Polly was all curiosity the next morning. "Why in the world didn't you sleep with me?" she asked, sitting up in bed as Molly came in from the next room.
"Because Mary needed me. She was in awful trouble," replied Molly soberly.
"What was it?" asked Polly eagerly.
"I can't tell you."
"I think that's real mean," returned Polly indignantly. "You're just a turncoat, Molly Shelton; first you're friends with me, and then you're thick as can be with Mary."
"I'm not a turncoat," retorted Molly, angry at being called names. "She's as much my cousin as you are, and I reckon if you were way off from your mother and had a dreadful thing happen that you couldn't talk to her about, you'd want some one to be a little sorry for you."
"I think a dreadful thing is happening to me when you talk that way to me," said Polly, melting into tears. "I just wish I had never come here, I do so, and I reckon I want my mother as much as Mary does hers. I am going to tell Uncle Dick how you act, so I am."
"Oh, please don't tell him!" exclaimed Molly, alarmed. "We don't want any one to know."
This but whetted Polly's curiosity. "I think you might tell me," she pouted.
"I can't. I promised I wouldn't. You shall know as soon as Mary says I may tell."
"Oh, I don't care then. Keep your old secrets if you want to," and Polly flounced out of bed and began vigorously to prepare for her bath. For the rest of the time before breakfast she did not speak a word to Molly who felt that she was indeed between two fires. She had promised not to tell Aunt Ada and if Polly were to tell Uncle Dick that morning that something was wrong, it might add to Mary's troubles. She pondered the matter well while she was dressing, and by the time she had tied on her hair ribbon she had concluded to forestall Polly by telling her Uncle Dick something of what was the matter. She decided that she could do so without betraying Mary's confidence. So she stepped down-stairs ahead of Polly and joined her Uncle Dick who was energetically walking up and down the porch.
"Hello, Mollykins!" he cried. "I'm getting up an appetite for breakfast. Come and join me."
"As if you ever had to do anything to get up an appetite," retorted Molly, slipping her hand under his arm. "Oh, you take such long steps I have to take two to keep up with you."
"So much the better, then you work twice as hard and can have twice as much. I peeped into the kitchen, but Luella looked as fierce as a sitting hen, and I didn't dare to stay; however, I know we are to have hot rolls for breakfast; I saw them."
"The pocketbook kind, with the lovely brown crust all around? Good! I certainly want a double appetite for those. Uncle Dick, you oughtn't to tell other people's secrets, ought you?"
"No-o, not usually. Whose secret is burning in your breast?"
"Why—promise not to tell a soul."
"Is it a murder?"
"No, of course not."
"Is it grand larceny?"
"I don't know what that is."
"It is stealing something worth while, not like a loaf of bread nor a pin, nor anything of that kind. You know the copy-book says: 'It is a sin to steal a pin.'"
"Is it a sin to lose a pin?"
"Why, no, not unless it is a breastpin or a scarf-pin and you wilfully throw it to the fishes."
Molly drew a sigh of relief. "Suppose you lose something that belongs to some one else; is that a sin?"
"Why no, it is a misfortune, not a crime. You don't do it on purpose, you see, and in fact I think the loser generally feels worse than the one the thing belongs to. What have you lost? Not my favorite scarf-pin, I hope. Have you been using it to pin rags around your doll?"
"Oh, Uncle Dick, of course I haven't. I was only asking, just because I wanted to know."
"As a seeker after ethical truths. It does you credit, Miss Shelton. You will probably join a college settlement when you are older, or at least write a paper on moral responsibilities."
"Oh, Uncle Dick, you do use such silly long words."
"I forget, when you tackle these abstruse subjects. I will come down from my lofty perch, Molly. What more can your wise uncle tell you?"
"If a person loses something very costly, something that has been lent to her, ought she to pay it back?"
"It is generally supposed to be the proper thing to replace it, but half the world doesn't do it; sometimes because they can't and sometimes because they don't want to. Then, sometimes the one to whom the thing belonged, insists upon not having it replaced, and would feel very uncomfortable if it were, though, from the standpoint of strict honesty, one should always make good any borrowed article whether lost, strayed or stolen."
"Would you insist upon its not being made good?"
"I shouldn't wonder if I were that kind of gander."
"Would Aunt Ada?"
"I think she's probably that kind of goose."
"Oh, I am so glad she is a goose."
"Glad who is a goose?" said Aunt Ada from the doorway.
"We were talking about you," said her brother laughing. "Molly was calling you a goose."
"Oh, Uncle Dick, you began it."
"Did I? Well, never mind. I smell those rolls, Molly, and I feel that I can demolish at least six. Come on, let's get at them."
Although she had not really carried the subject as far as she wanted, Molly felt that matters were not so bad for Mary as they had at first appeared, therefore, she took the first opportunity to reassure her on that point. Polly walked off to the Whartons' immediately after breakfast, announcing with quite an air of wishing it generally known that she would probably spend the day with Grace in the woods, and that Luella had given her a lunch to take.
Miss Ada smiled when this announcement was made. She realized that there had been some childish squabble and she never paid much attention to such. Mary saw at once that Polly was jealous of Molly's attentions to her small self, and Molly felt so grieved at Polly's desertion that she could hardly keep back the tears. It was very hard to do right in this world, she thought. If she were loyal to Mary she must lose Polly's companionship, and she did love to be with Polly more than any one she had ever known. If she clung to Polly, she must give up Mary at a time when Mary most needed her.
She looked after Polly skipping over the hummocks to Grace Wharton's and wished she were going, too. It was so lovely in the woods. As if reading her thought, her Aunt Ada came up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Suppose we all take our luncheon in the woods to-day," she said. "It is too lovely to stay indoors a minute. Should you kitties like to go? Dick is to be off sailing with Will Wharton and we three could have a nice quiet time. I'll take some books; you can have your dolls, and we'll go to Willow Cove."
"That's where Polly is going," said Molly quickly.
Aunt Ada smiled. "Suppose we go to Elton woods instead, then."
"I like it better anyhow," said Molly truthfully. "I'd like nothing better than to spend the day there, you dearest auntie."
"Then there we will go. Luella wants the day off, anyhow. She says she must go to town to have a tooth out, for 'the tooth aches something awful.' That is the third since we came. If she keeps on at this rate, she will not have a tooth left in her head by fall. It will be much easier to have a nice little lunch in the woods than to cook a dinner at home, don't you think? Suppose you and Mary run over to Mrs. Fowler's and see if she can let us have a boiled lobster; she generally is ready to put them on about this time of day, and you might stop at Skelton's on your way back and get some of those good little ginger-snaps."
"Aunt Ada is such a dear," said Molly, as the two started off. "I don't believe she would ever, ever want you to get another pin, Mary, and if I were you I would tell her all about it to-day; it will be such a good chance."
"I'll see about it," said Mary evasively.
There was no lovelier spot on the Point than Elton woods. Here the great trees grew to the very edge of the cliffs, and the way to them was through paths bordered by ferns, wild roses, and woodland flowers. In some places the trees wore long gray beards of swaying moss and stood so close together that only scant rays of daylight crept under them; in others they shot up high and straight above their carpet of pine-needles, which made a soft dry bed for those who lingered beneath them to gaze at the white-capped waves chasing each other in shore, or who, lying down, watched the fleecy clouds drifting across the sky. Near by was a pebbly beach where one could gather driftwood for a fire, or could pick up smooth water-washed stones to build walks and walls for tiny imaginary people. There was no end of the material the place afforded for amusement, and when they reached there, Molly eagerly fell to devising plays.
Yet, alas! She missed Polly's fertile brain and imaginative suggestions. Polly was always able to discover fairy dells and gnome-frequented caves. It was she who invented the plays which were the most delightful. Mary was rather tiresome when it came to anything more than sober facts. She would play very nicely with the dolls, but, when it came to make-believe creatures, she was sadly wanting, and the best response Molly could expect to get when she built a fairy dwelling was: "Oh, I say, that is a proper little house, isn't it?" or "What a duck of a tree that is you are planting; it is quite tiny, isn't it?"
"We always take some of these little bits of trees home with us," Molly told her, "and they live ever so long."
"I wonder could I take one to England," said Mary.
"Why, yes, I should think you could easily. We will get some the very last thing, and I am sure they'll live quite a while."
"It would be jolly nice to have one, wouldn't it?" said Mary as she watched Molly patting the ground smooth around the one she had just planted in the fairy garden. "I'd like to take some pebbles and some starfish, too. Reggie would be so pleased with them; he would be quite vexed if I brought him none after telling him about them."
"How often you say vexed, don't you?" remarked Molly. "We hardly ever say vexed."
"What do you say?"
"Oh, I don't know; we say mad and angry and provoked."
"But then I really mean vexed," returned Mary after a moment's thought. "I don't mean anything else," and Molly had nothing more to say.
It was after they had finished the lobster, the egg sandwiches, the buttered rolls and gingersnaps and were delicately eating some wild strawberries the children had gathered, that Molly made a sudden resolution to plunge Mary into a confession.
"If you lent some one a diamond pin and she were to lose it would you be very—very vexed, Aunt Ada?" she asked, after a hasty glance at Mary.
"If I possessed a diamond pin I might be, but as I haven't such a thing I couldn't be vexed," her aunt said.
Mary jumped to her feet, startled out of her usual reserve.
"But, Aunt Ada, you did have one!"
"When, please? You must nave dreamed it, Mary, dear."
"But you did have. Oh, do you mean you know it is lost?"
It was Miss Ada's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, child?" she said knitting her brows. "I never had a diamond pin to my knowledge. I always liked diamond rings, and I have two or three of those, but a pin I never possessed. What are you talking about?"
Mary laced and unlaced her fingers nervously. "I mean the one you lent me to wear the night we dressed up for the party at Green Island. Was it some other person's, then? Oh, Aunt Ada, had some one lent it to you, for if they did"—she faltered, "I lost it coming home." She sank down at Miss Ada's feet on the mossy ground and buried her face in her aunt's lap.
Miss Ada put a kind hand on her head. "And all this time you have been distressing yourself about it, you poor little kitten? I ought to have told you, but you were so pleased in thinking it was real I thought I would let it go, and I have not thought of it since. Why, dear, it was of no value at all, a mere trumpery little rhinestone that cost only a couple of dollars."
Mary lifted her tearful eyes. "Oh, I am so relieved," she said. "I've searched and searched for it ever since."
"Yes, Aunt Ada, and she has been nearly sick over it," put in Molly. "She cried herself to sleep last night, and the reason she wouldn't go sailing with us the other day was because she wanted to hunt for the pin."
"You poor little darling, how can I make up to you for all this trouble?" said Miss Ada compassionately. "I am so sorry; it is all my fault for not telling you in the first place."
On the strength of this there seemed no better time to confess her doings of the afternoon when she had gone to Green Island in theLeona, and so Mary faltered out her tale, Molly once in a while coming in with excuses and comments so that in the end Miss Ada was not "vexed" at all but only said, "If it had been any one but Ellis, I might feel inclined to warn you against going out in a row-boat, but he is a good, careful little lad, and if you will call it quits, Mary, I will, for I am conscience-stricken my own self; but next time, dearie, ask me when you want to go on the water."
"Oh, I will, I will," said Mary fervently. "It was because I felt so dreadful at losing the brooch that I didn't tell this time."
"It is a perfect shame," said her Aunt Ada, cuddling her close. "I hope now you will never find the old pin. I never want to see it again, for it would remind me of how my dear little niece suffered."
"But I was bad. I deceived you." Mary's head went down again in her aunt's lap. "I was afraid to tell you," she murmured.
"Afraid of what, dear child? Not of your Aunt Ada?"
"I don't know, oh, I don't know why I was so scared. Miss Sharp is always so terribly severe when we are careless or try to get out of any thing we have done wrong."
"But I'm not Miss Sharp, honey. Just forget all about this, if you love me. Of course you weren't quite frank, but you were scared and it is as much my fault as yours; mine and Miss Sharp's," she added half to herself.
Yet they were destined to see the pin again, for that very afternoon, as they were coming home, whom should they meet but Polly and Grace. "Guess what we've found!" cried Grace.
"See, Miss Ada, we were looking for birds' nests between your cottage and ours, and we found this caught in the grass just near where a sparrow had built. Polly says she thinks it is yours, that it looks like one you lent to Mary to wear to the party." And she held out the little shining star in the palm of her hand.
Miss Ada took it and gave a whimsical look at Mary. "Yes, I believe it is mine," she said. She tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other as she stood thinking.
"Ellis Dixon came along just after we found it, and he seemed awfully pleased," Grace went on.
Miss Ada laughed softly. "Thank you very much, Grace, dear," she said. "It was good of you to bring it right to me." Then changing the subject she asked, "How is your grandmother to-day?"
"Not so very well," Grace replied. Then with sudden remembrance, "I must go right back, for she worries if I am not in time for supper." And she sped away.
Miss Ada stood still smiling and looking from one of her nieces to the other. She continued to toss the little star from one hand to the other. "I know what I am going to do with it," she said looking at Mary. "I'm going to give it to Luella for a wedding present."
That evening Polly was told the whole story and was properly contrite. She felt a little aggrieved that she had not been one of the party to go to Elton woods, but she realized that it was her own fault, and offered at once to "make up" with Molly and Mary. So all was serene again, and the three children sat side by side all evening before the open fire, listening to a fascinating story Uncle Dick read aloud to them, and at last the three fell asleep all in a heap, Molly's head in Polly's lap, and the other two resting against Miss Ada's knees. When they all stumbled upstairs to bed, they were not too sleepy, however, to kiss one another good-night, and indeed were so bent upon showing no partiality that they all tumbled into the same bed, which happened to be Mary's, where they went to sleep, hugging each other tight.
The brightness of the restored pin seemed to be reflected upon them all after this. Uncle Dick was so tremendously funny at breakfast that Polly fell from her chair with laughter, and Luella giggled so that she held a plate of griddle cakes at such an angle that the whole pile slid off on the floor; then every one laughed more than ever and Molly said that her jaws fairly ached and that she would have to spend the day with Cap'n Dave's old white horse, for he had such a solemn face it made you want to sigh all the time. Of course this started the children off again and they left the table in high spirits.
Yet before the day was over they had occasion to look serious without the society of old Bill horse, for about ten o'clock Ellis appeared, trouble puckering his pleasant face into worried lines. He had forgotten all about the finding of the pin in a more personal interest, for the cares of life had been suddenly thrust upon him. His brother Parker the day before had sailed away to the Grand Banks for sword-fishing. He had left his young wife and little baby in Ellis's charge. Now Leona had fallen ill, "and," said Ellis, "it's up to me to take care of the baby."
"Is there no one else?" asked Miss Ada, as Ellis told his doleful tale.
"Ora Hart is taking care of Leona," Ellis answered; "but she has as much as she can do to look after her own children. She's Leona's cousin and she's awful good to come in at all. You see most everybody's got folks of their own to see to, and they can't spare much time, although they're all willin' enough to do what they can. I ain't much used to babies myself. I got Nellie Brown to look after her while I come up here. I knew you'd wonder why I didn't bring them clams I promised, and so I come to tell you why. I hope it won't put you out, Miss Ada."
"We can have something else just as well," she told him. "We are rather used to not getting just what we plan for," she went on, smiling, for be it known one could never tell, at the Point, just how an order might turn out. If one expected lamb chops like as not "Hen Roberts hadn't fetched over no lamb," or if mackerel had been ordered like as not the fish delivered would be cod, and the excuse would be that some one came along and carried off the entire supply of mackerel before the last orders were filled; therefore it was no new experience for Miss Ada to have to alter her bill of fare.
"I'm awful sorry about havin' to stay home just now," said Ellis disconsolately, "for this is when I expected to get in some time with the boat. I promised two or three parties to take 'em out, and now I'll have to get some one else to take my place, but I'll have to let 'em go shares. Park's let me have theLeonawhilst he's away, but, if I could run her myself, I could make twice as much."
The three little girls listened attentively, and presently Polly twitched her Aunt Ada's sleeve. "Couldn't we take care of the baby?" she whispered.
Miss Ada looked down at her with a smile, but shook her head.
"Oh, why not?" said Polly in ft louder whisper. "I'd love to."
"So would I," came from Molly on the other side.
Miss Ada beholding the eager faces said: "Wait a moment, Ellis. I want to talk over something with these girls of mine." She led the way indoors, leaving Ellis on the porch. "Now, lassies," she said when they were all in the living-room, "what is it you want to do?"
"We want to take care of Ellis's baby," chanted the two, and Mary coming in as a third repeated the words.
"But do you realize what it would mean? You would have to give up much of your playtime, and could not go off sailing or rowing or picnicking."
"We could go picnicking," insisted Polly, "because we could take the baby with us."
"Very well, we will leave out the picnic. I might get Luella to stay afternoons sometimes, but you know she goes home to help her mother, for Mrs. Barnes has more laundry work than she can do, and Luella has to help her when she can; those were the only terms upon which she would consent to come to me; so you see we can't count on Luella."
"It may not be for very long," said Polly, hopefully. "Leona may soon get well."
"If it is typhoid, as they suspect, she is likely to be ill a long time."
"Well, I don't care; I'll give up my afternoons," decided Polly.
"And I'll give up my mornings," said Molly, not to be outdone. "And then the baby does sleep some, so we can play while she is asleep. Oh, Polly, we could have lovely times playing with something alive like that."
"Wouldn't it be jolly to have a real live baby for a doll," put in Mary.
"I see you are not to be put off," said Miss Ada, laughing, "so I will allow you to undertake the charge for a week, and at the end of that time if I think it is too much for you, I shall have to insist that you give it up."
"Oh, we'll never think it is too much," declared Polly with conviction, and the others echoed her.
So they all trooped out to Ellis. "We have the loveliest plan," Molly began eagerly.
"You can have all your time," put in Polly.
"I am so very pleased to be able to do something for you when you were so kind to me," said Mary earnestly.
Ellis looked bewildered.
"The girls propose to take care of your brother's little baby for a week, Ellis," Miss Ada explained.
"Oh, I can't let 'em do that," said Ellis bashfully.
"Oh, but we are just wild to," Polly assured him.
"Yes, we truly are," Molly insisted. "We adore babies. When can you bring her over, Ellis? Shall we keep her day and night, Aunt Ada, and may she sleep with me?"
"Oh, Ora's sister says she can take her at night," Ellis hastened to say. "She can't leave home very well, and she is too busy during the day to look out for her, for she has a lot of children, but none of them are little small babies; the youngest is three, and she says she doesn't mind having the baby at night."
"Then we'll arrange for the day only," said Miss Ada with decision; "that is when she would require your time, Ellis, and we are glad to help you out so you can take out the boat when you have the opportunity."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Ellis awkwardly. Like most of the "Pointers" he was unused to showing his gratitude. To his mind any display of appreciation was poor-spirited. He was too proud to let any one see that he felt under obligations and to say even as much as he did was an effort. Nevertheless, he trotted off feeling a great weight removed, and in half an hour was back again with the little four-months-old baby.
For that day, at least, the small Miss Myrtle Dixon was overwhelmed with attentions. Polly sat by when she slept, ready to pounce upon her and take her up at the slightest movement. Molly was on hand to urge a bottle of milk upon her if she so much as whimpered. Mary dangled be-ribboned trinkets before her the minute she opened her eyes, and they were all in danger of hurting her with overkindness.
The second day she was less of a novelty, though sufficiently entertaining for each of her three nurses to clamor for her.
"She is too dear for anything," said Molly ecstatically. "See her laugh, Mary, and flutter her little hands. She is to be my baby this morning. Let's go around the side of the house, where it is shady, and play. You can have the place under the porch for your house, Polly, and Mary can have the wood-shed. I'll take the cellar."
"Oh, but that will be too cold and damp for the baby," said Mary. "You take the wood-shed and I'll take the cellar," she added generously.
Molly agreed and presently baby was established in a crib made of the clothes-basket where she lay contentedly sucking her thumb. Mary, hugely enjoying herself, kept house in the cellar. She sat at the door in a rocking-chair which she rocked back and forth with a blissful expression on her face. If there was any American comfort which Mary did appreciate it was a rocking-chair. She had never seen one till she came to the United States, neither had she ever before made the acquaintance of chewing-gum. This was a luxury seldom allowed the little girls. "It is a disgusting habit," Miss Ada declared, "and I don't want you children to acquire it. Your mother, Mary, would be shocked if she saw you use it." But once in a while Uncle Dick slyly furnished each with a package and Miss Ada allowed them to have it, though protesting all the time to her brother. This special morning Uncle Dick had hidden a package under each of their breakfast plates, and it is needless to say that three pairs of jaws were working vigorously as they played house.
"I'm agoing to ask Aunt Ada if we may go barefoot," announced Molly; "it is plenty warm enough to-day."
Mary jumped up, tipping over her rocking-chair as she did so. "Oh, does she allow you to do that?" she cried. "I've always secretly longed to, but Miss Sharp is perfectly horrified when we ask her."
The other two looked at each other with a little smile, for it was not such a great while before this that Mary herself had been horrified at the suggestion.
"Aunt Ada doesn't care, if it is warm enough," Molly informed her. "I always go barefoot up here, if I feel like it and it isn't too cold. I'll go ask her now. Watch the baby for me, girls."
They promised to be faithful nurses while Molly went on her errand. She was gone some time and when she returned she was carefully bearing a plate of fresh doughnuts. "Which would you rather have, Polly," she cried, "doughnuts or chewing-gum? you can't have both, Aunt Ada says."
"Doughnuts," decided Polly without hesitation taking the chewing-gum from her mouth and slapping it securely against a stone in the foundation of the porch. "Don't they look good? So brown and sugary. I do think Luella makes the best doughnuts," and she helped herself to a specially fat, appetizing one.
"Which do you choose, Mary?" asked Molly.
Mary continued her rocking and chewing. "I'll keep the gum, thank you."
Molly laughed. "That is what Aunt Ada said you would do. And girls, we may take off our shoes and stockings. How's the baby, Polly?"
"Sound asleep."
"Good! Then I reckon we can leave her for a while, I do want to get my bare toes on the grass, don't you? Come on, Polly, and let's hunt for snakes."
"Snakes!" Mary jumped to her feet in horror. "Are there snakes here? Fancy!" She gathered her skirts about her and looked ready to fly.
"Why, yes. Do you mind them?" returned Molly calmly. "Polly and I love the little green grass snakes; they are perfectly harmless and are so pretty."
"Pretty? I could never imagine anything pretty about a snake," replied Mary, recoiling.
"My word! Molly, just fancy your talking so of a horrid snake."
Molly laughed at her horror. "They aren't poisonous, Mary."
"But the very idea of them is so loathsome."
"It isn't unless you make it so," put in Polly. "I like all kinds of little creatures so long as they don't bite or sting, and some of those, like bees, for example, I like, though I don't want them to get too near me. Of course when it comes to rattlesnakes or copperheads, or such, I am afraid of them, but these little grass snakes are different."
But Mary could not be persuaded to give up her prejudices and would none of the snakes, so they decided to gather buttercups, and wandered off among the soft grasses on the hilltop. But it was only when they saw Luella wildly waving the dish-cloth to attract their attention that they remembered the baby. Then they started toward the cottage post-haste, arriving there to find Miss Ada walking the floor with the baby and trying to still its cries.
"What is the matter with her?" cried Molly rushing in. "We thought she was sound asleep."
"Babies don't sleep forever," remarked Luella sarcastically. "Here, Miss Ada, I'm used to 'em. Let me see if there's a pin stickin' her anywhere; there's no knowin' what foolin' with her clothes these children have been doin'."
The children dared not protest against this charge while Miss Ada said: "Oh, I have looked and she seems all right," but she relinquished the baby into Luella's capable hands.
That young woman turned the screaming infant over, felt for an offending pin, turned her back again, and finally laid her across her knees and began to pat her on the back. "I guess she's got colic," she decided. "Molly, you just step up to Mis' Chris Fisher's and see if she's got a handful of catnip. She mostly does keep it, seein' she always has got a baby on hand. There, there, there," she tried to soothe the child on her knees. "Miss Ada, you'll either have to take her or see to them pies in the oven; I can't do both."
"Oh, I'll see to the pies," responded Miss Ada escaping to the kitchen.
Molly was already on her way to Mrs. Chris Fisher's. Polly vainly tried to attract the baby's attention by every means within her power. Mary stood by suggesting alternately mustard poultices and ginger tea, which suggestions Luella contemptuously put aside.
"I don't see what's the matter with her unless it is colic," she remarked. "She may be subject to it; I ain't heard say. I'll ask Ora next time I go out. When was she fed last?"
"Why, I don't know." The two little girls looked at each other. "Did you give her the bottle, Mary?" asked Polly.
"No," was the reply.
"Maybe Molly did. I reckon it was Molly; she was playing she was mother this morning, you know." Luella said nothing but continued the rocking movement of her knees till Molly came in, breathless, with the bunch of dried catnip.
"I suppose she's been fed regular," said Luella addressing Molly, "and you've took care to give her the milk warm."
"Oh, dear!" Molly stood still. "I forgot she had to be fed oftener than we are, and oh, Luella, I am afraid the last milk she took wasn't real warm."
"Then no wonder she's yellin' like mad," said Luella disgustedly. "You're a nice set to take care of a young un. Here, some of you hold her whilst I get her milk and give it to her right. If she ain't got colic from cold milk she's starvin'."
Molly meekly took charge of the screaming child who did not cease its crying till Luella, returning with the bottle of milk, thrust the rubber nipple into its mouth; then suddenly all was quiet. "Just what I thought; half starved," said Luella. "It looks as if I'd got to see to the youngster, if she stays here. Miss Ada's not much better than the rest of you. What does she know about babies? I guess Ellis can beat the best of you, after all, when it comes to 'tendin' babies."
The little girls felt properly abashed. Only the second day of the baby's stay and she had gone hungry for an hour, while the day before she had been overfed. It did not look as if their benevolent plan worked very well, and indeed, by the end of the week, Miss Ada decided that Miss Myrtle must return to her own. This was made easier by her grandmother's arrival upon the scene, and there were helpers enough to relieve Ellis for at least half the day. However the interest in Parker Dixon's family did not end at once.
The three cousins were having a tea on the rocks with their friend Grace Wharton. Luella had baked them some tiny biscuits and some wee ginger-snaps; they had made the fudge themselves, and as for the tea, the amount Miss Ada allowed them would not affect the nerves of any one of the four. There was plenty of hot water in the little brass tea-kettle, and an unlimited supply of milk and sugar. A big flat rock served as a table, and smaller ones gave them excellent seats.
They had just finished eating the last of the cakes and were nibbling the fudge when Polly, perched highest on the rocks, exclaimed: "There's Granville talking to Luella! I wonder what he is doing up here this time of day. They look real excited. There, Luella is going into the house. Now Aunt Ada has come out with her and they are all talking together. I believe I'll go up and see what it is all about. Don't eat up all the fudge."
"Hurry back then," Molly called after her. "Let's hide it, girls, and pretend when she comes back that we've eaten it all up."
"I'll hide it," said Grace. She ran down a little way below them and poked the remaining pieces of fudge into a crevice in the rock, and then returned to await Polly's return, who in a few minutes came running back. "Oh," she said, "I have something to tell you. Our poor little baby hasn't any father. He has been drowned."
"Oh, how dreadful!" Three pairs of startled eyes showed how this news affected the little tea-drinkers.
"Do tell us about it," said Molly setting down the cup from which she was draining the last sugary drop.
"I didn't hear all about it," Polly told them, "but I know he tried to save one of his shipmates and couldn't, and they were both drowned. Luella is going down to stay with Ora's children this afternoon. They haven't told Leona yet, and poor Ellis is perfectly distracted, Granville says. Isn't it sad, when Leona has been so ill and now this dreadful thing has happened?"
"I feel so very sorry for Ellis," remarked Mary.
"So do I," said Polly, "for the baby isn't big enough to know, and maybe Leona can get another husband, but Ellis can't get another brother."
They all agreed that this was a plain fact and sat quite solemnly looking off at the blue sea which had so cruelly swallowed up Parker.
At last Polly gave a long sigh, and she broke the silence by exclaiming, "There, you mean piggies, you ate up all the fudge!"
"You were gone so long," said Molly giving Grace a nudge.
"I don't care; you ought to have saved an extra piece for my bringing you such exciting news."
"But it was such sad news," said Grace turning away her head so Polly could not see her smile.
"If it is sad you needn't laugh about it," said Polly severely. "I believe you hid it!" she exclaimed suddenly.
"If you think so, look for it," said Molly. And Polly immediately set to work to search each one of the party, but could not find a crumb of fudge.
Then she seized Molly, playfully shaking her. "Tell me truly, did you eat it all?"
Amid her struggles to free herself, Molly confessed that they had not. "But, I can't find it," Polly persisted. "Do you know where it is, Molly?"
"No."
"Oh, Molly!" This from Grace.
"I don't exactly know. You hid it," said Molly.
"Then Grace Wharton, tell me." Polly loosed her hold upon Molly, and turned to Grace.
"No, the first that finds it can divide it and can have an extra piece."
In vain the three searched up and down the cliff. "Grace said she hid it between two rocks," announced Molly at last.
"Then she's just got to find it," said Polly. "Grace! Grace!" she called. And Grace responded by appearing on the rocks above them.
"You'll have to show us where you hid it."
On Grace's face was an expression of concern as she came swiftly clambering down to them. "Why, girls," she cried as she reached the spot where they stood, "I'm awfully afraid that—— Oh, dear, why didn't I remember about the tide; I'm afraid they're spoiled." She ran to a rock a little lower down.
"Look out or you'll get splashed," warned Molly. "There's a big wave coming in."
Grace sprang back to avoid the swash of water which poured over the rock at her feet; then she exclaimed ruefully: "If I wasn't sure before, I am now! The fudge is just under that rock, between those two small ones."
"Then it's simply all salty, if it isn't gone entirely," declared Molly. True enough when they examined the spot, during a lull in the inpour of waves, they discovered only a couple of water-soaked bits of fudge, fast melting away.
"Our joke didn't turn out very well," said Molly turning to Polly.
"Oh, never mind," returned Polly cheerfully, "it would all be eaten up and forgotten anyhow if I had not gone up to the house, so what's the difference?"
"I'll make some very soon," Grace assured her. "I'll do it to-night."
"Oh, no, don't mind," said Polly. "We've had enough for to-day. See, there is Aunt Ada coming down to us. She will tell us more about the Dixons."
Miss Ada came with a scheme to unfold. "I'm going over to Green Island," she told them, "and if I am not back in time for supper you children hunt around and get something for yourselves. Luella has gone to stay with Ora's family so Ora can be with Leona. She will need all the comfort she can get. We must try to help the poor girl, for her illness and all this will take everything they may have saved. Ellis is pitifully sad, but he says he means to support the family. Poor little chap, as if he could! I am going to try to arrange a bazaar or cake sale or something to help them; you children may help if you like."
"Oh, may we? How lovely!" cried Molly.
"I've helped at fairs," said Grace.
"And once I helped my aunt at a tea she gave the village children," said Mary.
"I'll do everything I can, though I never saw a fair or a bazaar," said Polly. "Tell us more about it, Aunt Ada."
"Tell her all you know, girls," said Aunt Ada. "I must go now. You will not be afraid to stay alone till I get back, will you?"
Her nieces assured her that they would not, and she left them in quite a state of excitement, for, sad as the occasion was, they could not help anticipating the pleasure of the bazaar. "We will have such a lovely time getting ready for the sale," said Molly. "We have had them here before, and they are lots of fun. I know what I am going to do. I'm going to the wood-pile and strip off a whole lot of birch bark to make things of."
"What kind of things?" asked Mary.
"Oh, all sorts of things; napkin rings and picture frames and boxes."
"Oh!" Mary was interested. She had never seen such things except those that the Indian peddlers brought around to the cottages, and never did one appear over the brow of the hill, bowed under the burden of his baskets, that she did not run for her purse, and by now had quite an array of gifts for her English friends. To add to these a supply of birch-bark souvenirs which she could make herself was a prospect truly delightful. "It is very convenient that a quarter is about the same as a shilling," she remarked, "but I can never remember that a penny is two cents; it seems as if an American penny should be the same as an English one."
"I should think you would be glad it isn't," said Polly, "for when you are counting at the rate of our pennies you have twice as many as you would have English ones."
"Well, I don't know," said Mary thoughtfully. "I had a whole pound when I reached here, and Uncle Dick had it changed into American money. I thought I had such a number of pennies and I found they were only cents, but then one can buy a great many things here for a cent that one would have to pay a penny for at home, especially sweets."
That evening she sat fingering her little hoard while Molly was busy preparing her birch bark. "I think I can do very nicely," announced Mary. "I shall have a dollar to spend at the bazaar. Oh, is that the way you do the napkin rings, Molly? Could I do some, do you think?"
"Of course you could," said Molly, encouragingly.
"I know what I am going to do," said Polly, jumping up; "I'm going to get some tiny pine trees to put into little birch-bark boxes; they will look so pretty. Come on, Molly, it isn't dark yet."
"Oh, but we mustn't get them now," replied Molly. "We must wait till the very last thing, so they will look as fresh as possible."
Polly stopped short. In her impetuous way she had forgotten this important point. "Oh, I never thought of that," she said. "Well, anyhow, we can make the boxes."
"I don't believe we can do those either," returned Molly, further dampening Polly's ardor. "We ought to have some small wooden boxes to tack or glue the bark on. We can try some little baskets with handles, and we can fill those with fudge or some kind of home-made candy."
"Oh, very well, we'll begin on those, then." And Polly sat down contentedly with the others to try her ingenuity. They became so absorbed in their work that they forgot all about supper, the more so that their afternoon tea had taken the edge from their appetites, and it was not till the maid from the Whartons came over for Grace, saying that her grandmother was wondering how much longer they must save her supper for her that they realized how late it was. Then Grace having scurried home, the three cousins searched about to see what was in the larder for themselves. They found plenty of bread and butter, ginger-snaps and stewed gooseberries, but not much else, so they sat down contentedly to this fare while the sunset turned from rose to purple and then to gray. It was late enough in the season for the evenings to become chilly after sundown, and Polly proposed that they should have an open fire. "We can sit around and tell stories," she said, "and we can go on with our work at the same time, so the time will pass very quickly till Aunt Ada comes back."
"I'll love that," declared Molly. "I think telling stories is the very nicest way of passing away the time."
"So do I," said Mary, "when I don't have to tell the stories. I never know anything interesting."
"Oh, but you do," protested Polly. "We like to hear about England, of how you have to take off your shoes and put on slippers in the schoolroom, of how you can't walk out without your governess or some one older and all about not having sweet potatoes nor corn, and of how tomatoes are grown under glass and all those ways that are so different from ours."
"But that isn't a real tale," objected Mary.
"Never mind, we like to hear it," said Molly. "What are you doing, Polly?"
"I am building the fire; there must be a whole lot of light stuff to set it going."
"That looks like a good deal," said Molly doubtfully regarding the pile of bark, shaving and light wood that Polly was stowing in the fireplace.
"It will kindle all the quicker," returned Polly in a satisfied voice, touching the kindling with a lighted match. In an instant not only was the light stuff all ablaze, but the flames, leaping out, caught the white apron which Polly had put on, half in sport, when they were getting their supper. It was one of her Aunt Ada's and reached to Polly's ankles, so that she seemed enveloped in flames. She shrieked, but stood still. Quick as a flash Mary caught up the pitcher of water standing on the table and dashed it over her cousin, then she grabbed her and threw her on the floor, snatching up the rug from the floor before doing so, thus protecting herself, and at the same time providing a means of putting out the fire which she did by rolling Polly in the rug.
Molly was perfectly helpless with fright and all she could do was to wring her hands and cry, "Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, Polly, Polly!"
Just as the fire was all crushed out, the door opened and in walked their Uncle Dick. Molly rushed to him. Throwing herself in his arms, she cried: "Oh, Polly is burning up! Save her! Save her!"
"What is all this?" said Dick springing forward.
Mary arose from where she was kneeling over Polly. "I think it is all out now," she said.
Polly unwound herself from her mummy-like case. "Are you badly hurt?" her uncle asked anxiously.
"No," she said with a sobbing breath; "only my legs hurt me."
"How did it all happen?" said her uncle, picking her up and setting her in a chair.
"We were kindling the fire," explained Mary, "and Polly's apron caught."
"And Mary saved her life," sobbed Molly completely unnerved. "She threw water on her, and rolled her in the rug."
"That is what my governess said we should do in such cases," said Mary quietly, though her face was twitching. "I never loved Miss Sharp before," she added with a little laugh.
"You certainly did save Polly's life," said her uncle as he examined Polly's clothing. "Fortunately she has on a woolen frock and has been only slightly scorched about the legs. The fire evidently did not reach her bare flesh. You didn't breathe the flames, did you, Polly, for I see the fire did not go above your waist."
"I am sure I didn't breathe any flames," Polly assured him. "Mary was so quick. She saw at once that I had caught fire and she threw the water over me right away, but oh, Uncle Dick, I may not be burned badly, but it does hurt." And she buried her face on her uncle's shoulder to hide her tears.
"Poor little girl, I know it hurts," he said. "Get some salad oil, Molly, and some baking soda; then see if you can find an old handkerchief or two and some raw cotton. We must try to ease this wounded soldier. How did you children happen to be here alone?"
Mary explained, her uncle listening attentively. "I wish I had known it," he said; "I would not have stayed to supper with the boys. We came in on the Gawthrops' yacht about supper-time and they persuaded me to stay, but somehow I felt that I ought to get home soon after. You children must not be left alone again."
"I'll never try to kindle another fire," said Polly woefully. "Molly said I was putting on too much light stuff and it just leaped out like a tiger to bite me."
Molly had returned with the oil and other things by this time, and soon Polly was made as comfortable as her hurts would allow, but it was some days before she could run about, and if there was anything lacking in her affection for her English cousin before this, now it was that she could not bear her out of sight, for Mary, by her coolness and capable help, had proved herself a heroine to be loved and admired.
Although this scare was the important topic with the family for some time, the scheme for helping the distressed Dixon family went forward rapidly and the next week when Polly's burns gave her no more uneasiness, the bazaar was held. There was no prettier table the length of the room than that at which Miss Ada presided, assisted by her three little nieces. Their Uncle Dick had cleverly helped them with the decorations as well as with their birch bark boxes in which were planted the little pine trees. These were so much admired that not one was left after the sale, and Mary had to bespeak some to be made for her to carry home. Some little packages of fudge and home-made candies went off rapidly, and of Luella's famous doughnuts not one was left.
It was at the end of the sale when the biggest, finest cake was yet waiting a buyer that Polly had a whispered talk with her Uncle Dick and afterward stood in front of the cake table holding fast to her purse. The cake in all the deliciousness of nut-spotted icing and rich interior, was delivered to her when she paid over the amount asked for it. Taking the treasure in her hands she bore it over to where Mary was helping her aunt count up the money they had taken in. Polly set the cake on the table before Mary. "There," she said, "it is all yours."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Mary. "Who said so?"
"I say so. I bought it for you because you said it looked so perfectly delicious."
Mary was quite overcome by Polly's generosity, but she understood the motive, and accepted the cake graciously, promising to divide it with the family. It certainly was a delicious cake, and Polly really enjoyed her share of it, feeling that in this instance she could have her cake and eat it.
"Over a hundred dollars! I can scarcely believe it," said Miss Ada when all the receipts were in. But so it was, and so did little Ellis Dixon have his burdens lifted, for a hundred dollars will go a long way when fish can be had for the catching, and when one has his own potato patch.