Harry was ready to go over to the cottage at eight the next morning, but Leslie declared it a ridiculous hour to call.
"Call!" cried Harry. "Who's going to make a prim old call, I'd like to know? S'pose a fellow is going to lug a card case just to go and play with Rose?"
"Of course not," said Leslie, "but even if we are just going over to the cottage to play, we'd not care to get there when she's eating breakfast."
"Well, I guess there's no chance of doing that, Leslie. Look at the clock. It is after eight now, and we're still at table."
"I'll go over with you at nine," Leslie said, and when the clock struck nine, she found him just outside the door, his shrill whistle having told her where to find him.
"Come on!" he cried. "It's nine, and if you won't come with me now I'll go over to see Rose without you."
"Well, I'll have to go back now," Leslie said, and turning, she ran across the hall, and up the stairway, laughing as she went.
"Good-bye!" shouted Harry, and off he sped, thinking it a great joke on Leslie that he should keep his word, and because she was causing the delay, run off to the cottage instead of waiting for her.
Leslie, never dreaming but that he was waiting on the walk just outside the door, wondered that he did not whistle or call to her to hurry.
She had gone back for a book that sheintended to give Rose, and in her haste she could not at once find it.
At last she saw a bit of its cover beneath a mass of lace and ribbon, in the corner of the drawer where she had placed it for safe keeping, and catching it up, flew down the stairway and out upon the porch.
For a moment she paused, wondering where Harry might be, when a merry shout made her look up.
Away up the avenue, just opening the cottage gate, was Harry, and even as she looked, he disappeared behind the tall shrubbery in the garden.
"Well, isn't he great?" Leslie said, as she started to run.
Rose and Harry were just behind a tall shrub that overhung the gateway, and as Leslie pushed the gate open they sprangforward in a fine attempt to startle her, but she only laughed.
"You couldn't make me jump," she said, "because I saw a bit of Rose's pink dress between the branches, and Harry moved his head so that I saw his yellow hair."
"Why didn't you speak, and tell us you knew where we were hiding?" Harry asked, a nice bit vexed that Leslie had not "jumped."
"I thought you ought to have the fun of springing out at me, after you'd hidden so nicely," Leslie said.
"Better luck next time," said Rose, and together they ran around behind the cottage to learn if the little brook was as clear, and as rippling as when Rose, in the early Summer, had sailed her little boat upon it.
"The brook is here!" cried Harry. "It hasn't run away yet."
A ragged little chap now approached them, but they did not see him. They were kneeling on the bank and looking at the reflections in a little pool where no ripple stirred the surface.
The comical little fellow might have kept away from them had they been facing him, but as their backs were toward him, he felt quite brave.
He was a droll looking urchin. His trousers evidently belonged to an older brother, as the legs had been rolled over and over in an effort to make them short enough so that he might walk without treading upon them. His blouse must have been the property of the same person, for the sleeves had received the same treatment as the trouser legs, that he might be able to use his hands. Upon his head rested an old straw hat. A big hole in the crownpermitted a sprout of red hair to pop out, and a pair of shoes, not mates, completed his odd costume. He continued to approach until he stood within a few feet of Harry Grafton, and then he paused, as if wishing that one of the group might turn, and greet him.
With chubby hands clasped behind his back he waited. He was evidently in no hurry, but after a time he became impatient.
"Hello!" he said, and Harry turned.
"Hello, little chap! Who are you?" Harry asked.
Ignoring the question, the small boy eyed Harry for a second, then he lisped:
"Where'th Gyp? Ma thaid: 'Find Gyp.'"
"Are you Gyp's little brother?" Harry asked.
The small head in the big hat nodded.
"What's your name?" inquired Harry.
"Motheth," said the child.
"Moses!" cried Harry. "You must be wise. Are you?"
"I do' no', but I got to find Gyp, for Ma thaid I wouldn't have no dinner unleth I found him, an' I want my dinner now."
"And yet you haven't found Gyp," Harry said. "Well, I saw him a little while ago at work on the lawn over at Captain Atherton's house. Run over there and look for him. Scoot! He may go off while you're waiting to think about it."
Wee Moses waited for no urging, but raced across Aunt Judith's lawn, out of the gate, and down the avenue, the tuft of red hair waving like a flaming feather on the crown of his hat.
"Just notice his speed," cried Harry,and Rose and Leslie laughed as the comical figure turned, and bolted up the driveway of the Atherton place.
"That is only one of Gyp's small brothers," Leslie said.
"I never knew that he had one named Moses," said Rose.
"I've heard you tell their names, Harry," Leslie said, "but I never remember them all. I know there is a Mike, and a Pete, and isn't one named Hank?"
"Yes, and there's Luke and a little fellow that they call Sonny while they're trying to decide what to name him," said Harry, "and really he's such a funny looking little fellow that it would be hard work to think of a name that would fit him."
"There is a girl over on the other part of the town whose name is Tulip RoseLillian Buttrick, and she told the girls that her parents gave her all those names because they couldn't decide which they liked best."
"What an idea!" cried Rose. "Well, I'm glad I haven't Tulip and Lillian added to my name."
"I don't see why those people stopped at all," Harry said, "for there's dandelion, and phlox and marigold, and a whole lot of other flower names. Seems sort of stingy to give her only three."
"Oh, Harry! Nobody would name a girl 'Phlox,' think how it would look written," Leslie said.
"I guess they don't worry about how it would look written," Harry said.
It was when Rose and Leslie and Harry were resting after an exciting game, thatMrs. Sherwood and Princess Polly arrived.
Then the fun began.
Mrs. Sherwood went in to talk with Aunt Judith, and the four playmates ran over to the Grafton's for a game of tennis. And while they were playing, eagerly hoping to win, each trying to outdo the other, little Sprite Seaford sat in the odd little living room of her home, sorting her treasures, and at the same time thinking what a fine time Princess Polly must be having at Aunt Judith's cottage with Rose and her other playmates.
The pretty shells, the coral, and the star fish, each had places of their own, but they had been taken out to show to some callers the afternoon before, and Sprite was now engaged in replacing them, each in its own especial place.
Captain Seaford was out fishing andMrs. Seaford had gone to the village to do a few errands so Sprite was free to take her time about the task.
Softly she sang as she placed the white shells in one row, and the pink shells in another.
A smart tap at the door made her start, then she called:
"Come in," and Gwen entered.
Sprite wished that she had not answered the rap.
"Goodness! What a heap of shells. What are you going to do with them? Going to keep them?" Gwen asked, in a manner that implied that she thought he lovely sea treasures simply rubbish.
"Keepthem!" echoed Sprite. "Why of course I'm going to keep them."
"They're pretty of course," Gwen admitted, "but it must be a horrid job tokeep them in order. Leave them where they are and come out on the beach."
"Oh, I can't," said Sprite, and she was about to say that she must place her shells and coral in safe positions before going out, but Gwen did not wait to hear what she had intended to say.
Instead, she hurried out, banging the door behind her.
"I'll find someone who'll do as I want to," she declared, and she ran up the beach to find Princess Polly, but Princess Polly and Rose were both at Avondale, and Gwen ran on to the center of the little coast village.
"I'll find someone to play with, I don't care who it is," she said, as she raced along.
When the sea trophies were all in their places, Sprite stepped back to view her work.
A smile curved her lips, and her eyes grew brighter.
"They look finer than they ever did before," she said softly, "and now I'll try to keep them just as they are arranged."
Sprite Seaford was often called a little "Water Witch," from the fact that she was so much at home on the water.
She could swim wonderfully well for so small a girl, and she managed her boat with skill.
After another approving glance at the rows of softly tinted shells, she ran out onto the beach, and soon in her boat she was gliding along on the shallow water near the shore, her oars moving with slow precision, keeping time to the song that she was singing, or rather to the songs that she was singing, for she was making a gay little medley of many familiar tunes.
The light breeze lifted her long, waving hair, and let it flutter back from her face, it kissed her cheeks, and made them pink like the shells that she valued most.
The great gulls hovered overhead, flapping their wings, and circling about as if trying to determine what sort of little being it was that boasted such long tresses.
Skimming over a bit of shallow water, she chanced to look down and there, on the sandy bottom, was a shell, different in shape from any in her collection.
"I must have it," she cried, and in a second she had drawn the oars into the boat, had slipped into the shallow water, and having pushed the light boat toward the shore, swam along under water until she came to the spot where the shell lay.
She came up to the surface to get the air, laughed, and swam downward again,snatched the coveted shell, and then made her way to where the little boat rocked on the waves.
She was in it in a moment, and again plying the oars, her shell on the seat opposite that on which she was sitting.
She had dressed herself in her little bathing suit, and she laughed as she saw that the warm breeze playing with her hair, was drying it, while her blouse and skirt were dripping and would continue to drip until hung up where the wind could blow through them.
Rarely a day passed that Sprite did not spend with Polly and Rose, but to-day they were away, and she must amuse herself. They were her two dearest playmates, but the dancing waves were the next best.
"I love to play with Princess Polly, and with Rose Atherton, and when I'm notplaying with them, I like my boat," she said softly. "I would have asked Gwen to stay but I didn't want to her to.
"Gwen so often says unpleasant things. Polly and Rose never do, and surely the boat doesn't. It never even answers back," she added with a laugh. Then for a time she plied the oars in silence, rowing always close along the shore, out from one little bay, and into another.
Then someone hailed her.
"Hi! Sprite! Sprite Seaford!"
She turned on her seat, and there, on the beach, close to the water, was Max Deland.
"Say! Have you seen Gwen Harcourt?" he asked, his hands held trumpet-wise, to carry his voice to her.
"I saw her, oh, much as an hour ago, it may be longer," Sprite answered.
"Oh, pshaw! I mean have you seen herwithin a short time?" cried Max, impatiently.
"IsaidI saw her an hour ago, and maybe longer," Sprite said.
"I wonder it wasn't a week!" cried Max. "I want her now."
With that he ran off down the beach, and Sprite wondered why he was in such evident haste.
She turned the boat about, and rowed along in the direction that Max was going.
She saw him run along the beach, then stop and take something, a small book she thought, from his pocket, look steadfastly at it for a few moments, and then, after thrusting it back into his pocket, run on again.
She wondered what sort of book it was, and why Max seemed so very impatient in regard to seeing Gwen. He seemed bentupon running the entire length of the beach, and she watched him until he either entered, or ran behind the little shanty that some workmen were using as a tool house.
"I believe Max is as queer in some ways as Gwen is," mused Sprite.
"I wonder what that little book was, and why he had to stop to read it?"
A moment later she laughed, as she said: "There's one thing everyone knows, and that is that when Max and Gwen are together, they're sure to get into mischief. No one ever spends a minute wondering about that, because theyknow."
She ran the boat into shallow water, made it fast to a pile that had been placed there for the purpose, tying the rope through the iron ring on the post. Then she stepped over the side of the boat intothe water, and waded ashore. She wrung the water from her skirt, took off her shoes and emptied the water from them, and then ran up the beach toward home.
She opened the door and ran in.
The Captain would be out on the fishing trip all day, and it was evident that Mrs. Seaford had not yet returned from her trip to the store.
Sprite changed her drenched bathing suit for dry clothing, and hung the skirt and blouse up to dry.
She wondered why it was that she kept thinking of Max and his little book.
It had been a warm, sunny day, the little waves had danced gaily, and the beach had been dazzling in the full glare of noonday, but the afternoon had been cooler, and at twilight the wind had changed from its warm quarter, to Northeast.
Snug and warm in the "Syren's Cave," they heard the wind rising until it became an actual gale.
The Captain had built a fire of drift wood, the squatty lamp on the table gave out a yellow glare, and around the table sat the three members of the family, the cat occupying the tiny rug in front of thefire. Puss purred contentedly, blinking when the sparks snapped and twinkled.
Sprite bent over a fascinating book of fairy tales. The pictures were charming, the stories held her captive.
Usually she enjoyed playing with puss in front of the fire, saving her book for stormy days, but she had opened the book to look at the softly tinted pictures, and the first story that held her attention was the "Tale of the Gold Children," and she became so interested in their travels in search of their fortunes and of each other, that she could not put the book aside.
Her waving hair fell about her shoulders as she read, and the light from the big lamp shimmered upon it.
Mrs. Seaford, busy with her sewing, paused at times to look at the child absorbed in her book.
Captain Seaford, in a big arm chair, reading the "Cliffmore News," looked exceedingly comfortable, but his wife knew that while he held the paper before him, he was merely glancing at the reading matter, while his mind was elsewhere.
Often he put the paper down, laying it across his knees as if he were done reading. For a few moments he would sit thus, then again he would lift the paper as if he were endeavoring to keep his mind upon it, but finding it a difficult task.
A heavy gust of wind made the windows rattle, and shook the door as if clamoring for admittance. A second later, something was hurled against the side of the house, as if the gale were using small pieces of driftwood for missiles.
The Captain arose, dropped his paper in his chair, and strode to the door.
He seemed to be trying to scan the horizon, as if looking for a sail, but no object, far or near could possibly be distinguished in the utter darkness that hung over land and sea.
He turned about, closed the door, and picking up the paper, seated himself once more before the fire, but he did not read, allowing the paper to lie idly on his knees.
"What is worrying you?" his wife asked gently, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking intently at him. "Is it anything new?"
"It's the same thing, dear, that has kept me fretting for the last three weeks," he said slowly.
"When the vessel was two weeks overdue I was more anxious than I cared to admit, but now that the third week is nearly gone, I find myself unable to keep my mindupon the paper that I try to read, or for that matter upon anything else."
"If any vessels intended coming in to-night, they would be obliged to get into some harbor where they would be safe until the sea is calm," said Mrs. Seaford, "and that would make them a few days later, so we'll still hope to see the one we're looking for come sailing in with flying colors."
Sprite, listening, while they thought that she was reading, now came around the table, and leaned against the Captain's sturdy shoulder.
"Pa, I wish you wouldn't worry, for some way I'm sure she's coming in all safe, I'll tell you why. Now don't you laugh. I dreamed last night that she came sailing in with flags flying, and oh, her hull and her masts were of shining gold, so let'sthink that means good luck. Will you, Pa?" she coaxed, winding her little arms around his neck.
She could not bear to see him so worried.
"You're a comfort, little Sprite, and your Ma is another. Don't seem reasonable for a man to fret with two such blessings in his possession, but the truth is I wanted the luck that I believed the vessel would bring, for you two dear ones, far more than I wanted it for myself."
"Then don't say youwantedit, for that does not sound hopeful," Mrs. Seaford said.
"No, say youwantit for us, for that sounds as if it were coming," Sprite said, "and I'm sure it will come, only it's delayed."
He summoned up a smile for the child who was endeavoring to cheer him.
"I surely can truthfully say, 'I want it for you'," he said.
"I have ventured all that I had on that ship's cargo, because I believed it was sure to bring back a little fortune that would enable me to give greater comfort to your mother, Sprite, and you."
"Well, it's coming! It's coming! I know it is. I saw the golden ship last night in my dreams, and I sprang up and looked from the window, and the moonlight was making a bright, glittering path on the waves, just where, in my dream, the ship had been."
She had left the Captain's side to skip and dance about in her excitement, but now she came softly back to lean against him, as he sat in his big chair.
She laid her cheek against his a second, then looking into his kindly eyes, she said:
"It is stormy to-night, and it may storm to-morrow, but when it clears, I know, oh, I justknowthe ship will come in."
It was later than Sprite usually sat up, and the Captain pointed to the clock.
"It's late even for a cheerful little prophet to be up," he said, and Sprite danced away to her tiny chamber, happy in the thought that she had really cheered them. The next day the storm continued, but at night the gale diminished, and on the following day the sun rose bright, and golden, giving promise of a fine day.
Sprite ran out onto the beach.
She looked far out across the dancing waves, to the horizon, where plainly she could see the sails of incoming vessels.
Was either one of these distant vessels the one for which the Captain was so eagerly looking?
"They all look alike 'way off there!" she murmured, but a moment later she whispered in disgust:
"What a goosie I am! Those vessels have only one sail! They're neither of them ships. Who'd think I was a Captain's daughter?"
Still she stood scanning the line where the sky and ocean met. At any moment a big ship might come in sight, and she thought how quickly she would run to tell the news. Then she hesitated.
No, she would not hasten to tell it, for it might indeed be a ship, and yet not the one for which the Captain had long been looking, or it might be one that was not bound for Cliffmore, but instead would go farther out to sea.
There was one sail on which the bright sunlight lingered, making it whiter thanthose of the other vessels, so that it was easier for her to watch that one than either of the others.
"Why! It has turned about!" she cried, "and now, oh now, I see other masts and other sails! It's a ship! It's a ship! Oh, is it the one that Pa longs to see?"
She would gladly have stood watching until that vessel sailed into Cliffmore, but a long, silvery note from the horn called her in to breakfast.
Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks pink with excitement, and the Captain looking across the table, sighed as he thought of all that he had planned to do with the money that he had so confidently expected. He had built rosy air castles, had dreamed of comforts, and pleasures for the two dear ones who now sat opposite him at the table, the one full of hope,and cheer, the other trying to summon cheer that she did not feel, in order to comfort him. The forenoon passed swiftly, because the three were busy.
Captain Seaford was making some repairs that the gale had made necessary. Indoors Mrs. Seaford had needed the help of little Sprite in some work that she was doing, and when the noon hour came they could hardly believe the clock.
Sprite, usually eager to be out of doors, kept close at her mother's side, pulling bastings from the garments that she was making.
Sometimes she paused to look from the window, then again she would busy herself with the bastings, and after a time, Mrs. Seaford, looking up, noticed with what rapt attention Sprite was gazing out at the ocean.
"What is it, Sprite?" she asked. "Are you thinking of the dream vessel that you told us about last evening?"
"I can't help thinking of it," Sprite answered, "and truly I do believe the dream meant good luck." "I'd not wish you to believe very strongly in dreams," Mrs. Seaford said, "but I'll confess that ever since you told us that dream, I've been thinking of it, and, in some way, it has given me hope."
The afternoon was spent much as the forenoon had been, save that the bastings were all out of the new garments, and while Mrs. Seaford still plied her needle, Sprite picked up the book of fairy tales, and tried to read.
There was one story that attracted her attention because its illustration showed a great ship, of ancient design. The nameof the story was "The Gift Ship," and Sprite began to read. Riches formed its cargo, jewels studded its masts, and its figure head, representing a mermaid, was of solid gold.
"Oh, that is grander than our ship was to be," thought Sprite, and she allowed the book to lie idly in her lap, while she looked out at the floating clouds, and wondered where the white-sailed ship had gone that, at early morning, had floated along that distant point where sky and water met.
The captain looked in at the open door, and for a moment seemed to be studying the two who sat near the window. Then he spoke.
"I'm going down to the wharf to see Jack Windom. He wants my opinion of a fishing smack he's thinking of buying. I'll not be gone long."
He started off at a quick pace, but a few minutes later, Sprite saw, from her window, that the captain had met his friend when but halfway to the wharf.
"Oh, Ma, Jack has come up halfway to meet Pa. I guess he was coming up to see if Pa had forgotten about going down to look at the new fishing smack.
"Why, Ma, they're shaking hands. They never do that. Why, they are both coming back!"
Mrs. Seaford knew that something more than usual had happened. She hurried to the door, just as the two men reached it, and then, the captain grasped both her hands, crying out in his excitement:
"It has come in, dear! It has come in! The vessel that I've been looking for, longing for, worrying for is in safe andsound, and the cargo, if my friend Jack isn't wild, is even more valuable than I had dreamed!
"Sprite! Sprite! Little girl, your dream has come true!"
What a day of rejoicing it was!
"The dream came true! The dream came true! The golden ship has come in!" cried Sprite, dancing about like a little wild thing, while Mrs. Seaford laid her slender hands on the captain's shoulders, her eyes filled with happy tears as she quietly said:
"For your sake, dear, I am so glad."
Jack Windom, hardy sailor, and bluff, kindly friend, was more moved than he cared to admit. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes, remarking that the sun was "tur'ble glarin'," but his friends knew that he was fully in sympathy withthem, and that his honest eyes had filled with tears, as happy as their own, because of the good luck that had come to them.
"I'm glad for ye, all three of ye, and I wish I could hev lent a hand ter hurried her in, but she's here now, and I'm as glad as you be that she's in safe an' sound. It's a great day fer ye, Cap'n, an' I'm glad, I declare I am."
Captain Seaford again started for the wharf, this time to see not only the new fishing smack, but the vessel that had brought such great cheer to the little home, and with his arm locked in Jack Windom's he hurried down the beach.
Mrs. Seaford and Sprite sat down to talk of their good fortune, and after a time little Sprite said:
"I know I'm not to believe in signs or dreams, but truly Ididsee the new moonover my right shoulder, and Ididdream of a golden ship."
"So you did, dear," Mrs. Seaford said, "and you cheered me wonderfully last evening just by your telling of your lovely dream."
"That's why I told it," Sprite said.
"I thought while I was telling that, you'd not hear the gale, and by to-day the storm would have cleared away, and maybe the ship would come in, and it did."
For a few moments the two sat thinking, then Sprite spoke again of the thoughts that filled her mind.
"Yesterday I tried to read a story in my fairy book, called 'The Gift Ship,' but the ship's masts were studded with jewels, and its figurehead was of pure gold, and some way it seemed too grand, too fine, while Pa was longing for just a plain ship likethe other ships that we see every day. I knew it was its cargo that he was anxious about, but the story seemed too good to be true, and I didn't care to read it.
"Now, oh, now I can read it, and enjoy it, too, for no matter how grand the story ship is, Pa has seen the one that he has been looking for, and now we are happy."
"Indeed we are," Mrs. Seaford said; "we are thankful, too, Sprite. Think how different would be our thoughts to-night if Jack Windom's news had been that the vessel that your father had been looking for had foundered!
"We are thankful indeed, we are grateful, Sprite. Oh, we are blessed with the best news that could have been brought to us," said Mrs. Seaford.
"I wish we could celebrate in some way when Pa comes back," Sprite said.
"We shall have to be thinking of supper now. Suppose we go out together to set the table, and you shall help me to make it attractive.
"Come! We'll use our prettiest dishes, and we'll set the rose-pink geranium in the center, and then we'll see what we can do toward providing a treat."
The day spent at Aunt Judith's cottage had been delightful, and Harry and Leslie had been such fine playmates that Rose and Polly wished that they, too, were staying at Cliffmore.
A few days had passed since the visit, and Princess Polly, still thinking of the day at Avondale, sat stringing shells on a long rose-colored cord.
She was sitting on a low seat in the garden, her box of shells beside her. The shells were for Leslie, and Polly was selecting them with much care, that they might be of nearly the same size.
The garden was charming with its finewall, and the lovely flowers that blossomed within its enclosure.
The house set well up on the beach, and its broad lawn and flower beds were surely safe from any encroachment by the sea, yet as a precaution, the massive wall had been built, and if by any chance a storm should drive the waves a bit too far, they would break against the wall, and then recede, leaving the garden unharmed.
The string of shells was now nearly a half yard in length, and Polly held it up for the admiration of Rose and Sprite, who had just arrived, and were running along the path.
"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said Rose, "and the colors, how nice they look, first bluish white and then cream white."
"Leslie will like that," said Sprite.
"Anyone would, they're strung so prettily."
"I've ten more shells to add to the string and then it will be all ready for Leslie. Everybody keep still until I have the ten shells in place," said Princess Polly, "and then I'll talk with you."
Rose and Sprite pretended to be making a great effort to keep still, but the task was evidently too much for them, and after a few seconds of silence, Rose laughed, Sprite echoed, and then Polly laughed because they did.
"Oh, you two can't keep from talking," she said, "and neither can I, that is, not for very long, but I did keep still until I put the tenth shell on the string, and I'll put it in this little box. There, now I'll listen, for I know you've something to tell."
The three little friends were now sitting on the long garden seat, the tall shrubs behind them making a cool shade.
Mr. Sherwood had had the space inside the fine wall filled with rich loam, so that inside the garden gate was a genuine country garden, while outside the wall lay the sandy beach, and the surf, and spray.
The flowers in the garden seemed to like the breezes from the sea, for their colors were glowing, and their perfume sweet.
"There's such queer news this morning," Sprite said. "First, a sailor that Pa knows came up from the wharf, and he said a vessel got 'way out to sea, when they found a boy had hidden himself on board, a regular stowaway, and the first fishing smack they met, that was heading for Cliffmore, took him aboard and brought him back, and who do you think that was?"
"Why, how could we ever guess?" Polly asked in surprise.
"Well, that was John Selby, the grocer's boy. You know the store over at the Center," said Sprite, "and I guess you've seen the boy. He's 'bout fourteen, and has red hair, and he's the one that helps deliver goods from his father's store."
Yes, they remembered him.
Good-tempered, happy-go-lucky John Selby. What could have tempted him to leave home, and become a stowaway? Sprite knew why he had done it.
"He said he didn't want to be a grocer when he grew up," she said. "He said he loved the sea, and would rather be a sailor, so now his father says if he'll stay at home and help in the store until he's a bit older, he'll consent to his becoming a sailor, if he still thinks he'd like a sailor's life."
The pronouns were a bit confused, but Rose and Polly understood.
They hardly knew whether to be sorry for John or his father.
"It seems hard for John to want to go and leave his father," Polly said, "and it's hard that John can't be a sailor boy if he wants to."
"And you can't know which is the harder," said Sprite.
"Well, I wouldn't think any boy would run away from home when he knew that his father and mother would grieve for him," Rose said.
"I'd think any boy would if he wanted to!" said a sharp voice.
It was Max Deland who had entered the garden, and now, with a defiant air, stood staring at the group of playmates, as if daring them to disagree with him.
His cap was tilted at a saucy angle, his hands were thrust into his pockets, and his feet, wide apart, were firmly braced.
He looked as if ready to quarrel with anyone who chanced to differ with him.
"Do you mean to say, Max, that you'd do such a thing?" Sprite asked.
"I don't say I would, and I don't say I wouldn't," Max said in a sullen voice.
"Well,wouldyou?" Princess Polly asked, but Max looked disagreeable, and in a few moments had turned and left them, as abruptly as he had come.
For a moment Polly, Rose and Sprite sat very still, each looking into the faces of the others.
"What made him so cross?" Sprite asked, "and if hedidfeel cross, and couldn't help it, then I should have thought he would have stayed away."
"So should I," said Polly and Rose, and "so should I," echoed Sprite.
Outside the garden wall eager ears were listening, and the ears belonged to a little figure that crouched close by the gateway, just out of sight of the three playmates, yet quite near enough to hear all that had been said.
It was Gwen Harcourt.
She had been a bit too saucy to Max Deland, had called him a "sissy," and what boy would bear that? Max had returned the favor by calling her a "Tom-boy," and then he had made a horrid face, and raced off up the beach.
Then Gwen was sorry. She liked to play with Max, and while he could run away, and laugh as he went, Gwen was ready to cry.
He was quite as fond of Gwen as shewas of him, but he was a great tease, and beside that, he liked to hear her calling to him to return.
It flattered his vanity.
"Come back, Max! Comeback!" she had shouted.
"Max dear, I take it back. You're not a sissy. Max! Oh, Max, I'm sorry!"
Max heard, but he chose to keep right on, and at last he reached the Sherwood house, and pausing for breath near the gate, had overheard the three friends talking about the boy who had run away from his home at Cliffmore.
A few moments later he had chosen to enter, especially because he was feeling rather cross with Gwen, and as Gwen was not at hand to quarrel with, he entered the garden to sneer at what his playmates were saying.
Gwen had followed him, and the time that he had spent in the garden had given her the chance to catch up. Six little stone steps led down from the garden to the beach, and Max ran down, pushed the gate wide, and sprang out onto the hard white sand.
Gwen crouched at his left, but he shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked to the right down the beach. She was pert and willful with all the others, but with Max she was humble indeed.
"Max, here I am, and I'm sorry I teased you. Do be nice to me now, won't you? I won't ever call you 'sissy' again."
"Guess you won't!" Max said, in anything but a pleasant tone. "I wouldn't let you say it if I was here, but I've 'bout decided to run away to sea!"
"Oh, Max, Max! I don't want youto, and just think! What would your mother say?"
Gwen meant it rightly, but it did not please Max.
"There you go!" he cried. "That's the same as saying 'sissy' again. I guess I can go where I want to. A man can do as he likes without asking."
Again Gwen blundered.
"Oh, but Max, you're not a man. You're just a boy, and I wish you wouldn't talk as if you meant to go 'way off somewhere."
Just a boy! That was aggravating. Max felt sure that in a moment more she would call him alittleboy, and that would indeed be too much for any boy to ever overlook.
Gwen laid her hand on his arm, intending to coax him to stay, but Max was too angry to be easily pacified.
"See here!" he cried, roughly brushing her hand from his arm. "You heard me say I'd'boutdecided to run away to sea, but you don'tknowwhether I will or not, so look out and not be a tell-tale, for if I do go, and ever come back, and find out you told, I'd never speak to you!"
Before Gwen could get over her surprise, and grasp the meaning of what he had said, he was off at top speed down the beach.
She started to follow, but he turned and shouted: "Don't you dare to tag on!"
Poor Gwen! Max was the only playmate with whom she had ever been gentle. She had treated him far better than she had ever treated the girls at Avondale, or the new acquaintances at Cliffmore, and now he was going to run away, and she was not to ever mention it!
She reached home very tired, and also very unhappy.
At lunch she refused to eat, but that was not unusual. She often did that to attract the attention of the other boarders.
As usual Mrs. Harcourt commenced to fuss, and to question her.
"What is it, dear?" she asked.
"Is there nothing that looks tempting?"
Then glancing at those who sat opposite, she said: "Gwen's appetite is so very dainty and capricious, she rarely cares for what is served here."
The guests were a bit tired of that speech, as they had heard it at every meal during the Summer.
"You're too tired to eat, darling," Mrs. Harcourt said. "Did you play too hard with Max this morning?"
At the mention of Max, Gwen burst intotears, and ran from the table, dropping her napkin on the floor, and walking upon it in her flight.
Mrs. Harcourt was really alarmed. She wondered what Max had done to so upset Gwen. Perhaps he had struck her. He had a terrible disposition, while Gwen had the temperament of an angel. So thought Mrs. Harcourt as she left the dining room, her own lunch untasted, to follow Gwen, and coax from her the reason for her distress.
The cause of any disturbance that led Gwen to shed tears was attributed to the outrageous temper of the other child, or children, as the case happened to be, and Mrs. Harcourt never dreamed that sometimes Gwen showed a temper that was rather far from angelic.
Max was not at lunch, but that causedno surprise, because he often was absent at one o'clock, returning at six for dinner with an appetite that seemed more befitting a brawny tramp than a boy who was always well fed.
On this day, however, he did not appear at dinner, and when seven, and eight, chimed forth from the hall clock, and still no Max in sight, Mrs. Deland was frightened.
"Do keep up your courage, Mrs. Deland," said a man who happened to stand near her.
"Your small boy will come prancing in before long, just as he always does. He usually remains out until you are nearly wild, and then he comes crawling in by the back door, and wonders why the chef isn't on hand to cook a separate dinner for him."
It was the truth, but Mrs. Deland thought the speaker exceedingly hard-hearted. She had telephoned to everyone whom she thought might have seen Max, but all replied that he had not been noticed, and that proved that he had not been near them, for the boy was so saucy, so noisy, and so desperately active, that he must have been noticed if he was anywhere within sight.
"Nine!" chimed the clock, and a few of the guests of the house organized a searching party, and started out to hunt for Max.
They felt little interest in the matter, from the fact that the same thing had happened so many times that they seemed always to be searching for Max.
The boy had made himself a nuisance in countless ways, and while neither member wished any harm to come to Max, theyfelt that it would be a great relief if he and his mother would leave Cliffmore, and never think of returning.
Once outside the house, however, they made thorough work of their search, but although they looked in every place that a small boy might get into, and in many that seemed impossible, they did not find him.
One man, tired and disgusted, grumbled as he tramped along, and several others who did not utter the thoughts that filled their minds, felt every bit as disgusted as he did.
"It's nonsense, clear nonsense, tramping all over the place, hunting for a little run-away rascal, who, at this moment, is doubtless eating a comfortable meal, after having returned when he felt like it."
When they reached the house, they weresurprised to find that Max was not there.
It was the first time that a party searching for the boy had returned to learn that he was still missing.
Mrs. Deland had become quite used to having Max away sometimes all day, and often until after eight in the evening, and, as a rule, she was reasonably calm, but that nine o'clock should have passed without hearing from him seemed beyond belief.
With the return of the searching party her courage gave way, and she sank onto a low seat, her cheeks white, and her hands tightly clenched.
The women gathered about her, trying to comfort her, but she seemed not to hear what they said.
How still she sat, her hands still tightly clasped, her eyes looking from one face to another.
Then her eyes closed. She had fainted, and gently they carried her to her room, one woman promising to remain with her, after the doctor should have gone.
Gwen had acted so strangely that Mrs. Harcourt had ordered a light lunch sent up to their room, saying that Gwen was too ill to go down to dinner, and that she would remain with her. No sound of the excitement reached them. It was in vain that she questioned Gwen. Gwen only replied that she and Max had quarreled, and that he had been "just perfectly horrid."
When morning came, Gwen awoke feeling a bit better.
Having remained in their room all the afternoon and evening, they had heard nothing of the search for Max, nor did they know that he had not, as usual, returned.