was still, would probably always be, the most graceful of them all.

The afternoons were spent in walking and playing tennis; the evenings were given up to reading and games.

It looked at first as if their program would never vary. The beautiful weather kept up and the beautiful country seemed full ofdiversion. Occasionally came a dark day and then the boys devoted themselves to boxing in the barn; their shouts and laughter would reach even to the Little House. On those occasions Mrs. Dore and Granny would gather the girls about them; set the older ones to mending or to teaching Molly and the Clark twins how to sew.

The Big Six kept running into the Burles although the appearance of any of the Little House children on the path leading to the gypsy camp was a signal for Silva and Tyma to disappear instantly into the bushes. The children frequently came across the young gypsies peddling their baskets in the village—at the pleasant Wampum Arms which was the Satuit hotel; or at the quiet farmhouses along the road. In the long walks that they occasionally took in the woods, Maida and her friends were likely to happen upon the outlaw pair. If the Burles saw the girls coming, they quickly looked and walked the other way. The two gypsies were not however much bothered with attentions from the Little House children, for since the experience at the Magic Mirror, the latter never voluntarily glanced in their direction.

Once Rosie came home almost breathless with rage. “What do you think has justhappened, Maida?” she asked indignantly. “I was coming along the path when I saw a little opening in the bushes. It looked so pretty that I thought I’d cut into it. Just then I saw Silva Burle running—oh running likesixty—although she had a bottle of milk under her arm. She heard me coming and suddenly she disappeared through the bushes. But before she got away she made—oh the horridest face at me. I was so mad—”

“She certainly is a strange girl,” Maida remarked in a perplexed tone. “I don’t understand why she acts so. We’ve never done anything to her. Why should she treat us like this?”

Arthur also reported that once, early in the morning, he caught sight of Silva Burle flying along the path ahead of him, a bundle of—he could not tell what—under her arms. At the sound of his footsteps—Arthur said it was exactly as though she were afraid of something he might do—though, he added, what she expected him to do, he couldn’t guess, she flew to cover like a rabbit; actually vanished from his sight.

But the most disagreeable of all was Laura’s experience. Rosie pointed out to her the little opening among the trees which had sointerested her. The next day, passing it alone, it occurred to Laura that she would find out where it led. Like Rosie she walked through the underbrush—but she got farther than Rosie did. Suddenly she came against a trailing tree branch; she started to climb over it. One foot had planted itself. She lifted the other and—splash! A pail of water, hung on an over-hanging branch, fell on her, drenching her from head to foot. It spoiled the gloss of her freshly-ironed muslin frock of course, but it spoiled her temper more. Maida pondered all this evidence, utterly perplexed. Why the Burles should have taken such a dislike to them all she could not guess. She did not speak of it to her father because she was afraid he might complain to Aunt Save. And Maida did not want to make trouble for her friend. But under promise of secrecy, she discussed the situation with Billy Potter. For once, that astute young gentleman had no explanation of a curious social phenomenon.

Billy Potter was coming to see them regularly now; so was Mr. Westabrook. They both had long talks with the children, collectively and separately.

One afternoon as they were sitting in theliving room a curious revelation occurred. Arthur was talking about the forest. It was plain to be seen that it fascinated him beyond measure. Often he would wake early in the morning; slip down to the Magic Mirror; canoe himself across its dawn-swept, glossy surface to the other side; wander for an hour or more in the woods.

“I guess I’ll have to make a forester out of you,” Mr. Westabrook said that afternoon. “I hope you don’t stay up late at night.” His remark was not a question, only a comment.

Arthur flushed, remained silent. Mr. Westabrook continued to look at him. And now his look was a question.

“Twice—” Arthur faltered finally—“when the moon was full. I wanted to see if I could come up to some of your deer.”

“Well, did you manage?” Mr. Westabrook asked.

“Only once,” Arthur answered. “If they get the smell of you—good night! But I read in a book here in the library how to work around so’s the wind wouldn’t carry it—and one night, I watched a group feeding and tossing their horns nearly five minutes.”

“It’s a pretty sight,” Mr. Westabrook remarked. “I guess if I were a boy I couldn’tresist that myself. But I want you to promise me that you’ll make these explorations only the three nights that the moon is full.”

Arthur promised readily.

“Oh father,” Maida begged, “couldn’t I do it too?”

Her father shook his head. “No I guess you little girls must stay in your beds. Yes you too Dicky,” as Dicky’s lips opened automatically, “and you Harold. Sometime perhaps but not now. Arthur is older and bigger. He can take care of himself. Now,” he concluded quickly as if determined to give envy no time to develop, “come out into the barn. I hear there’s some good boxing going on here. Besides I want you to show me how your tennis is improving.”

The Little Six continued to play near or in the house directly under Granny Flynn’s or Mrs. Dore’s watchful eye. Occasionally they were permitted to wade in the lake, but only when one of the grown-ups accompanied them. For the most of their time, they were contented to frequent Home Rock.

Maida had told the Little Six that there were toys awaiting them in the Little House. These included dolls of all sizes; dollfurniture; little sets of dishes, china and pewter. Granny eked these out with the store of saucerless cups and cupless saucers, the cracked bowls and plates which linger on the outskirts of all respectable china closets. The children were permitted to carry pails of water over to House Rock and there, in its shade, miniature housekeeping began.

From every level, glassy-eyed dolls, sitting placidly in little chairs, or lying placidly in little beds, surveyed the landscape. Every morning the small mothers burst into an orgy of house-cleaning, sweeping rock rooms, dusting doll furniture, washing doll dishes. Every afternoon, there broke out a fury of baking. Hundreds of delicious mud pies were mixed, baked and then abandoned to that limbo, to which all mud pies are sooner or later consigned. When this play gave out, the ingenious Mrs. Dore set them to cutting out paper dolls; and to making, in scrap-books hastily improvised from brown paper, innumerable rooms, furnished with advertisement furniture, cut from magazines. This involved endless hours of cutting in which scissors disappeared as though by witchcraft and reappeared as though by magic; endless hours of pasting from which the small interiordecorators returned splashed with flour paste from head to foot.

When in turn this game lost its savor, the resourceful Mrs. Dore designed paper houses, these architectural wonders, made from the endless piles of rejected paper boxes which the under-the-eaves closets of the Little House contained. The Little Six were as much delighted with the Little House and its neighborhood as the Big Six. But unlike the Big Six—with the exception of Betsy—they were content with near-by joys. But Betsy had never recovered from her tendency to run away.

Once or twice she slipped off the House Rock and started to make through the green forests in any direction that occurred to her. But she was always caught. Caught—because after her first straying, Mrs. Dore put on the efficient little Molly the burden of keeping a watch upon her. And Molly watched Betsy—watched her with the same quiet, supervising care which she had always brought to her guardianship of the self-willed, stubborn Timmie. After a while, astute Betsy came to realize that a guard was always near and, for the time being ceased to stray.

“She’ll do it sometime,” Dicky prophesiedagain and again. “She always has and she always will.”

The children recovered from their first attack of sunburn; but they succumbed to another and another. The second attack was not so painful and the third was scarcely noticed. The red in their faces deepened to a brown which was like the protection of armor against the sun. The blue-eyed and fair-haired ones—Maida and the two Lathrops—freckled; but Rosie turned a deeper rose-bronze every day; Dicky was fast changing to the color of a coffee bean and Arthur threatened to become pitch-black. As for the Little Six, Maida said they were “just colonies of freckles”; and colonies in which layer had grown on layer.

“I can’t believe you are the same children I saw in the city a little over two weeks ago,” Buffalo Westabrook remarked on his second visit. “First I was afraid you were working too hard. When Maida sent me the program of your work, it looked to me as if you were undertaking altogether too much, but you certainly thrive on it.”

“Well we play more than we work,” Rosie explained.

“I never was so hungry in all my life,”Laura declared, “and I fall asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.”

“All right,” Buffalo Westabrook laughed. “You’re doing so well I’ll leave it all in your hands.”

He always surveyed both the flower garden and the vegetable garden when he came—surveyed them with much interest. He always went into the barn and made an examination of the boys’ quarters.

And so with work and play, July wore itself away.

The Big Six—as the older children were now called—were returning from their swim. A shower, early in the morning, had delayed the bathing hour until afternoon. And their pent-up spirits had exploded in prolonged skylarking in the water. It was late afternoon when they came in sight of the Little House. They threw themselves under one of the twin elms on the front lawn, a little warm from their walk home. And as the Big Six languidly talked, the Little Six came, in single file, along the trail which led from House Rock.

“Where’s Betsy?” the sharp-eyed Rosie called.

“I sent her back for her dolly,” Molly explained gravely. “She forgot and left Hildegarde on House Rock. Hildegarde was all dressed up in her best clothes and I didn’t fink she ought to stay out all night long.”

“That’s right, Molly,” Maida applaudedthe little girl. “Take just as good care of your dollies as you do of yourselves. And then when you grow up, they’ll still be with you—like Lucy.”

Molly, heading the file turned suddenly and walked soberly over to Maida’s side. She knelt down on the grass beside her. “Maida,” she said, “when we first came down here, you said if we were veryverygood, we could play with Lucy some rainy day.”

Maida laughed up into the earnest little face. The key-note of Molly’s coloring was brown just as Delia’s was red, Betsy’s black, and the Clark twins pink-and-white. Molly’s serious little face, from which hung two tight thick little braids, had, even in her wee childhood, a touch of motherliness; and indeed she brooded like a warm little mother bird over the entire rest of the group.

“So I did,” Maida said.

“But we’ve only had free rainy days,” Molly complained.

The Big Six laughed. Molly could not pronounce t and her failure in this respect always entertained the Big Six. They all reached out and knocked the elm trunk. “Knock wood!” they called to Molly; and Molly, not at all understanding what it was all about,obediently tapped the tree with her dimpled knuckles.

“And you didn’t let us have Lucy those free days,” Molly stated reproachfully.

“But if you wait long enough, Molly,” Maida excused herself, “you are sure to have a big three-days’ storm. And I promise you you shall have Lucy all three days.”

“And the little hair frunk?” Molly questioned eagerly.

“Yes,” Maida agreed, “the little hair frunk.”

“Cross you froat!” Molly demanded.

“Yes, cross my froat,” Maida agreed and crossed it.

“Oh goody!” Molly skipped away on the wings of ecstasy.

“Did Betsy come back?” Dicky asked carelessly.

“I didn’t notice,” Maida answered absently, “I wasn’t looking.”

But after a while the supper bell rang. The children filed into the dining room and took their places. One chair was vacant.

“Where’s Betsy?” Mrs. Dore immediately asked.

Everybody looked puzzled and nobody answered.

“I told her to go and get her dolly,” Molly asserted.

Nobody paid any attention to her.

“She’s probably up-stairs in the nursery,” Mrs. Dore decided. “Once or twice she’s fallen asleep up there—she’s got so tired playing.”

She left the room and the children heard her running over the stairs. In a moment or two, they heard her footsteps coming back—at a swifter pace.

“She isn’t there,” Mrs. Dore said in a quiet voice. “Nor in any one of the upstairs rooms. Now before you eat, children, scatter about the place and see if you can find her.”

“She’s run away,” Dicky asserted. “I told you she would.”

“I told her to go back for her dolly,” Molly reiterated gravely.

As Mrs. Dore had ordered, the children scattered. They searched the house, the Annex, the barn, the Tree House, the two gardens, and the adjacent trails. No Betsy! By this time, Floribel and Zeke, looking very serious, had joined in the search. Granny Flynn, obviously frightened, was wringing her hands.Mrs. Dore’s face had turned serious too, but she was quite mistress of herself.

“We’ll wait a few minutes,” she ordered slowly, “and then if we haven’t found her, we’ll telephone the Big House. In the meantime, Granny, you see that the children have their supper. The rest of you,” she addressed the Big Six, “must go without your supper for a while. I want you to help.”

The Big Six wanted to help of course. For a moment or two they wandered about aimlessly—a haphazard group; with Mrs. Dore and Floribel and Zeke trying to direct all at once. Suddenly Arthur Duncan took command of the situation. He ran into the house and emerged with his arms full of things; the cow-bell with which Floribel called the children to meals and four electric flash-lights. “Laura,” he commanded, handing her the cow-bell, “I want you to stand here at the door and ring this bell at regular intervals. I’m going to divide the rest of you into pairs and send you off in different directions. We’re losing time, all bunched together like this. Now Mrs. Dore, if you and Dicky will go to the Magic Mirror and hunt the woods there—and Floribel, you and Rosie take the House Rockdirection. Zeke, you and Harold search in front, across the road. Maida and I’ll beat the woods back of the house. Remember, don’t any one of you go out of hearing of the bell. And if any of you find Betsy, come back and ring the bell hard—without stopping.”

The four pairs scattered, north, south, east and west. For a few moments Maida could hear the others crashing through the woods. She caught their voices ... getting farther and farther away ... calling “Betsy!” ... “Betsy!” ... fragments of sentences. Finally as she and Arthur plunged deeper and deeper into the forest, she got only broken blurred calls. At length these too died away. The silence of the immeasurable, immemorial forest closed about her and Arthur. The oncoming dusk seemed to be pouring like a great, gradual-growing flood upon them.

“There isn’t any chance of our losing Betsy forever, Arthur?” Maida asked once in a hushed voice.

“Not a chance,” Arthur answered. “If we don’t find her, your father will. In five minutes he can get enough men together to beat these woods. And by midnight they can cover every spot of them.”

“They are awfully big woods, Arthur,” Maida commented a little fearfully.

“But a gang of men working systematically,” Arthur explained, “could get through them in no time. Why the year my father and I camped out in Maine, there was a child lost in a forest a hundred times as big as this, but the whole village turned out and they found her in an hour.” Arthur did not add that the child was only three. He went on. “You see, little children can’t walk very fast. They are likely to go round in circles any way. And they soon get tired out. We shall probably find her asleep.”

“But if she’s fast asleep,” Maida remarked, “she can’t help us by answering our calls.”

To this Arthur answered, “Perhaps our calls will wake her.”

In the meantime, they searched every bit of ground thoroughly. At the foot of tree trunks, beside rocks, under bushes, Arthur thrust the rays of his electric flash-light. At intervals, he called to Maida and at intervals Maida called to him. It grew darker and darker.

“There, there’s the moon!” Arthur said in a relieved tone. “It’s going to help a gooddeal—having a full moon.” Following his pointing finger, Maida caught a faint, red glow through the trees. They searched a little longer.

“Arthur, I can barely hear the bell,” Maida exclaimed suddenly.

Arthur sighed. “I was just thinking of that,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to go back to the Little House and telephone the Big House.”

They turned and walked in the direction of the cow-bell. They were too preoccupied with the sense of their unhappiness to talk. Once only Maida said, “She’s one of the darlingest little girls I ever knew. If anything happened to Betsy—And then how could we tell her mother?”

When they came out on the lawn of the Little House, they found Floribel and Rosie sitting there. A minute later, Zeke and Harold appeared from one direction and, after an interval, Mrs. Dore and Dicky from another. They all had the same anxious, slightly-terrified look.

“I’ll call up the Big House now,” Mrs. Dore said quietly. “We can’t handle this alone any longer.” She started towards thedoor and automatically the others followed her in a silent, down-cast file.

And then suddenly, Rosie screamed, “There’s Betsy now!”

The whole group turned; stood petrified.

Maida followed Rosie’s scream with “And what is she carrying in her arms?”

And then the whole group broke and ran in the direction of House Rock.

Betsy was coming down the trail toward the Little House. The moon was fairly high now and it shown full on the erect little figure and the excited sparkling little face. Her dress was soiled and torn. Her hair ribbon had gone and her curls hung helter-skelter about her rosy cheeks. Her great eyes shone like baby moons as her gaze fell on the group running towards her. A trusting smile parted her red lips; showed all her little white mice teeth.

“She’s carrying a fawn!” Arthur exclaimed as he neared her. “Why, it can’t be a day old!”

Betsywascarrying a fawn. As they surrounded her, she handed it trustfully over into Arthur’s extended hands. “I finded it myself,” she announced proudly. “I ranned andI ranned and I ranned. And it runned and it runned and it runned. But I ranned faster than it runned and pretty soon it was all tired out and I catched it.”

This was all of her adventure that they ever got out of Betsy. Conjecture later filled in these meager outlines; that Betsy had been coming home with her doll, Hildegarde, when this stray from the Westabrook preserves crossed her path. Dropping Hildegarde—they found her a few moments later, not far from House Rock—she chased the poor little creature over trails, through bushes, across rocks until she ran him down. Then picking him up in her arms, she found the path by some lucky accident and came home.

“Mother of God!” Mrs. Dore said, hugging Betsy again and again, “the child looked like the young St. John coming down the path.”

Floribel lifted Betsy in her arms and carried her the rest of the way, a very excited little girl proudly telling her story again and again.

“I ranned and I ranned and I ranned,” she kept repeating, “and he runned and he runned and he runned—”

The other children tried to help in the process by holding onto dangling legs andarms, by patting the little thickly-curly head and by reaching up to kiss the round rosy cheeks. All except Arthur, who carried the exhausted little fawn.

Once home, Betsy was the center of attention for only a moment. She was given her supper; a warm soothing bath and put immediately to bed. Then the fawn took the center of the stage.

The capable Arthur found a big basket which he filled with soft cloths; placed the exhausted little creature in it. Hewasexhausted; for when Arthur first put him on the floor, his legs gave out under him. He spraddled, all four legs flat, on the rug in front of the fireplace—as Rosie said, “exactly like a wet mosquito.” Then Arthur heated some milk; dipped a corner of a handkerchief into it; gave it to the fawn to suck. It was a slow process; for the fawn did not seem to understand this strange method of being fed. At length, Arthur thought of a better scheme. Procuring an eye-dropper from the medicine-chest, he poured the warm fluid, drop by drop, into the little creature’s mouth.

All the time the children knelt around the basket in a circle.

“How sweet it is,” Rosie who adored animals, kept saying. “Look at its big eyes and its beautiful head!”

“I’d love to take it in my arms,” Maida exclaimed, again and again, “only I know I would frighten it to death. See how it trembles if we get too near!”

The little children, who had been allowed one glimpse of the deer, went up-stairs chattering like little magpies. Betsy, tired with her long hunting, had fallen asleep the instant she struck the pillow. But the rest were in such a high state of excitement that it was almost an hour before the last of them calmed down. It was not easy that night to drive the Big Six to bed.

When the denizens of the Little House waked the next morning, their tiny forest guest was lying in his basket, bright-eyed as usual. For an hour after his breakfast and theirs, they hovered about him making all kinds of plans in regard to his future. But these dreams were rudely shattered when Mrs. Dore informed them that she had told Mr. Westabrook, over the telephone, the whole episode and that he was sending a man that day to bring the deer back to the Big House.

“Oh I don’t see why we have to give himup!” Maida declared in heart-broken accents. “What fun it would be to have a deer all our own and watch him grow. Just think when his horns came!”

“Oh, Maida!” Rosie begged, “do call your father up and tease him to let us keep him. Just think of having a baby fawn running about the house.”

Both the Sixes, Little and Big, added their entreaties to Rosie’s.

“I don’t think it would be any use, Maida,” Mrs. Dore quietly interrupted. “Your father said if by chance any stranger brought a dog here, he would kill the little fawn the moment he caught him. And then when the fawn himself grew bigger, and developed horns, he might even be dangerous. Besides Betsy,” as Betsy burst into loud wails of, “I finded him myself. I ranned and I ranned and I ranned—” “Mr. Westabrook said he would send you something nice to take the fawn’s place.”

“But the fawn’s alive,” Rosie expostulated in a grieved tone. “And nothing can be as nice as a live creature.”

“He said this would be alive too,” Mrs. Dore comforted her.

“Ohwhat?” Rosie asked.

Mrs. Dore’s eyes danced. “It’s a surprise. I’m not to tell it.”

Only half appeased, the children hung around the house, waiting to see what thelivething was. In the middle of the morning, a run-about drew up in front of the Little House and one of Mr. Westabrook’s men alighted from it. He was wearing a long loose coat, but he had nothing in his arms. He took the little fawn, basket and all, and placed it in the run-about. The children tagged his every movement, followed with their eyes his every motion. After the fawn was safely installed on the seat beside him, he turned on the engine.

Betsy burst into tears.

“Oh that’s the little girl,” the man exclaimed, as though suddenly remembering something, “who found the fawn, isn’t it?”

Through her sobs Betsy began, “I ranned and I ranned and I—”

“Well then,” the man said, “I guess I’ve got something for you.” He reached into one of the pockets of his big coat and brought out a tiny, nondescript bundle of loose white fur; of helpless waving black paws; big bulging winking black eyes; a curly queue of tail; an impertinent sniffing nose—a baby bull dog.He handed it to Betsy. Betsy’s tears dried in a flash. She hugged the puppy close to her warm neck; ran with him to the house. The children raced after her, and the run-about, utterly forgotten, disappeared down the road.

“Let’s call it Fawn,” Rosie said, and Fawn it was.

Fawn adopted the Little House as her home at once. She was a very affectionate person and she soon grew to love devotedly every member of the household. They all loved her devotedly in return; but none loved her more than Betsy; and Betsy’s dog she always remained.

“Do you know I think it would be fine if we went off some day this week on a picnic,” Laura said unexpectedly one morning. “I just love to go on picnics. And we haven’t had one yet.”

“Oh Laura!” Maida agreed ecstatically, “What a wonderful idea! I love picnics too! I adore picnic food and I never yet have had all the hard-boiled eggs I want. How did you come to think of it?”

“I thought of it last night just before I fell asleep.” Laura’s voice sparkled with pride. “It was all I could do to keep from going in your rooms and waking you and Rosie up to tell you about it. I was so excited that I couldn’t fall asleep and so I made a perfectly beautiful plan. I thought we might put up lunches; then get into our bathing suits; paddle across the Magic Mirror to the other side and spend the day there—we have never really explored the other side. I’m sure it’sperfectly lovely there and we’ll have a wonderful time.”

“Let’s do it to-morrow,” Rosie took up with Laura’s plan immediately. “We can get up early; cook the eggs and make the sandwiches. There’ll be enough cake left over. And don’t let’s—oh listen, everybody! Remember not to forget the salt. People always forget the salt on picnics.”

“It’s ice cream day to-morrow,” Harold said sadly. “We’ll miss it if we are not home to freeze it.”

“No, if you boys will get up early and make it, we can take it along in the freezer with us,” Rosie suggested daringly.

“Sure!” Arthur was highly enthusiastic. “I don’t care how early I have to get up to make ice cream. I’d rather do that than go without it.”

All other conversation was banished for the day. They kept thinking of things they would like to take with them—and stopped only short of the bicycles.

“I should think,” Maida said once, “that we were going to Africa for six months at least. Remember one thing though—don’t forget the salt!”

They were so afraid that they wouldn’twake in time that they wound their alarm clocks to the very last notch. They did wake in time however. In fact they had to put the alarm clocks under the bed clothes and pile pillows on top of them to keep from waking the rest of the household. With much whispering and many half-suppressed giggles the girls managed to get into bathing suits; went down stairs and began their work in the kitchen. Although the exact number of eggs and sandwiches had been decided on the day before, they held many low-toned colloquies on the subject.

“Remember,” Laura said, “you can always eat twice as much at a picnic as anywhere else. I don’t know why it is,” she concluded thoughtfully, “but even things you don’t like taste good.Be sure not to forget the salt!”

By the time Floribel appeared to get their breakfasts, they were nearly famished but nevertheless they ate hurriedly, so great was their longing to get off. Arthur shouldered the ice cream freezer. Between them, the girls carried the luncheon. The little children had to be led to the side of the house, so as not to witness their elaborate burden-laden departure. As it was acute little Betsy apparently guessed that something was going onwhich did not include her. As the Big Six disappeared down the trail they could hear Granny Flynn soothing her whimperings.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was not yet high enough in the heavens for it to be hot. Indeed dew still lay over everything. But there was a languor in the atmosphere which warned them that it would be hot enough later. The pond was indeed a Magic Mirror. It was like glass. Not a ripple roughed its surface and everything on the shore was so perfectly reflected that it looked painted on the water. The children wasted no time on the view. They pulled the four canoes out of the boat house and began loading them. Arthur paddled alone in one with the ice cream freezer and the lunch. Harold paddled alone in the second with the rugs and the hammock; the others went, two to a canoe. The little fleet kept close.

“Isn’t it a beautiful place?” Rosie asked joyously, trailing her hand in the water, “It’s like fairy land to-day. How I wish I could see some fairies or goblins or something strange!”

“I’d be content to see some white peacocks,” Dicky said soberly.

“Oh Dicky!” Maida exclaimed, “I’ve nevertaken you to see the white peacocks as I promised. I’ll do that just as soon as I can.”

“I’d rather see some deer.” Harold remarked.

“Well all I ask,” Laura was very emphatic, “is not to see two people—Silva and Tyma Burle.”

“I don’t think we’ll run into them,” Maida declared thoughtfully, “It’s a long time since any of us have seen them—over two weeks I should say. Perhaps they’ve gone away.”

“No,” Arthur called from his canoe, “I saw them in the village yesterday.”

The landing was effected with no difficulty, although here of course there was no pier. They followed the trail through the woods for a long way, trying to find a place to camp. One spot attracted some; a second attracted others; but for a long time, no place attracted them all.

“There are too many stones here,” Rosie would say, “it won’t be comfortable to sit down.”

“And it’s too sunny here,” Maida commented. “It’ll melt the ice cream and the butter—and everything.”

“That place slants,” Laura made the third objection, “we want a nice flat spot.”

“I think I hear water,” Dicky cried suddenly.

“Water!” Maida repeated, “Water! How can you hear it? There’s no water here. I never saw any brook around here. I can’t hear any water.”

Neither could anybody else; yet Dicky persisted that he heard the sound of running water.

“You wait here,” he exclaimed suddenly, “let me see if I can find it.” He disappeared through the trees. He came running back in a few minutes obviously excited. “I haven’t found it yet,” he explained, “but I certainly hear it plainer and plainer the farther I go.”

The others swarmed into the bushes. Dicky led the way like a little human divining rod.

“I hear water,” Rosie announced electrically. “Hark!”

They all stopped and listened. One by one they got the soft tinkle. Encouraged they kept on, rounding bushes and leaping rocks. The noise grew louder and louder. A rough trail suddenly appeared. They raced over it as fast as their burdens would permit. The sound was now a lovely musical splash. They came out on an open space, surrounded by pines and thickly carpeted with pine needles.At one side a great rock thrust out of the earth. Close beside it ran a tiny brook and just beyond the lee of the rock, the brook fell into a waterfall not more than a foot high. The children went wild with delight.

“Do you mean to tell me, Maida Westabrook, that you never knew this was here?” Rosie demanded.

“I never did,” Maida declared solemnly. “I have never seen it. I have never heard anybody mention it. Isn’t it a darling? What shall we call it? We must give it a name.”

Nobody had any names ready and everybody was too excited to think. In fact, at once they began wading up and down the little brook. They explored the neighborhood. Not far off they came upon a curious patch of country. A cleared circle, surrounded by pine trees and carpeted with pines, was filled with irregular lines of great rocks that lost themselves in the bushes on either side.

“I believe this is a moraine,” Maida exclaimed suddenly. “I’ve seen moraines in Europe.”

“What’s a moraine?” the others asked.

Maida explained how once the earth had been covered with great icecaps called glaciersand how in melting these glaciers had often left—streaking the earth’s surface—great files and lines of rock. “We’ll ask father to come here some day,” she ended. “He’ll know all about it. Billy Potter too—he knows everything.”

After a while, they came back to the waterfall. They swept aside the pine needles; spread the tablecloth on the ground; took food from the baskets; set it about in an inviting pile. The ice cream had not melted an atom in the freezer. The sandwiches, done up in wet napkins, were quite fresh. The eggs looked as inviting as hard-boiled eggs are bound to look. Everything was all right except that—and this produced first consternation, then laughter—there was no salt.

“We all reminded everybody else to remember the salt,” Maida said in disgust, “and so nobody put it in the basket.”

Everybody but Rosie was busy. And Rosie, as though bewitched, was wandering about, gazing up this vista and down that one; examining clumps of bushes.

“Come, Rosie, lunch is most ready,” Maida called to her. And as Rosie didn’t answer, “Whatare you doing?”

“I’m looking for—” Rosie’s voice wasmuffled. “I thought I saw something—Oh come and see what I’ve found!” Now her voice was sharp and high with excitement.

The children rushed pell-mell in the direction of the voice. Rosie had gone farther than they thought. Indeed she had disappeared entirely. She had to keep calling to guide them. When they came to her at last, she was standing with her back against a tree, the look on her face very mystified, holding in her arms—

“A doll!” Maida exclaimed. “Whocouldhave dropped it? Nobody ever comes here but us.”

It was a cheap little doll of the rag-baby order perfectly new, perfectly clean and dry.

“How did you come to find it?” Laura enquired.

“Well it’s the strangest thing,” Rosie answered in a queer quiet voice. “I was just poking around here, not thinking of anything particularly.... And then I thought I saw something moving—a white figure. I started towards it and then.... And then it seemed to me that something was thrown through the air. Now when I try to remember, I can’t be sure I really did see anything thrown through the air and yet I sort offeelthat I did.Anyway I ran to see what it was. When I got there, this doll was lying in the path.”

“How curious!” Maida commented. “You must have imagined the figure, Rosie. See, there’s nobody here.”

A little awed, the children stared through the trees, this way and that. But they stood stock still.

“Yes, I must have imagined it,” Rosie admitted. “Still when I try to make myself believe I didn’t see anything, something inside tells me I did.”

“Let’s look about,” Arthur suggested. They scattered exploring; diving into bush clumps, and peering behind rocks. Fifteen minutes went by.

“Well we’ve found nothing.” Arthur ended the search as he had begun it. “Let’s go back and eat lunch.”

“Oh let’s!” begged Harold. “I never was so hungry in all my life.”

“Nor I!” “Nor I!” came from the others. Maida alone remained thoughtful. She led the file, however, back to the waterfall. And it was she who suddenly stopped and called, “Look! Look what’s happened—” She stopped as though her breath had given out.

In the midst of the clearing, the paper tablecloth still lay on the ground, a great shining rectangle of white. Scattered about, crumpled, soiled, or torn were the paper napkins. Everything else, even the ice cream from the freezer, had disappeared.

“Why, who took it?” Arthur demanded in a dazed voice. “Whocouldhave taken it?” he went on in a puzzled one. “Is any one of you playing a joke?” he asked suddenly of the others.

Everybody protested his innocence.

“We haven’t been gone more than fifteen minutes,” Arthur went on. “Let’s look about. It doesn’t seem to me anybody could have carried all that stuff far and we not get a glimpse of it. It might be tramps.”

“One thing is certain,” Maida protested, “tramps didn’t do it. There are never any tramps in Satuit.”

The children started their search. Theylooked behind trees and under bushes; but they showed a tendency to keep together. They talked the matter over, but instinctively their voices lowered. They kept glancing over their shoulders. They found nothing.

“It’s like Magic,” Maida commented in a still voice. “You were saying, Rosie, that you wished you could see some fairies or goblins. It looks to me as though the goblins had stolen our lunch.”

Arthur alone did not leave the clearing. He stood in the center pivoting about, watching every vista and gnawing his under lip. His face was more perplexed that any of them had ever seen it.

“Well if we don’t find our lunch pretty soon,” he said after a while, “we’ve got to go back home to get something to eat.”

“Perhaps somebody’s playing a joke on us,” Rosie suggested, “and if we wait for a while, they’ll bring the lunch back.”

There seemed nothing else to do. So, rather sobered by this mysterious event, the children seated themselves in a group by the brook.

“I can’t wait very much longer,” Laura admitted dolefully. “I’m nearly starved. I was so excited about the picnic that I hardly ate any breakfast.”

“Just a few minutes more,” Arthur begged. “Maida, please tell us a story.”

“Once upon a time,” Maida began obligingly, “six boys and girls were cast away on a great forest with nothing to eat. It was a forest filled with gob—Hark!” she interrupted herself, “What’s that?”

From somewhere—not the forest about them, nor the sky above: it seemed actually to issue from the earth under them—came a strange moaning cry. The children jumped to their feet. The boys started apart. The girls clung together. The cry grew louder and louder. It was joined by a second voice even more strange; and then a third entered the chorus.

It was too much.

The little group, white-faced and trembling, broke and made for the trail. The girls started first. The boys staid still, irresolute; but as the uncanny sound grew louder and louder, soared higher and higher, they became panic-stricken too. They ran. Arthur, ending the file, walked at first. But finally even his walk grew into a run. The others leaped forward. They bounded over the trail, gaining in terror as they went. In some way, they got into the canoes but half a dozen times theirtrembling and fumbling nearly spilled them out. It was not until they were well out into the middle of the Magic Mirror that their composure came back.

“What do you suppose it was?” Maida asked, white faced.

“It couldn’t have been a ghost could it?” dropped from Laura’s shaking lips.

“No.” Arthur dismissed this theory with complete contempt.

“I should think it was a crazy person,” Harold declared. “Is there a lunatic asylum around here, Maida?”

“No,” Maida replied.

“Is there any crazy person about here?”

Maida shook her head.

“I think it was a tramp who first stole our lunch,” Arthur guessed shrewdly, “and then decided to frighten us away.”

“I think the wood is haunted.” Rosie shivered.

“Nonsense!” Maida exclaimed.

“Well I wish I hadn’t run away,” Arthur burst out impatiently. “I wish I’d stayed.”

“So do I, Arthur,” Maida agreed vigorously. “That’s the first time I ever ran away from anything in my life.”

“Let’s go back,” Arthur suggested.

Laura burst into tears. “Oh, please don’t,” she begged. “I’m frightened to death.”

“We won’t go, Laura dear,” Maida reassured her, “don’t worry.” She continued after an interval of thought, “And don’t let’s tell Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore about that screaming. Let’s say that our lunch was stolen while we were away. If I tell them all of it, they won’t let us go on another picnic.”

“Well, believe me, I don’t want to go on another picnic,” Laura said, her eyes streaming still.

However, by the time they had reached the jetty and had tethered the canoes, they were more composed. When they reached the Little House even Laura had begun to smile, to admit that the tramp theory was probably the correct one.

Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore looked very much concerned when they heard the story. They asked many questions. Finally they decided with Arthur that tramps were the answer to the strange happening. Maida persisted though that tramps were never permitted in Satuit.

The next morning Arthur strolled down to the lake alone. In a little while, he camerunning back white with rage. “What do you suppose has happened?” he called while still running up the trail. “We didn’t lock the canoes in the boathouse last night and somebody has made a great hole in all four of them.”

The Big Six rushed down to the Magic Mirror. It was only too true. Four of their canoes were ruined. The children stood staring at them, horrified.

“I don’t think tramps would do this,” Arthur said slowly. “They’d steal them, but there’d be no sense in destroying them.”

“No,” Maida said slowly. “This looks as though we had an enemy who is determined to make us as unhappy as possible.”

It was after eleven, a cloudless night and a beautiful one. A great white moon filled the sky with white light and covered the earth with a thin film of silver. The barn door opened slowly and noiselessly. Arthur emerged. Padding the grass as quickly as possible, he moved in the direction of the trail; turned into it. For a while he proceeded swiftly. But once out of hearing of the Little House he moved more slowly and without any efforts to deaden his footsteps. That his excursion had a purpose was apparent from the way that, without pause or stay of any kind, he made steadily forward. It was obvious that the Magic Mirror was his objective.

He dipped into the Bosky Dingle and there, perhaps because the air was so densely laden with flower perfumes, he stopped. Only for an instant however. After sniffing the air like some wild creature he went on. Presently he came out on the shore of the lake. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the littleboathouse in which, since the accident, the canoes were nightly locked; pulled one of them out; shoved it into the water. He seated himself in it and started to paddle across the pond.

Curiously enough, however, he did not strike straight across the Magic Mirror. He kept close to the edge as though afraid of observation; slipped whenever he could under overhanging boughs; took advantage of every bit of low-drooping bush. So stealthy and so silent was his progress indeed that from the middle of the lake he might not have been observed at all. This was however a slow method. It was nearly midnight when he reached the point about opposite the boathouse, which was apparently his objective. He stopped short of it, however; tied the canoe to a tree trunk, just where a half-broken bough concealed it completely; stepped lightly ashore. Apparently he had landed here before. There developed, under the moonlight, a little side trail which led in the direction of the main trail. He took it.

Now his movements were attended by much greater caution. He went slowly and he put his feet down with the utmost care even in the cleared portions of the trail. Wherever underbrush intervened, he took great care to skirtit or, with a long quiet leap or a prolonged straddle, to surmount it so that no sound came from the process. It was surprising, in a boy so lumbering and with feet and hands so large, with what delicacy he picked his way. Indeed, he moved with extraordinary speed and a surprising quiet.

A little distance up the trail, he turned again. This time, he took a path so little worn that nothing but a full moon would have revealed its existence. Arthur struck into it with the air of one who has been there before; followed it with a perfect confidence. At times, it ceased to be a path at all; merged with underbrush and low trees. But he must, on an earlier excursion, have blazed a pioneer way through those obstacles because each time he made without hesitation for the only spot which offered egress; emerged on the other side with the same quiet and dispatch. He went on and on, proceeding with a greatly increased swiftness but with no diminution of his caution.

After a while, he came into ordered country. Obviously he had struck the cleared land that, for so many acres, surrounded the Big House. Now he moved like a shadow but at a smart clip. He had the confident air of onefamiliar with the lay of the land. After a while, he struck a wide avenue of trees—Mr. Westabrook had taught him its French name, anallee. This was one of five, all beginning at the Big House and ending with a fountain or a statue. Arthur proceeded under the shade of the trees until he came out near the Big House. Then he swung himself up among the branches of a tree; found a comfortable crotch; seated himself, his back against the trunk. With a forked stick he parted the branches; watched.

The moon was riding high now and, as the night was still cloudless, it was pouring white fire over the earth. The great lawn in front of the Big House looked like silvered velvet. Half way down its length, like a jet of shredded crystal, the fountain still played into its white marble basin. Out of reach of its splashing flood, as though moored against its marble sides, four swans, great feathery heaps of snow, slept with their heads under their wings. As Arthur stared a faint perturbation stirred the air, as though somewhere at the side of the house—unseen by him—a motor pulsed to rest. Presently a high, slim dog—Arthur recognized it to be a Russian boar-hound; white, pointed nose, long tail—came sauntering acrossthe lawn. He poked his nose into the basin of the fountain. One of the swans made a strange, low sleepy cry; moved aimlessly about for an instant, then came to rest and to sleep, apart from his companions. The hound moved into the shrubbery; returned to the lawn.

As though the swan’s call or the dog’s nosing had evoked it, one of the white peacocks emerged from the woods, spreading his tail with a superb gesture of pride and triumph. The long white hound considered the exhibition gravely. The peacock, consciously proud, sauntered over the velvet surface of the lawn for a while alone. Then a companion joined him and another. Finally, there were three great snowy sails floating with a majestic movement across the grass. The display ended as soon as it began. One of the trio suddenly returned to the treey shade; the other two immediately followed. The lawn was deserted by all except the fountain, which kept up untiringly its exquisite plaint. The boar-hound sped noiselessly towards the house.

Arthur waited for a moment; then he slipped down from the tree; made back over the way in which he had come. But he did not pursue the same trail. He made a detourwhich would take him further around the lake. And if he seemed cautious before, now he was caution itself. He moved so slowly and carefully that no human could have known of his coming, save that he had eyes, or ears or a nose superhumanly acute. And Arthur had his reward.

Suddenly he came to an opening, which gave, past a little covert, on a glade. And at the end of the glade, a group of deer were feeding in the moonlight. Arthur did not move after his discovery of them; indeed he seemed scarcely to breathe. There were nearly a dozen. The bucks and does were pulling delicately at the brush-foliage; the fawns browsed on the grass. In spite of Arthur’s caution, instinct told them that something was wrong. The largest buck got it first. He stopped feeding, lifted his head, sniffed the air suspiciously. Then one of the does caught the contagion. She too lifted her head and for what, though really a brief moment, seemed a long time, tested the atmosphere with her dilated nostrils. Then the others, one after another, showed signs of restlessness. Only the little fawns continued to stand, feeding placidly at their mothers’ sides. But apparently the consensus of testimony was too strongly in favor of retreat.For an instant, the adults moved anxiously. Then suddenly as though the word of alarm had been whispered into every velvety ear—dash! Flash! There came a series of white gleams as all their short tails went up. And then the glade was as empty as though there were no deer within a hundred miles.

Arthur went on. And now, as though he hoped for still another reward of his patience, he moved with even greater care. But for a long time, nothing happened. In the meantime clouds came up. Occasionally they covered the moon. Then, the light being gone, the great harbors and the wide straits between the clouds seemed to fill with stars. The moon would start to emerge; her light would silver everything. The smaller stars would retreat leaving only a few big ones to flare on.

Such an obscuration had come. And while the moon struggled as though actually trying to pull herself free, a second cloud interposed itself between her and the earth. The world turned dark—almost black.

The effect on Arthur was however to make him pick his way with an even greater care. The trail here was not a blind one. It was the one that ran presently into the path that led from the gypsy camp to the Moraine. Ahead,Arthur could just make out the point where the trails crossed.

Suddenly the moon came out with a great vivid flare. It was as though an enormous searchlight had been turned on the earth. Something—it seemed the mere ghost of a sound—arrested Arthur’s footsteps. He stopped; stood stock still; listened; watched.

Something or somebody was coming up the trail from the direction of the gypsy camp. In a moment he would pass the opening. It was human apparently, for the sound was of human footsteps. They came nearer and nearer. A straight, light figure with hair that gleamed, as though burnished, passed into the moonlight.... It was Silva Burle.

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