CHAPTER VAT CLARA’S HOUSE
Peggy was walking up the long avenue that led to Clara’s house. She had had a wonderful afternoon. “Only I haven’t been punished at all,” thought Peggy. This was because old Michael had arrived with his seed catalogues soon after her mother left, and, as he was one of her best friends, Peggy was very happy.
“Mother will be back soon,” said Peggy. “Let’s play that I am mother, and we’ll look at all the pictures of flowers and vegetables and mark the ones I want, just as she does.”
Old Michael was quite ready to play the game, only he said it might be confusing to her mother if they marked the catalogues; so Peggy got a sheet of her own best note-paper, with some children in colored frocks at the top of it.
“It’s a pity to waste that good paper,” said he.
“It’s my own paper, Mr. Farrell,” said Peggy, in a grown-up voice. “You forget that I am Mrs. Owen and can do as I please.”
“Sure enough, ma’am, I did forget,” he said as he looked at the small lady in her blue frock.
“Peonies, poppies, portulaca,” said Peggy; “we’llhave a lot of all of those, Mr. Farrell. And we’ll have the poppies planted in a lovely ring.”
“It was vegetables we were to talk about to-day, ma’am,” said Mr. Farrell respectfully. “How many rows of string-beans do you want to start with, and how many butter-beans? And are you planning to have peas and corn and tomatoes?”
“Mother is planning to can things to sell,” Peggy began. “Oh, dear, I forgot I was mother! I think a hundred rows of string-beans will be enough to start with, Mr. Farrell. I am afraid that is all my children can take care of. They are to help me with the garden. We haven’t much money; and we have to earn some or Peggy may have to go to live with her grandmother, and I just couldn’t stand that. I could not be separated from my child; and Peggy and Alice must always be together. Perhaps you can’t understand this, Mr. Farrell, never having been a mother yourself. It is no laughing matter,” she said, looking at old Michael reprovingly.
Her mother came a great deal too soon; and she did not approve of all of Peggy’s suggestions about the garden. “Run along now, Peggy, and get the yeast-cake, and don’t bother us any more,” she said unfeelingly.
Surely no little girl had ever gone to the village and back so quickly as Peggy went. She resisted the temptation to get two yeast-cakes, for fear one might not be fresh, thinking it wiser to do exactly as her mother said.
And now, as she was walking between the rows of trees, she could hardly wait to see Clara. She had not seen her since Thanksgiving Day.
There were three men at work at the Hortons’ place, raking leaves and uncovering the bushes in the rose garden. Peggy was glad they did not have so many people at work. It was much more fun doing a lot of the work one’s self and talking things over with old Michael. Mrs. Horton was talking with the man in the rose garden. He looked cross as if he did not like to be interrupted. Mrs. Horton was short and plump, with beautifully fitting clothes, but she never looked half so nice, in spite of them, as Peggy’s mother did in her oldest dresses, for Mrs. Owen carried her head as if she were the equal of any one in the land.
Mrs. Horton looked pleased when she saw Peggy. She shook hands with her and said how tall she had grown. Peggy was tired of hearing this. And then she told her that the children were up in the apple tree. “You can go right through the house and out at the other door,” she said. “The path is too muddy. Miss Rand will let you in. We are camping out; we haven’t brought any of the servants with us.”
They only had the care-taker and her husband and these men on the place. If this was camping out, Peggy wondered what she and her mother and Alice were doing, with nobody but themselves to do anything,except old Michael or Mrs. Crozier for an occasional day.
Miss Rand opened the door for Peggy. She was a small, slim little thing, with big frightened eyes with red rims. She looked as if she had been crying. Peggy wondered what the trouble was. She felt sorry for her, so she gave her a kiss and a big hug and said how glad she was to see her. And Miss Rand smiled and her face looked as if the sun had come out. She was very nice-looking when she smiled.
“You are the same old Peggy,” said Miss Rand, and Peggy was so grateful to her for not saying how tall she had grown that she stopped and told her all about Lady Jane and how she lived first at one house and then at the other; for Miss Rand had a heart for cats, and it was a trial to her that Mrs. Horton would never have one.
Speaking of Lady Jane, Peggy had an awful feeling that she had slipped out of the kitchen door when old Michael came in. “I didn’t see her after he left when I went into the kitchen for a drink of water,” said Peggy. “Wouldn’t that be too bad?”
“It would be nice for Diana to have a little visit from her,” said Miss Rand.
“Do you know Diana?”
“Yes, I used to teach in a school near where they lived. She came to school when she was well enough, and when she wasn’t I gave her lessons at home. She is a dear child.”
But Peggy was getting too impatient to see Clara to stop to hear more about Diana. So she went through the wide hall and out of the other door to the brick terrace and down the steps that led to the formal garden and the orchard beyond. A peacock was strutting about as if he owned the place. His tail looked so very beautiful that Peggy felt a little envious. “I wish people could wear ready-made clothes as lovely as his,” she thought. “They are much nicer than my blue frocks, and they can never get spoiled.”
She ran quickly along past the pool, where the water-lilies would blossom later on, to the orchard. In one of the nearest apple trees there was a platform built around it with a flight of steps leading up to it. It was what the children called the apple tree house. Here Clara and Alice were playing dolls. Peggy could seldom be induced to play dolls. She ran up the steps and made a dash for Clara. Clara, in a lilac frock, was sitting primly on one of the wooden chairs with which the platform was furnished. Her hair was a darker brown than Alice’s, and her face had the pallor of the city child who has lived indoors all winter. She was rather a stiff little girl in her manners, and however glad she might feel inside at seeing Peggy again, she did not show it. She submitted to being kissed and hugged gravely as if she were taking a doctor’s prescription, and she kissed Peggy’s cheek with a gentle peck.
“Dear me, but you have grown a lot,” said Clara.
“Well, I can’t help it if I have,” said Peggy.
She felt cross and a little hurt because Clara had not seemed any more glad to see her when she had been just crazy to see Clara. Miss Rand had been delighted to see her, and even Mrs. Horton had seemed more glad than Clara. Only the peacock and Clara had seemed proud. Perhaps Clara had been afraid Peggy would rumple her dress. It was a very lovely shimmery dress with smocking. Peggy liked dresses that were smocked. She seated herself on a branch of the apple tree and began to swing back and forth. She was never shy herself, so it did not occur to her that Clara was shy. There did not seem to be anything to say, and it seemed a long, long time, since Thanksgiving Day, when she had last seen Clara, and as if they would have to get acquainted all over again.
“Did you have a nice journey?” said Peggy.
“No, horrid! I’m always car-sick. Father’s coming for us and we are going back in the automobile.”
“That will be great fun,” said Peggy.
“It will be better than the train,” said Clara, “but it’s a long ride, and I always get awfully tired.”
“Do you?” said Peggy, swinging back and forth again.
“How long your legs are,” said Clara.
Peggy stopped short in her swinging. “If you sayanything about my legs I shall go crazy,” she announced. Then she climbed as high in the apple tree as she could get and dared them to come and join her. “Come up into my house, you short-legged people,” she called down. “I have a room in a tower and there are windows in it, and I can see all over the place. Come up here—why don’t you come?”
“Don’t be cross, Peggy,” said Alice. “You know I am scared to, and Clara would spoil her dress if she climbed up there.”
“What are dresses for if you can’t climb trees in them?” Peggy called down.
“I wish I had a frock like yours, it is such a pretty color,” said Clara, who always liked other people’s things better than her own.
The compliment to her dress restored Peggy’s good humor. She was very seldom cross, and she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. So she condescended to play dolls with Clara and Alice, and there was no fun so great as to have Peggy play dolls. She put them through such adventures and made them have such narrow escapes that the little mothers were positively thrilled. So it was a very happy afternoon for every one, even for Miss Rand, who came out just before it was time for the children to go home, with a tray on which there was a pitcher of something nice and cold that tasted of orange, and some small doughnuts. Miss Rand sat down on an apple branch, which seat she preferred to a chair, and she sang for them,at Peggy’s request, some Scotch songs, in a sweet contralto voice.
“It has been a nice afternoon,” said Peggy, as she kissed Clara good-bye, and this time Clara gave her a most responsive kiss.
CHAPTER VIDIANA
Peggy did not think of Lady Jane again until supper-time, when Mrs. Owen said to Alice, “I’ve warmed some milk for the cat. It is in the blue pitcher; you can turn it into her saucer.”
Peggy kept very still. She hoped against hope that her furry little gray friend would come at the sound of her name. “I can’t find her anywhere, mother,” said Alice.
“I haven’t seen her all the afternoon, now I think of it,” said Mrs. Owen. “Did you see her, Peggy? Do you suppose she could have slipped out when Michael Farrell came in?”
“I am afraid she did, mother,” said Peggy.
“Well, Peggy Owen,” said Alice, “I never knew any one as careless as you are. You ought to be punished.”
“You are not my mother,” said Peggy.
“It is a very serious matter,” and Alice gave a wise shake to her small head. “It is the second time you’ve let her get out.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Owen, “if she is so anxious to live at the other house and they want to keep her, suppose we let them have her? The other day whenI called, Mrs. Carter told me how fond her little girl was of her, and the child hasn’t been well.”
“Give up Lady Jane!” cried Peggy in dismay.
“Mother, what are you thinking of!” said Alice. “She’s one of the family. Would you give me up if I kept going back to the Carters’?”
“Certainly not; but that is entirely different.”
“I love Lady Jane just as much as you love me, mother,” said Alice.
“That is impossible. Don’t talk such nonsense,” said her mother.
It seemed an extreme statement, even to Peggy. “Do you love her as much as you love mother?” she asked.
Alice paused to consider.
“Don’t ask her such a trying question, Peggy. She would probably find it a little less convenient to live without me than without the cat; but if you children care so much about her you can go and get her. It is too much to expect them to send her back again.”
Mrs. Owen telephoned to Mrs. Carter and found that the cat had been spending the afternoon with them.
“I won’t trouble you to send her back,” said Mrs. Owen. “The children will go for her to-morrow afternoon.”
The next day Peggy and Alice could hardly wait to finish their dinner, they were so eager to go for Lady Jane and get back in time to spend a long afternoonwith Clara. As they came near the Carters’ house, they saw Christopher just coming out of the gate.
“So you are going to take the cat back again?” he said disapprovingly, as he looked at the basket.
“She’s our cat,” Alice said sweetly, but very firmly.
Christopher looked down at Alice, who smiled up at him and showed her dimples.
“Yes, of course, she is your cat,” he said; for nobody could resist Alice. “But it seems too bad to yank her out every time she comes back to her old place.”
“We’ve had her a very long time,” said Alice. “I can hardly remember anything before we had her.”
“She must be a very old cat,” said Christopher, laughing.
It seemed strange to ring the doorbell of their own old house. The front door was painted green now and it had a shiny brass knocker. The office door was green, too. It was sad not to see their dear father’s name there any more. “Dr. T. H. Carter” seemed very unnatural. The grass was beginning to grow green, and the snowdrops and crocuses were in blossom by the front door. Mrs. Carter opened the door for them herself. She looked so pleasant that Peggy wanted to kiss her.
“I know you’ve come for Lady Jane,” she said, glancing at the basket. “She’s out calling this afternoon,but I’m sure she’ll be in before long. While you are waiting for her you can go up and see Diana. She is expecting you. You can go upstairs; she is out on the piazza.”
Everything seemed strange and yet familiar about the house. There was a new paper in the hall, and the floor and the stairs had been done over. They went out on the upper side piazza, which was glassed in, and here Diana was lying in a hammock that looked almost like a bed. Peggy loved Diana the moment she saw her. She had the same friendly face that Mrs. Carter had. Her hair was a sunshiny brown and so were her eyes, and her face, too, was a warm color, as if she had been out of doors a great deal. She had on a pale green wrapper with pink roses and green leaves embroidered on it. Peggy thought she had never seen anything so sweet in her life as Diana was, lying there in her green wrapper. She seemed a part of the pleasant springtime. Peggy noticed a copy of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” lying on the hammock. This was one of her favorite books, and she began to talk about it at once.
Alice’s attention was caught by the sight of a flaxen-haired doll lying beside Diana in the hammock. “So you like dolls?” Alice said.
“I just love them,” said Diana.
“So do I,” said Alice.
And Peggy felt quite left out.
“What’s her name?” Alice asked.
“Alice.”
“That’s my name.”
“I named her for the ‘Wonderland Alice.’”
“Oh, but now she must be my namesake. I’ll be her aunt. She can call me ‘Aunt Alice.’”
Peggy picked up “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” while Diana and Alice made friends over the doll.
“Doesn’t your sister like to play dolls?” asked Diana.
“No,” said Alice, “and I don’t see why, for she makes up such exciting things when she does play. Yesterday when we played with Clara she had the dolls fly in an aeroplane, and she took them up into the highest branch of the apple tree.”
“Oh, do play with us now,” Diana begged.
So Peggy good-naturedly put down her book, and Alice, the doll, had never had so many exciting adventures in all her young life. They were so busy playing they did not any of them hear Lady Jane’s quiet footsteps as she climbed the rose trellis. Peggy saw her first, a furry, gray ball, poised lightly on the piazza rail. Alice saw her give a spring through the open pane of glass and land on the hammock. She was giving her joyous tea-kettle purr, and, oh, it was too much to bear, she was actually licking Diana’s hand.
“Darling pussy,” said Diana. She held her lovingly against her shoulder, and stroked her gray back.
Alice could hardly bear it. “Lady Jane, I am here,” she said.
But Lady Jane did not stir. Diana moved her into a more comfortable position, and she curled herself down for a nap.
Alice could bear it no longer. She went over, and, picking her up, she said, “You are going to stay with me.”
But Lady Jane scratched Alice’s hands in her desire to escape, and gave a flying leap back to the hammock.
Peggy almost decided to take her mother’s advice and let Diana keep the cat. She seemed to love her so very much, and to have so much less to make her happy than they had. It must be hard to lie still instead of being able to frisk about wherever one pleased. And yet, Diana looked happy. She didn’t see why; she knew she could not be happy if she had to keep still like that.
“I think we ought to be going now,” said Peggy, “because we told Clara we’d come early. We might leave Lady Jane to make Diana a little visit.” This seemed a good compromise.
“No,” said Alice, with decision, “I want to take her back right off now.”
So Peggy helped Alice put the struggling cat into the basket. They shut the cover down tight, paying no attention to Lady Jane’s dismal mews.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” said Diana, alittle sadly. “Do come again soon, and perhaps you’ll bring Lady Jane with you.”
“We’ll come again soon,” said Peggy.
“Yes,” said Alice; and in her own mind she thought, “We’ll never, never bring Lady Jane.”
CHAPTER VIITHE CANARY-BIRD
Peggy and Alice had a very happy time the next few days playing with Clara. Their school had a vacation, too, so the children were able to spend long hours together, sometimes at one house and sometimes at the other. They liked better going to see Clara on account of the tree-house; and Clara liked better going to see them. She liked to come early and help to make the beds and do the dishes, for she was never allowed to help about the work at her own house, even now, when they were supposed to be camping out. The field behind the Owens’ house, where the garden was to be, was a delightful place to play, and so was the little hill beyond.
The time passed only too quickly, and, at the end of the vacation, Clara was whisked back to New York with her father and mother and Miss Rand, this time in an automobile. The children missed her very much at first; and June, when she would be coming back again, seemed a long way off.
But they soon got interested in the children at school. Peggy liked school, and she was very fond of her teacher. On the way to school they passed Mrs. Butler’s house. Peggy was always eager to stop andlisten to the canary and have a little talk with Mrs. Butler, but Alice was always eager to go on for fear they would be late.
Sometimes they saw Mrs. Butler’s daughter Flora, starting off for her work. She was in a milliner’s store and wore the prettiest hats. Every time Peggy went by the milliner’s window, she stopped to look at the hats. She had longed to have a new one for Easter, for her old brown straw looked so shabby. One day, when she was with her mother and Alice, she made them cross the street to look at a hat in the window that she wanted very much. It was a peanut straw with a ribbon of the same color around it, with long ends. The ribbon had a blue edge, just the color of Peggy’s blue frocks.
“It does seem as if I’d got to have it,” said Peggy. “Why should there be a hat with blue on it, just the color of my dresses, if it wasn’t for me?”
“I wish I could get it for you, Peggy,” said her mother. “When my ship comes in perhaps I will.”
“When will it come in, mother?” Alice asked.
“I have not even got a ship—that’s the worst of it. However, as we don’t live at the seashore a garden is more useful. If we make the garden pay perhaps we can all have new hats.”
“But they’ll be winter hats if we wait for the garden, and I want the peanut straw,” said Peggy.
Flora Butler, who was behind the counter, came to the door and spoke to them.
“How much is the peanut straw hat?” Peggy asked.
“Peggy, I have told you I can’t get the hat for you,” said her mother.
“It really is a bargain,” said Miss Butler.
“It is a very pretty hat,” said Mrs. Owen, “but I am spending more than I can afford on my garden.”
“How’s the canary?” Peggy asked.
“He is all right. He will give you a free concert any time you can stop to hear him.”
“It seemed too bad he could not be free like the other birds,” Peggy thought.
And then one day, as they were coming back from school, she saw the empty cage in the window, and Mrs. Butler, half distracted, was asking the school-children if any of them had seen her canary-bird. “I don’t know what my husband will say when he comes back from the store for his dinner, and he finds it gone,” she said. “He sets as much store by that canary as if it was a puppy.”
The school-children stood about in an interested group.
“How did it get out?” Peggy asked.
“I was cleaning Sol’s cage, as usual, and he was out in the room. The window was open a little at the top, same as I’ve had it before once or twice these spring days, and Sol never took notice. The worst of it is, my husband told me I hadn’t orter keep it open, even a speck, while the bird was out of his cage.‘Sol can wriggle through the smallest kind of a crack,’ says he; and it appears he was right. My, but he’ll be angry! ‘Marthy, it’ll serve you right,’ he’ll say.”
The children saw Mr. Butler coming down the street, just then, and they waited in fascinated silence to see what would happen next. One of the schoolboys, who always loved to make a sensation, called out as he passed, “Did you know your canary-bird is lost?”
“You don’t expect I am going to swallow that yarn, Gilbert Lawson?” the old man said. “You’d better shut up. ’Taint the first of April.”
“But it really and truly has flown away, Mr. Butler,” said Peggy.
“Flown away! Did my old woman leave the window open? Marthy, didn’t I tell you what would happen?” he said angrily as he vanished into the house. They could hear his voice raised louder and louder.
Peggy could see Mrs. Butler putting her handkerchief up to her eyes. “She’s crying,” said Peggy in an awed voice. “Oh, let’s see if we can’t find the canary-bird.”
“Find it!” said Gilbert scornfully. “You might as well look for a needle in a haymow.”
“Perhaps if we put the cage out he’d come back into it,” said Peggy.
“Do you suppose anything clever enough to get out of prison would be fool enough to go back again?”said he. “Well, there seems to be nothing doing now and I guess I’ll go home.”
Gilbert and his brother Ralph and the other boys went toward the village, and so did the girls who lived in that direction. But Peggy and Alice and Anita Spaulding still lingered.
“I’m going to tell them that I’ll come back as soon as dinner is over and find the bird for them,” said Peggy. “I know I can find it.”
“Oh, Peggy, maybe mother won’t let you come,” said Alice.
“She’s a sensible mother; I know she’ll let me come,” said Peggy, as she ran up the steps.
Mrs. Butler came to the door. Her eyes looked very red and she still seemed quite upset.
“Oh, Mrs. Butler,” said Peggy breathlessly, “I know I can find the canary-bird—I know I can. I’ll come right straight back as soon as I’ve had my dinner.”
Alice and Peggy ran home and Peggy explained breathlessly about the canary. “Mother dear, Mrs. Butler has lost Sol; and I know I can find him. So please give us our dinner quick.”
“Who is Sol?” Mrs. Owen asked.
“The canary—I know I can find him. I can tell him by his song, and then I can climb up and put his cage in a tree and get him back into it.”
“He won’t come back once he’s free: Gilbert says he won’t,” said Alice.
“Don’t you pay any attention to what Gilbert says,” said Peggy.
Mrs. Owen was very much interested. “Peggy is right,” she said. “I once knew of a canary-bird that escaped and went back into his old cage. If you can only find him it is not impossible.”
“There, I told you she was a sensible mother,” said Peggy.
She could hardly wait to finish her dinner, and thought of going off without any dessert. But when she found it was rice pudding with raisins, she changed her mind. The two little girls went so fast to Mrs. Butler’s it was almost like flying.
“We’ve come to find Sol,” said Peggy.
Mr. Butler was just finishing his dinner. “I tell you what,” he said, “I’ll give five dollars to any one who’ll bring back that canary-bird safe and sound.”
Peggy and Alice went across the street and they ran along until they thought they had reached a spot that might appeal to Sol. This was the Thornton place, which was a bower of green with its partly open foliage.
“I’m sure he’ll be here,” said Peggy. “I’d come here if I were a canary. Oh, Alice, listen!” From somewhere, far, far above them, there came delicious trills and the joyous sound that Peggy longed to make herself. Nothing but a canary could sing like that. “Spring has come and I am free; and the world is too beautiful for anything,” he seemed to say.
“It is Sol; I know his voice,” Peggy cried. “It seems ’most too bad to put him in prison again—only I’m sure he’ll be homesick when the dark night comes.”
“And it might rain and get his feathers all draggled,” said Alice.
“And perhaps the other birds would be horrid to him because he’s so different,” said Peggy. “Anyway, we’ve got to get him if we can. Look, Alice!” Far up at the top of the maple tree, the leaves of which were partly open, was a tiny golden ball, and from its throat came forth the glad spring song. “Stay and watch him, Alice, while I go over to Mrs. Butler’s and get the cage.”
Alice stood rooted to the spot, watching the little creature, like a yellow sunbeam among the green opening leaves. It seemed a long time before Peggy came back. Mrs. Butler was with her, creaking along heavily. She was carrying the cage.
“Of course, he won’t come back now he’s free,” said Mrs. Butler. “Dear help us, but it’s him that’s singin’!” she said. “I thought you’d just mistaken a song sparrow for him.” She looked up and saw her favorite in the tree-top.
Peggy took the cage out of Mrs. Butler’s hand.
“I’ll climb up,” she said, “and I’ll leave his house-door open, for he hasn’t any latch-key.”
“Well, if that isn’t the limit,” said Mrs. Butler with a laugh. “To think of Sol with a latch-key!”
“But I said he didn’t have one,” said Peggy.
Peggy, in her blue frock, climbed up into the maple tree, and her yellow hair looked almost as sunshiny as the canary. Mrs. Butler handed the cage up to her. There was some of the bird’s favorite seed in the cage and water for him to drink.
“I guess he’ll go home when he gets hungry,” said Peggy.
Mrs. Butler kept laughing to herself and saying over and over, “He hasn’t any latch-key; if that don’t beat all.”
Peggy scrambled down again, and they all stood waiting to see what would happen next; and nothing happened. It was very discouraging. Finally they sat down on the Thorntons’ wall to rest.
“Oh, look!” Peggy cried in excitement.
The bird gave a few little hops along the branch and then fluttered down to a lower perch nearer the cage. The children’s eyes grew big with excitement. Alice jumped down from the wall and ran nearer to the tree to get a better view. The noise she made startled the bird, and he flew on to a higher branch.
“There, Alice, see what you’ve done!” Peggy said.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!”
They sat still for a long time, and after this Alice did not dare either to speak or move.
“Well, I guess I’ll go home,” said Mrs. Butler. “‘A watched pot never boils.’ Mebbe you’d like some refreshments as well as Sol. Don’t you want togo home with me and get some lemonade and cake?”
But even this offer could not lure the children from the spot. Peggy was afraid to go off, even for a moment, for fear the canary would slip in for a meal and out again before she could close him in. The time passed slowly. After what seemed hours Mrs. Butler came back and brought them some cake and lemonade. It tasted very good, but they soon finished it, and Mrs. Butler went away with the empty dishes, shaking her fist at Sol.
“You are the most provoking bird,” she said, “keeping everybody waiting, and you so small you could go in one’s pocket, if only you hadn’t wings.”
Alice lost her patience before Peggy did. “We ought to be going home,” she said. “Mother’ll wonder what has become of us.”
“All right, go home if you want to. I’m going to stick right here until he gets hungry and goes into his house.”
“Perhaps I’ll come back again,” said Alice.
It seemed lonely after Alice had left her. Peggy was tired of keeping still. She took one run across the Thornton place, but this seemed to disturb the canary, so she flung herself down on the grass.
“I’ll look away while I count a hundred,” she said.
She counted a hundred and when she looked back, there was the canary in his cage, and she had not seen him go in. It was too provoking. She climbed up, breathless with excitement, and shut the door.
CHAPTER VIIITHE REWARD
Mr. Butler was just coming back from his work as Peggy reached the gate of his house.
“I’ve got him,” she called triumphantly.
“Bless my soul!” said the old man. “Have you been waiting for him all this time?”
“Yes,” said Peggy
“What a patient little girl you are.”
He put his hand in his trousers’ pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. He looked them over until he came to a crisp, new, five-dollar bill which he handed to Peggy.
Peggy ran all the way home, with the five-dollar bill clasped in her hand. She had never once thought of the money while she was watching the canary. He was so beautiful, with his yellow feathers against the branches of the tree, with the blue sky above him, and his song was so wonderful, that she had not thought about any reward. But now that she had the money, she felt as if some one had given her a fortune, for she had never had so much money at once, in all her short life. Now she could get the hat, for it did not cost nearly five dollars; and there would be some money left to buy—what should she buy? Something for Alice and her mother.
“Oh, mother,” she said, as she burst into the room, “I got him, and see what Mr. Butler gave me! Now I can get my new hat!”
“You don’t mean to say you took money for doing a kindness?” said Mrs. Owen.
“He gave it to me,” said Peggy.
“Yes, so I understood, but, my dear little girl, the Butlers haven’t any more money than we have. They are poor people. Five dollars means a great deal to them.”
“He seemed to want to give it to me,” said Peggy.
“That was very kind, but you ought to have said, ‘I didn’t think of the reward. I shouldn’t feel it right to be paid for doing a kindness. I am sure my mother wouldn’t want me to keep the money.’”
“But I never thought about you. Truly, mother, you never once came into my head. And I did not think it was being paid. I thought it was kind of a thank-offering.”
“Well, we’ll take the money back as soon as supper is over,” said Mrs. Owen.
Peggy ate her supper in silence. She was sure her mother could not know how much she wanted the new hat. And to think she felt so sure of having it, and then to have it snatched away was hard! And she was afraid Mr. Butler’s feelings would be hurt; for she was sure he did not think of a reward, but a thank-offering.
After supper Mrs. Owen and the two children went down the street to Mrs. Butler’s house. It was pleasant to see the canary-bird in his cage in the window. He was silent, as if he were tired out with the excitement of the day. Peggy felt tired, too, and she thought, “If I were only the kind of little girl who cried, I should cry now, because I am so disappointed about the hat.”
Mrs. Butler’s daughter Flora had just come in from the milliner’s shop. She was wearing a pretty hat, with a wreath of wild roses around it.
“Well, Peggy, I hear you have found the most important member of the family,” said Flora. “I’m sure they wouldn’t take on half so bad if I was lost.”
“I guess you could find your way home if you were lost,” said Peggy.
They begged Mrs. Owen and the children to sit down and have supper with them.
“Thank you, but we have had our supper,” said Mrs. Owen. “I only came down for a minute, just to say how good you were to give my little girl the five dollars, but I could not let her keep it. I don’t want her to feel she is to be benefited in any other way when she does a kindness, except having the pleasure that comes from helping somebody.”
“I thought I’d like to have the pleasure of helping somebody,” said Mr. Butler. “I offered the reward, and she seemed real pleased to get it.”
“Of course, she was pleased,” said Peggy’s mother. “But I am sure it was not the idea of the reward that started her out to find the canary. So, if you please, Mr. Butler,”—and Mrs. Owen handed him the five-dollar bill as she spoke,—“I’d rather you kept this. We’ve always been good friends and neighbors, and I am glad if my little girl has been able to help you, and sometime, I am sure, you and Mrs. Butler will be ready to help me.”
Mrs. Butler had been watching Peggy’s face. She saw she was sorry not to have the money, and she shrewdly guessed there was something she wanted very much that the five dollars would buy.
“I see just the way your ma feels,” said Mrs. Butler, “but it does seem as if Sol might make you a little present. Can you think of anything you would like?”
“Yes,” said Peggy promptly, “the hat in the milliner’s window with the ribbon with the blue edge.”
“My dear little girl—?” began Mrs. Owen.
“That is just the thing,” said Mrs. Butler. “I’m sure Sol will be real pleased to give it to you.”
Mrs. Owen was about to say it was too much of a present, but she looked at Peggy’s shining eyes and then at Mrs. Butler’s beaming face. Who was she to stand out against these two? If it were indeed more blessed to give than to receive, Mr. and Mrs. Butler were getting their reward.
So the next day a paper box arrived at the Owens’door for “Miss Peggy Owen, with the compliments and gratitude of her friend Sol.”
Oh, joy of joys! It was the hat. Peggy tried it on, and it was even nicer than she had thought, for it was so light, and it had such a good brim. She went down that very afternoon to make a special call on Mrs. Butler and Sol; and the canary sang again his melodious song.
CHAPTER IXCHOOSING A KITTEN
Now the warm weather had come to stay, Mrs. Owen decided that it was cruel to keep Lady Jane in the house, besides being almost impossible. The children must take the risk. If she chose to live with the Carters, it could not be helped. Perhaps Diana needed her more than they did.
“But she is my cat,” said Alice. “Can’t I go and get her back whenever she goes there?”
“Yes, if you have the patience.”
“I shall have the patience to go a hundred and seventy-five times,” said Alice.
She and Peggy liked Diana, but whenever Mrs. Owen had suggested to her little girls that they should go to see her, they had always some good reason for not going. Mrs. Owen suspected it was on account of Lady Jane. It was awkward to meet Diana when they had locked Lady Jane up, knowing perfectly well that she preferred to live with Diana. Peggy thought it was not fair to take advantage of anything so small. But the cat was Alice’s, not hers, as Alice reminded her. And then, one pleasant day, Lady Jane decided to set up housekeeping for good and all in her old home. Alice wanted to go down at once and bring her back. But Mrs. Owen insistedthat she should be allowed to stay in the home of her choice for at least a week.
And before the week was up, Diana telephoned to Alice. “What do you think, Alice,” she said, “Lady Jane has four teenty-tinety kittens—the darlingest, most cuddly things!”
“Oh, she does have such lovely children!” said Alice, with a pang of envy.
“They are in a wood-box out in the shed,” said Diana. “At least it looks like a wood-box, but there isn’t any wood in it.”
“Yes, that is her old house,” said Alice.
“Mother has put in an old piece of blanket so as to make them comfortable,” said Diana.
“Has she really?” said Alice.
“Mother won’t let us touch the kittens until they get their eyes open. She says in two weeks she hopes you and Peggy will come down and see them.”
“Not for two weeks?” said Alice. “We always look at them a lot. I’d like her back before two weeks. That is too long a visit.”
“Mother says it is bad for kittens to be handled. She says to forget all about them for two weeks.”
“Ask her if she knows what color they are,” said Peggy.
“Have you seen them?” Alice asked.
“Yes, mother let us look at them just once, and we each chose a kitten for ourselves.”
“Do you mean to say she is going to let you keepthem all?” Alice asked. “Mother never let us keep but two.”
“We can keep them if you will let us have them,” said Diana. “Of course we know she is your cat, but mother thought maybe your mother wouldn’t want the bother of four kittens.”
“You didn’t ask her what color they are. Let me talk to her,” said Peggy, and she seized the receiver. “It is Peggy talking now. What color are the kittens?”
“Tipsy is black with just a white tip to his tail, and Topsy is black with a white vest and four white paws, and Lady Janet is silvery gray, almost exactly like her mother, and Gretchen is gray and white with a gray chin.”
“And your mother doesn’t mind the bother of four kittens?” said Peggy.
“Mother,” she said, as Mrs. Owen came into the room, “Lady Jane has four children, and Mrs. Carter is going to keep all of them if we’ll let her.”
“We shall want one ourselves so as to keep her contented,” said Alice.
“My dear little girl,” said her mother, “it would be cruel to move Lady Jane until the kittens are big enough to look out for themselves. I have a few things to do besides taking care of her and her family. If the Carters want her and she wants to stay, there is no use in fighting any longer.”
“But she is my darling cat,” said Alice, with tearsin her eyes. “How would you feel, mother, if I decided I would rather live in my old house with the Carters than with you. Would you let me stay?”
“Certainly not, because you are not capable of judging what is best for yourself, and because I could not spare you, and neither would Mrs. Carter want to bring up another child. But if you were my pussy-cat, instead of my child, and you preferred to live with a little girl who was sick half the time, and had so few pleasures, and if you had four furry children, and the Carters wanted to keep them, I should be glad to have everybody happy.”
“All but me, mother,” said Alice, “and Peggy—she will miss Lady Jane.”
“I am sure they will let you have one of the kittens,” said Mrs. Owen. “In about two months you can have one of them.”
“Not for two months?” said Peggy. “Oh, mother, think of a catless house for two months. It will be so desolate.”
“But you can go and choose your kitten in two weeks,” said Mrs. Owen, “and you can often go to see it.”
It was a bright spring afternoon when Peggy and Alice went down to Diana’s house to choose the kitten. They took along with them a great bunch of Mayflowers for Diana. They had picked them the afternoon before, when they had gone with their mother up to their camp on the hill. It was a rudelittle hut that their father had built. Later in the season, wild strawberries would grow on the place, and then would come raspberries, and afterwards blueberries and blackberries. Mrs. Owen was planning to make preserves for themselves, and for some of the neighbors. She looked over the ground with interest while the children frisked about and stopped from time to time to pick Mayflowers.
Diana was sitting up in bed when the children arrived. The bed was of mahogany and had four twisted posts. The white quilt had been turned back and a book and Diana’s doll Alice were lying on the blanket. The sun came shining in through the two west windows. The room looked very fresh, with the new white paint and pale green walls.
“This used to be mother’s room when we had the house,” said Peggy. “It is much prettier now.”
Diana was wearing her green kimono with the pink roses on it. “They gave me the best room because I’m sick so much,” said Diana. “Wasn’t it nice of them, when I am the youngest in the family?”
“I’d rather have the smallest room in the house, and be well,” said Peggy.
She was sorry she had said it, for a shadow seemed to cross Diana’s bright face. “Father expects I’ll be well much sooner, now we live in the country,” she said.
“Oh, what lovely Mayflowers!” she added, as Peggy dropped the big bunch down beside her. Diana picked it up and plunged her nose into it.
“Peggy and I picked them for you yesterday,” said Alice. “We were up at our camp.”
Diana listened with interest to the children’s description of the place.
“There are pine woods around the camp,” said Peggy, “and on the hillside and in the pasture such delicious berries; and later on we shall go up and pick them; we always do. We have to walk now, for we haven’t a horse or automobile any more. But it is a nice walk and not so very long. Maybe your father will drive you up when you get better.”
“I’d like to see it,” said Diana.
Just then Mrs. Carter came into the room with a basket.
“Oh, have you brought the kittens?” Peggy asked.
“Yes, they are all here.” She took out one kitten after another and put them all on the bed in front of Diana.
“Oh, what sweet things!” Alice cried. She put her hand on the black kitten with the white tip to his tail. “This is Tipsy, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And I know this is Topsy,” said Peggy, picking up the other black-and-white kitten.
“Oh, what a darling!” said Alice as she spied the gray-and-white kitten. “That must be Gretchen.”
“Oh, see that one, Alice,” and Peggy pointed to the silvery gray kitten that looked like a miniature Lady Jane. The children went into an ecstasy of delightover the four soft, furry little things that were so complete and yet small.
As Mrs. Carter was leaving the room, she said, “I’ll come back in a few minutes, for I want to take them home before Lady Jane comes back from her afternoon walk. She’d be terribly worried if she found they were gone. So you’ll have to choose your kitten quickly.”
“Can we choose whatever one we want?” Peggy asked.
“Almost any one,” said Diana. “We’ve each chosen for ourselves, but I’ll let you choose mine if you want her; and I don’t believe Tom would mind if you chose his. I’m not sure about Christopher—he’s so decided.”
“Well, anyway, I don’t know which I like best,” said Peggy.
“Well, I know which one I want,” said Alice, and she picked up the silvery gray kitten. “I want Lady Janet, she’s so like her mother, except she’s a lighter color.”
“That’s Christopher’s kitten,” said Diana.
“Well, I don’t care if it is,” said Alice in her gentlest voice; “I want it. I think if I am so unfortunate as to lose my precious Lady Jane, I ought to have the child that’s most like her.”
“They are all sweet,” said Peggy. “Which is the kitten that doesn’t belong to anybody?”
“Topsy.”
“Let’s take Topsy,” said Peggy. “It would be a change to have a black-and-white kitten.”
“It would not be a nice change,” said Alice. “I’d like to go and find Christopher.”
He came in while the kittens were still there. “Oh, Christopher,” said Alice, “please I want Lady Janet. I want her very much because she’s so like her mother. I know she’s your kitten, but I want her very much, please, Christopher.”
“I want her very much, too,” said Christopher.
In spite of his pleasant smile, he had a determined face. He looked as if when his mind was made up he did not easily change it.
“You see, if I can’t have Lady Jane I want Lady Janet,” said Alice.
“Who says you can’t have Lady Jane?” said Christopher. “You can have her back as soon as the kittens are old enough to look out for themselves.”
“You know she won’t stay with us,” said Alice reproachfully.
“Well, I can’t help that,” said Christopher.
“Come, Alice,” said Peggy, “we must be going now.”
She turned and looked at Christopher. “If you are so mean as not to let my sister have the kitten she wants when Lady Jane is her cat, I shall never speak to you as long as I live. I think you are a selfish pig. You can keep all four kittens. There are plenty of kittens in town. Good-bye, Diana.”
“Oh, don’t go,” said Diana, looking very much worried. “Christopher was only teasing her.”
This was true, but Peggy was not sure of it. She thought Diana wanted to make peace.
“Peggy doesn’t really mean it,” Alice said. “Sometimes she gets angry, but she doesn’t stay angry. Please, Christopher,”—and she looked at him beseechingly,—“I would like Lady Janet.”
“She is my kitten,” said Christopher, and Alice’s face clouded, “but I will give her to you,” he added.