Of all the things which most amused the three little girls and their friend, Grace, they enjoyed dressing up at dusk, and, in their queer costumes, going around from cottage to cottage to call. Uncle Dick was very clever in painting their faces so that they appeared as birds with owl-like eyes and beaks or as cats, rabbits or some other animal. At other times they were Indians in war paint and feathers; again they were Egyptians or Chinese and dressed to suit the character.
"What shall we do this evening?" said Polly one day when the question of the evening's fun was being talked over. "We want to go to Mrs. Phillips's this time because she gives us such good cakes."
"It's pretty far," said Molly doubtfully. "It is almost to the village, and there are some rough boys down that way. I don't mind going to Mrs. Phillips's in the morning, but if we should happen to get caught there after the sun goes down I shouldn't like it."
"We needn't get caught late," Polly protested, "besides, it is so much more mysterious to go around when it is a little bit duskish. It isn't as if any one of us would be alone; there will be four and nobody around here would do anything to hurt us, anyhow."
"No, I don't suppose any one really would," Molly returned weakly, her objections over-ruled. And therefore when the cottages began to loom darkly against the evening sky, the four little girls sallied forth, draped in white sheets, and made their way over the hilltop to the road beyond. They had usually confined their visits to their acquaintances in the immediate neighborhood, so their aunt did not trouble herself to inquire where they were going that evening, otherwise she might have forbidden the walk they had in mind.
"Don't they look like four dear little Arabs?" said Miss Ada to her brother. "They make a perfect picture as they go over the hill in the evening light. How much they enjoy these little frolics." She turned from watching the white-sheeted four who soon disappeared down the road.
It was great fun, thought the girls, to call upon their various friends and pretend they were foreigners who did not understand the language of those whom they were visiting; yet they understood enough to accept refreshments offered them, and managed to say, "thank you" and "good-bye."
It was after they had been regaled upon cakes and lemonade at Mrs. Phillips's that the moment came which Molly had been dreading. The shadows had deepened and the stars were trying to come out, while a little light still lingered in the western sky. "We'd better not take the short cut," said Molly. "It is so rough that way, and it is muddy in places; we'll go around by the road." The lights were twinkling out from the fishermen's homes and from the vessels anchored in the cove. There were not many persons on the road, and the four little girls hastened their steps.
Presently a shout, then the bark of a dog arose from behind them, and in another minute they were surrounded by a crowd of jeering boys and barking dogs. "Yaw! Yaw! Yaw!" shouted the boys. "Sic 'em, Sailor! Sick 'em, Towser!" The dogs nipped at the retreating heels and the boys twitched the flowing robes of the four Arabs.
"Oh, let us alone! Let us alone!" shrieked Molly.
"Who be ye?" cried one of the boys peering into their faces.
"What ye doin' dressed up this here way?" said another. The paint upon their faces so disguised them that they were not recognized by any of the boys, if, indeed, any knew them.
"They ain't none o' our folks," said another boy, trying to jerk off Polly's head covering.
She turned on him fiercely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," she cried. "How would you like any one to treat your sisters so?"
"How'd you like any one to treat your sisters so?" mimicked the boy in a piping voice. "I ain't got no sister, and if I had she wouldn't be traipsin' 'round the P'int in circus clothes."
Wrenching herself from the boy's grasp, Polly started to run, the other girls following. One boy thrust out his foot tripping Grace who fell sprawling in the dusty road. Her companions stopped in their flight to come to her rescue. "Oh, you bad, bad boys," cried Molly indignantly. "If I don't tell Cap'n Dave on you."
"We ain't feared o' Cap'n Dave," was the scoffing reply.
The girls picked up the weeping Grace. "Are you hurt?" they whispered.
"I don't know," whimpered Grace. "Oh, how can we get home? I want to go home."
Her weeping caused cessation in hostilities for a moment, but as soon as the four figures started forward they were again surrounded and the teasing recommenced.
But just as the girls were in despair of ever escaping from their tormentors, another boy came up. "What's up?" he asked.
"Oh, nawthin'," replied one of the boys laughing. "We cal'late to keep furriners away from the P'int, and these here ain't dressed like Amur'cans."
"Who are they?" The boy bent over to peer into Molly's face. She gave a joyful cry. "Oh, Ellis, Ellis, save us from them. They won't let us go home."
The newcomer turned. "Say, you fellows," he said. "You'd ought to be ashamed. These here is friends of mine. If any of you fellows touches one of 'em, I'll pitch into him like sin. Don't you know who they are? They're the little gals up to the Reid cottage, that's been so good to us, nursing the baby and gettin' up that fair and all that."
The boys slunk away. "We didn't know it was them," the largest one said. "Why didn't they say so? We thought it was that crowd of sassy youngsters over by Back Landing; they're always so fresh. One of 'em sneaked off with Dan's boat yesterday and we wanted to pay 'em back."
"I'm awful sorry we scared you," said another boy, coming up. "Was you hurt, sissy, when you fell down?"
"Oh, no, not so very much," replied Grace, ceasing her sobbing.
"We'll see you home safe," said one of the boys. "Come on, fellers. Lem, go get a lantern; we're nearest your house."
Lem ran obediently and in a few minutes returned with the big lantern in his hand. He stalked on ahead, the others trooping after, the dogs at the heels of their masters. All the way they escorted the little girls, Ellis not ceasing to voice his indignation, nor the boys to explain and excuse themselves, and it is needless to say that it was a relief to all concerned when the wandering Arabs were safe within their own dwellings.
In spite of the outcome of their adventure, the girls did not care to repeat it and never again wanted to go beyond the cottages in their own immediate vicinity. Yet, unpleasant as the experience was, it resulted in more than one effort on the part of the gang of boys to make up for their ill behavior. The very next morning after the affair, Polly, who was the first down-stairs, saw a tall boy coming toward the cottage and went out on the porch to meet him.
"You one of the little gals that was down the road last night?" he asked as he came up. "One of them that was dressed up?"
Polly nodded. "Yes, I was there."
"Us boys didn't know you lived here. We wouldn't have hurt a hair of your head if we had knowed who you was." Then he added somewhat shamefacedly, "I fetched ye a salmon. Maybe ye ain't never see a salmon jest out of the water. They're pretty-colored, ain't they?" And he held up to view the glistening pink fish.
"Oh, how beautiful it is. It seems too pretty to catch, doesn't it?" said Polly bending over to examine the fish the boy laid on the grass.
He stared at her, not quite comprehending how any one could think any fish too pretty to be caught. "They're awful good eatin'," he went on to say, "but they don't often come in here."
"How did you happen to get this one?" asked Polly.
"It was in my father's pound this morning, and I begged him for it. Shall I take it into the kitchen for you?" he added hastily.
"Oh, do you mean to give it to us? How very good you are," said Polly appreciatively.
The boy gave a short laugh. "I wasn't very good last night, was I?" he said, and Polly understood that this was a peace-offering.
That afternoon two younger lads were seen hanging around the house bearing a mysterious something done up in a newspaper. "What in conscience do them boys want?" said Luella, looking out of the kitchen window. "It's Billy Laws and Horeb Potter. What are they peekin' around here for I want to know." One of the boys now advanced toward the house, but at the appearance of Miss Ada on the porch, he took to his heels, and lurked in the distance where his companion was uneasily waiting.
Luella went out to Miss Ada. "Them boys has got some errant here," she said, "but they won't come in whilst they see you on the piazza." Miss Ada reëntered the house. The three little girls peeped from the windows, looking out from behind the blinds. In a few minutes the boys came stealthily forth, tiptoed toward the house, halted fearfully, took a few steps back, came on more quickly. He who bore the newspaper package was suddenly pushed violently forward by the other and came on with a trot, bolted into the kitchen, laid the package on the table before Luella and exclaimed hastily: "It's for the little gals!" then he took to his heels, not stopping till he was clear out of sight.
Luella came laughing into the living-room. "Here's another present," she announced. "You open it, Miss Ada."
"What can it be?" exclaimed the children, gathering around their aunt who untied the string of the damp parcel, unwrapped it and disclosed to view a huge lobster, fiery red, and still warm from recent boiling.
"Isn't he a monster?" exclaimed Miss Ada. "I don't believe I ever saw a larger. We'll have him for supper, Luella. I hope you took half the salmon to Mrs. Wharton, for we couldn't eat that and this, too. Children, you will have to invite Grace over to have her share. I suppose some of it is due to her anyhow."
"She ought to have it all," said Polly, "for she was the only one who was hurt."
"I'm afraid she'd suffer more still if she attempted to devour this entire lobster," laughed Miss Ada. "We'd better spare her little turn, Polly, and help her eat this."
It was after such of the lobster as they could eat had been disposed of, and the children with no desire for long wanderings, were safely gathered around the fire, that a tap was heard at the door. Uncle Dick arose to open it and received into his hands a large cold jar, while a small lad piped out: "Jerry sent this to the little gals. They'll keep." And then the figure vanished into the darkness.
"I don't know who Jerry is, nor what 'this' is," said Uncle Dick, bearing in the glass jar and setting it on the table. "It's for the 'little gals' I was told. Great Caesar! It's clams, carefully shelled. See here, Ada, we won't have to buy any more provender this season at this rate. When we get short of provisions we can send out our Arabs on the road, for behold the result of their evening's migrations."
Every one laughed at this latest gift, and it was set away for the next day's use. But the end was not yet. On the door sill the next morning was discovered a splint basket. To the handle was tied a scrap of paper on which was awkwardly written: "To the little gals." Molly was the finder of this. "Hurry down all of you!" she called to the others. "There is a present."
"Another one?" said Polly over the baluster. "What is it?"
"I haven't looked," was the reply.
The other children, joined by Miss Ada, came down as soon as possible, their curiosity excited. Molly lifted the wet seaweed covering the contents of the basket and they saw a pile of shining little mackerel.
"Tinkers!" cried Miss Ada. "What a nice lot of them! Oh, and there are some butter-fish, too. They are all cleaned beautifully, and we must have some for breakfast; it will take only a few minutes to cook them. Yon children can run over to Grace with her share."
This the little girls were glad to do, but returned with their platter full explaining that smaller lot had been left at the Whartons'.
But two more conscience offerings were received after this. Four thick braids of sweet grass were found hanging on the door-knob, and, during the day a man delivered a mysterious box slatted across one end. This was found to contain a beautiful kitten of the variety called "Coon." The children were wild over this last gift, the only drawback to their delight being the difficulty of deciding which one should take it home. Their Aunt Ada came to the rescue by telling them not to bother about it till the time came and then to let circumstances settle it. Her own little cat, Cosey, was not inclined to favor the intruder at first, but in a few days she began to mother it and they soon became good friends.
"Are you glad that the boys scared us that night?" asked Polly one day not long after the "day of gifts" as the children called it.
Molly weighed the subject. "When I think of the dear kitten and the salmon and the tinkers."
"And the lobster."
"Yes, and the sweet grass, then I am, but when I think of how dreadfully frightened we were, I'm not."
"I don't intend to remember the scare," said Polly philosophically.
"Neither do I," added Mary. "I'd be an Arab again for the sake of finding out how really good-hearted those boys are," which showed that Mary had a good heart, too.
The green grass of June had turned to russet; the bay berry bushes began to look dingy, and the waxy cranberries in the bog were turning to a delicate pink. It had been a dry season and the children could safely traverse the bog from end to end without danger of getting their feet wet. Ellis was their pilot to this fascinating spot, and the day of their introduction to it was one long to be remembered.
It was one morning when Ellis came around to the back door to deliver clams that they first heard of the bog. He added to the weekly order a little bag of pinky-white cranberries. "I thought maybe you'd like 'em," he said. "Miss Alice Harvey says they're much better when they're not quite ripe. Ora tried some and they were fine, but they took a lot of sugar."
"Thank you for remembering us," said Miss Ada as she received the offering. "How much, Ellis?"
"Nawthin'. They're easy to pick and there's plenty of 'em," he made reply.
Miss Ada accepted the gift in the spirit in which it was intended. "I'm sure we shall enjoy them," she declared. "Where is the bog, Ellis? Is it very wet there?"
"'Tain't wet at all this year. This has been such a dry season. It's down back of Cap'n Orrin's barn."
"Oh, is that the place?" Molly was peeping over her aunt's shoulder. "I've always longed to go there but I was afraid it was all sloppy and marshy; some one said it was."
"Would you like me to go there with you?" said Ellis bashfully. "I know where the cranberries grow, and there's lots of other things down there, the kind you city people like to get, weeds, we call 'em."
"Oh, may we go?" Molly appealed to her aunt.
"Why yes, I have no objection. It is perfectly safe if it's not wet. I suppose you may encounter a garter snake or two, but you don't mind them, Molly."
"Wait for us, Ellis," said the little girl speeding away for her cousins with whom she returned in a moment. All three were breathlessly eager to start on the voyage of discovery, for with Ellis as leader, into what regions of the unknown might they not penetrate.
Over the hill they went, leaving Cap'n Orrin's mild-eyed cows gazing after them ruminatively as they crept under the fence which separated the pasture from the wild bottom land at the foot of the hill. On the other side arose the ridge along which were ranged cottages looking both coveward and seaward. A winding path led past runty little apple trees and huge boulders, and finally was lost in the tangle of growth overspreading the marsh.
"It is dry enough now," said Mary exultantly, setting her foot on a tuft of dry grass. "Where are the cranberries, Ellis? I want to see those first."
"You are standing right over some," he said smiling.
Mary looked down, but only a mass of weeds and grass greeted her eyes. "I don't see them," she declared.
Ellis laughed, bent over and parted the grass to disclose the delicate wreaths of green, and the pretty smooth cranberries, tucked away in the dry grass.
"As if they were afraid of being picked," remarked Mary. "You will not escape me that way." And down on her knees she went in search of the pink fruit.
Molly meanwhile had gone further afield, and was gathering flowers strange to her, and grasses as lovely as the blossoms. Earlier in the season, she had delighted in the rosy plumes of the hard-hack, the sweet pinky-white clover, the wild partridge peas, but here were new acquaintances which were not to be found outside the marsh, and upon them she pounced eagerly.
It was Polly, however, who discovered the Roseberry family, for Polly, who had spent her life far from cities, had developed her imagination, and could fashion from unpromising material the most fascinating things, and though she, too, picked her share of cranberries, she also gathered a lot of roseberries which she declared were the biggest she had ever seen. These she bore away in triumph, while Molly carried her bouquet with a satisfied air and Mary was quite content with having the largest showing of cranberries. So they returned, well pleased, to the cottage.
"We had the splendidest morning," said Molly, setting her flowers in a large vase. "I never knew that bogs could be so perfectly fine. What are you doing, Polly?"
Polly was seated on the floor industriously picking off her roseberries from the twigs. "Wait and you will see," was her answer. "Do get me some pins, Molly, a whole lot. Aunt Ada will give you some."
Molly's curiosity being aroused, she rushed off to her aunt, returning with a paper of pins. She squatted down on the floor by Polly's side. Mary, meanwhile, had gone to the kitchen to superintend Luella's cooking of the cranberries. Polly stuck a pin in one side of the biggest, fattest roseberry, then another in the other side. "This is Mr. Roseberry," she said, "and these are his two arms. Now his head goes on, and then his legs. I use the pins, you see, because you can bend them so as to make the people sit down." She held up the completed mannikin. "Now I must pick out some berries for Mrs. Roseberry, and then I'll make the children."
"Polly, you are so ridiculous," said Molly in a tone of admiration, "but do you know, they are awfully funny with their little round heads and bodies." Polly worked away industriously till she had completed her entire family. "Now what?" said Molly. "What in the world is that?"
"It is a lamp," returned Polly, deftly fitting a base to her red globe. "Now, if I had some pasteboard I could make some furniture, and we'd play with the Roseberry family this afternoon."
"Dinner is nearly ready now," said Molly, "but it will be fun to play with them this afternoon. We could have two or three families. What can I name mine?" She watched Polly interestedly as she put the last touch to a vase in which she stuck a bit of green.
"You might call them Pod," said Polly. "These are really the seed pods of the wild roses, you know. They are like little apples, aren't they?"
"Oh, I'll call them Appleby," said Molly.
"We know some people named that. Save that tiny one for the baby, Polly."
"The cranberries are perfectly delicious," said Mary, coming in from the kitchen, "but they have to cool before we can eat them. Luella says they take so much sugar that they will keep perfectly for me to take some home. Oh, what curious little figures."
"This is the Roseberry family," Polly told her, indicating the dolls on the right, "and these," she pointed to those on her left, "these are the Applebys."
"You must have some, too, Mary," said Molly. "What shall you call yours?"
Mary had picked up one of the little figures. "Why, they are made of hips, aren't they?"
"What are hips?" asked Molly.
"That is what we call the berries of the briar-rose, and in England the hawthorn berries are haws."
"Hips and haws," sang Molly. "Don't they go nicely together? Shall you call your people Mr. and Mrs. Hips?"
"Why, yes, I can. I think that would be a very good name. Are we going to play with them?"
"After dinner we are, if Polly can find anything to make furniture of."
Polly's ingenuity did not fail her here, for, by the use of some match ends, birch bark and a needle and thread she contrived all sorts of things and then each girl hunted up a box for a house, so that these new playthings proved to be very fascinating.
But at last the every-day commonplaces grew too dull for Polly, and she suddenly exclaimed: "I'm tired of just visiting and talking about measles and nurses and mustard plasters! I'm going to take the Roseberry family down to the shore. They're going to have an adventure."
"Oh, Polly, what? Can ours go, too?" cried Molly. "I would like to have the Applebys meet an adventure, too."
"And I'd like Mr. and Mrs. Hips to have one," echoed Mary.
"Are they very wicked, black-hearted people?" asked Polly, darkly.
"Why—why——" Mary hesitated and looked to Molly for her cue.
"Do they have to be wicked to have an adventure?" asked Molly.
"If they join the Roseberries, they'll have to be, for the Roseberries are wreckers and smugglers." Polly spoke impressively, and at this flight of fancy Molly and Mary gazed at her admiringly. Yet they were not quite willing that their families should give up their morals to too great an extent.
"What do they have to do?" asked Mary, determined to find out the worst.
"Mine have a cave," said Polly, mysteriously. "It is on an island—I know what island I am going to have—and there they hide their treasures. They are counterfeiters, too," she added to their list of crimes, "and they have chests of counterfeit money—sand dollars."
Molly laughed and Polly looked at her reproachfully. "It is as good as any other counterfeit money," she remarked.
"Never mind the money. Go on, Polly." Molly was enjoying her cousin's inventions.
"Well, they go out in a boat on stormy nights and when a vessel is in distress, instead of helping, they don't do anything but just wait till the vessel is wrecked and then they help themselves, to what they can get. They have, oh, such a store of diamonds and rubies and precious stones in their cave, and they have their own vessel that flies a black flag."
"Then they're pirates," said Mary recoiling. "I don't want the Hips to be pirates."
"They don't have to be," Polly calmly assured her. "They can be as good as they want to, and can be on one of the vessels that gets wrecked."
"Then they'll all get drowned."
"No, they needn't; they can cling to a raft and go ashore on some desert island."
Having saved the lives as well as the reputations of the Hips family, although they would probably lose everything else, Mary was satisfied, but Molly was ready to compromise. A little spice of wickedness seemed necessary to make her Applebys interesting. "My family can be smugglers," she announced, "but I don't want them to be pirates and I don't want them wrecked either. Smugglers aren't so wicked as pirates; they only bring in things that you ought to pay duty on, Uncle Dick told me, and Mary's father told her that in England almost everything comes in free, and that the United States is as mean as can be about making people pay for what is brought into the country. A lady, Molly saw on the steamer when they came over, had an awful time about a shabby old sealskin coat she'd had for years, and just because she wore it ashore from the steamer, they made an awful fuss about it."
"Well, I don't understand about it, but if the United States said it was wrong, of course it must have been; they are always right," said Polly loyally. "I don't exactly know about smuggling," she confessed, "however, the Roseberries are going to be smugglers."
"Uncle Dick was telling us about smugglers the other night."
"Yes, I know, that is what made me think of it. He showed me the island where there used to be a smuggler's cave."
"I remember it; we saw it when we were out sailing one day."
"We must build a birch bark ship for the Hips family," said Polly, changing the subject. "Your Applebys can live on my island and if they don't want to associate with the Roseberries they can have a cave to themselves."
"Roseberry is such a nice pleasant name for wicked people," remarked Mary. "Why don't you call them something else?"
"Nobody ever does call them that," returned Polly readily. "The father is the leader of the gang, and he is Bold Ben. His three sons are One-eyed Peter, Crooked Tom, and Sly Sam. They call his wife Old Mag, and then there are two cousins, twins; they are Smiling Steve and Grinning Jim."
"Oh, Polly, how do you think of such names?" said Molly delightedly. "What does Old Mag do?"
"She pulls in things from the wreck and she cooks the meals. Then, when the men are all away smuggling, she sits in the cave and spends her time looking at the jewels and letting them drip through her fingers."
"Jewels can't drip," observed Mary in a matter-of-fact way.
"Well, they look as if they could," returned Polly. "The diamonds are like drops of water, the pearls like milk and the rubies like blood."
"I know where you found that," said Molly; "in the fairy tale we were reading the other day."
Polly admitted the fact and the ship being now ready to launch, they proceeded to the shore where Polly pointed out the island. This was a large rock, nearly covered at high tide, but now showing quite a surface above the water. Its rugged sides held caves quite large enough for persons of such size as the Roseberry family, and they were presently hidden behind their barnacled barriers. In a little pool the Hips family were set afloat while the Applebys contented themselves with gathering stores of supposed precious stones from the little beach.
The Hips family had hardly set sail before Polly invoked a storm and stirred to monster waves the waters in their pool, so they were in great danger. "Oh, dear, the youngest Hips is floating away and I can't save him," cried Mary.
"Never mind, let him go; there are plenty more of them," returned Polly heartlessly banging her stick up and down in the water so the ship would rock more violently. "They've got to be wrecked, you know," she added. "I'll drive them on that rock, then you can grab them before they sink and get them on the raft."
Mary managed to rescue all but one more of the family, and these were set adrift on a piece of birch bark to which Polly tied a string that they might not go beyond return. She also allowed the storm to cease, but this was because the gang of wreckers had to haul up the ship and gather in their plunder. She kept up so lively an account of their doings that Molly left the Applebys to their own devices and Mary drew the Hipses to shore that she might listen to Polly's blood-curdling account of Bold Ben and the rest. Polly did not have to draw altogether from her imagination, for her brothers had been too often her playmates for her not to be ready with tales of plunder and adventure.
Time passed very quickly and the children became so absorbed in the manoeuvres of the gang that they did not notice the stealthy rise of the tide till Mary exclaimed, "Oh, the Hipses have floated off and they were quite high on the beach!"
Polly looked around her. "No wonder," she said; "the tide is rising. We'd better start back." Leaving Bold Ben and his comrades to their fate, she ran to the further side of the rock, but here she hesitated. The sea was steadily making in, sending little cascades over the weed-covered ledges each time it retreated.
"Can't you get across?" asked Molly, as she came up with her Applebys, and saw Polly standing still.
"I'm almost afraid to jump," said Polly, "for if a big wave should come in suddenly it might wash in over my feet and the sea-weed is so slippery I'm afraid to trust to it, where it is shallower." Molly looked up at the rocky shelf jutting out above her. "If we could only get up there," she said.
"But we can't; it is too far to climb to that first jutty-out place, and we can't crawl under and then up, like flies."
Mary bearing the sole survivor of the unfortunate Hips family now came up. "I had to let the rest go," she said. "They were beyond reach. I fished this one out of the water just in time. What is the matter? Why don't you go on, Polly?"
For answer Polly pointed silently to the creeping waves at her feet.
"What are we going to do?" asked Mary in alarm.
"Stay here till the tide goes down, I suppose. This rock is never covered," said Molly.
"But we may get dreadfully splashed," returned Mary.
"I hadn't thought of that," said Polly dubiously. She looked at the rock above her, and then at her two cousins. "Which of you two could stand on my shoulders and get hold of that rock so as to draw herself up and go for help?"
"Oh, I never could do it in the world," said Mary, shrinking back.
Polly turned to Molly. "Could you?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't pull myself up so far, but I could stand and let you get on my shoulders, if you could do the pulling up part."
"I could do that easily enough," Polly told her. "I've often practiced it with the boys, and we have swung ourselves up the rocks in the mountains out home. Are you sure you can bear my weight, Molly?"
"I can try."
"We'll both do it," Mary offered. "You can put one foot on my shoulder and one on Molly's, then you won't be so heavy for either one."
"All right. Steady yourselves. Here goes." And in a moment Polly had clambered to the supporting shoulders, had caught hold of the jutting rock and had drawn herself up. As she gained her feet and sped away crying: "I'll be right back," Molly breathed a sigh of relief. "I was so afraid a piece of the rock would split off and she'd fall," she confessed to Mary.
It took but a little time to bring Uncle Dick and one of his friends who swung themselves down easily and set the two stranded children upon a safe spot, none too soon, for a big wave almost immediately sent a shower of salt spray over the rock where they had been standing.
"You would have been drenched to the skin," said Uncle Dick as he led the way to the house, while, left to their fate, the wicked Roseberries perished miserably.
By the middle of September the cottages on the Point were nearly all deserted, though the Reids lingered on, to the children's satisfaction.
"Oh, dear, I don't want to go back to school, to horrid old examples and things, although I do want to see my dear Miss Isabel," said Molly, one morning just before the close of their stay.
"I don't want to see Miss Sharp, I can tell you that, but I do want to see mother and Reggie and Gwen," said Mary.
"I hate to leave you all," Polly put in, "though I shall be glad to see mamma and papa and the boys. I'll like to see the ponies too, and the mountains and everything, but I do wish you girls were going with me." She really had fewer regrets than her cousins for Polly loved the freedom of the west, and the miles between seemed very long to the little girl who had seen neither father, mother nor brothers for three months. To Mary the delights of unlimited supplies of sweet potatoes and corn, bountiful plates of ice-cream, freedom from the vigilance of a strict governess, and the range of fields and woods, where one need not fear of trespassing, and which were not enclosed by high walls, all these compensated much for her separation from her family.
The time for her leave-taking of America was drawing near, however, for her father wrote that they would probably sail about the first of October, and Uncle Dick would take Polly home about the same time. Aunt Ada, too, had promised to go to Colorado for a visit so Polly felt that she had anticipations the others did not have.
"I wish we could all go to Polly's; that's what I wish," declared Molly. "I wish my father and mother and Mary and Miss Ainslee were all going."
"I speak for Miss Ainslee to sit with me," said Uncle Dick coming up with an open letter in his hand. He handed a second letter to Molly. "Can you read it?" he asked.
"Of course I can," returned Molly indignantly. Then she added, "Mamma always writes to me on papa's typewriter."
Her uncle laughed, though Molly could not see why.
"You'd better read every word in it," he remarked, "for there is big news there for a young woman of your size."
Molly hastily tore open the envelope and began to read. She had not finished the page, however, before she cried out: "News! News! I should think it was news. What do you think, Mary? What do you think, Polly?"
"Can't imagine," said Polly. Then as a second thought occurred to her, "Oh, is your mother going to let you go home with me? I know my mother has asked to have you, for I wrote to her to beg that you could come."
Molly shook her head. "No, it's east instead of west, Polly. Mother and I are going to England with Mary and Uncle Arthur."
"Oh!" Mary jumped to her feet and clasped her hand ecstatically. "Oh, Molly, I am so glad. Aren't you?"
"Yes, I am except for one thing; I know I shall be scared to death of Miss Sharp. Is she really so very, very strict?"
"My word! but you'd think so. Fancy never being allowed to run, nor to climb nor to do anything one really likes to do, and, oh, Molly, I wonder will you eat your meals in the nursery with us children. There's nasty rice pudding twice a week, you know, and there are never hot rolls nor biscuits for breakfast as you have here, then we do have horribly cold houses in winter."
"Oh!" Molly looked quite disturbed by this report. But presently her face again broke into smiles. "But then, to see England and to be with you, Mary. We shall go up to London in the spring and we shall spend the winter in Cornwall or Devon, where it is not so very cold, mother says."
"Oh, we are to be in the country, then," said Mary. "I'm glad of that. Papa thought we should take our country home again this winter; we were not there last year."
"It's so funny to go to the country for winter and the city for summer," remarked Polly. "We do just the opposite."
"Oh, but we like the country in winter," Mary explained. "It's jolly good sport to be there then. We have a proper little pony of our own, you know, and we really have quite good times." Polly laughed. "It is so funny to hear Mary say a 'proper' pony. We would say a real pony, wouldn't we?"
"I shall be corrected a great many times for the American things I have learned to say," said Mary. "I've no doubt but that Miss Sharp will be continually coming down on me for saying them. She is a sharp one, true enough. I'll have to watch myself."
"She needn't try to correct me," Molly put in.
"Oh, but you are an American," Mary hastened to reassure her, "and you'll do just as your mother bids you, of course."
This relieved the situation for Molly. The prospect of frequent drives behind the "proper little pony," and the pleasure of a real English Christmas, which Mary had described in glowing colors, cheered her up, and she stated that she thought she could stand Miss Sharp as long as her own mother would always be on hand to refer to.
As the three were talking it all over, Uncle Dick appeared at the door. "Well, Mollykins," he said, "how do you like your news?"
"Oh, do you know it, too?" she said, running up to him. "I like it very much, but I wish you and Aunt Ada and Polly were going, too."
"That would be too many at once," he returned. "Go in and see your Aunt Ada; she has something to tell you."
"Who is it about?" asked Molly.
Uncle Dick walked down the porch steps. "It concerns me very much," he said over his shoulder.
"Concerns him? Do you suppose he is going to England, too?" said Mary.
"Let's go and find out," returned Molly. And the three ran indoors to where Miss Ada sat.
"Well, kitties," she said as they came in, "there is a lot of news to-day, isn't there?"
"Yes, isn't it fine that mother and I are going to England? That is what you meant, isn't it?"
"Not all."
"Uncle Dick said you had something to tell us," said Polly.
"So I have. It concerns Polly more than any of you, though it might concern Molly if she were not going abroad."
"That sounds like a puzzle," laughed Polly. "But Uncle Dick said it concerned him."
"The silly boy!" Miss Ada drew down the corners of her mouth. "No doubt he'll make it his concern. Why Polly, it is this: Mr. Perkins, your tutor, has had a good offer in Denver and as he is so well and strong now he thinks he must accept it, and as Walter is old enough to go away to school, your father and mother thought a man was not needed to teach you and the others, so you are to have a new teacher. Guess who it is to be?"
"Oh, I can't. Tell me." Polly was all eagerness.
"Miss Ainslee."
"Not my Miss Ainslee?" cried Molly in surprise.
"Your Miss Ainslee."
"Oh, I'm jealous," said Molly. "Oh, Polly, to think you will have her all to yourself. Oh, dear!"
"But you will not be here, honey," said her aunt, "and besides it is better for Miss Ainslee that she should go, for the doctor thinks she cannot get along in the east, and that she must either stop teaching or go to another climate. She isn't ill exactly, but it is better that she should not wait till she is. So you see——"
"Oh, I see, but I am sorry all the same," said Molly dolefully.
"And I am tremendously glad," said Polly. "I liked Mr. Perkins very well, but Miss Ainslee is such an improvement on him. Is she to go out with us, Aunt Ada?"
"Yes."
"Then that is what Uncle Dick meant when he said it concerned him. He was thinking how nice it would be to travel all that way with her."
"He's looking further than that," remarked Miss Ada with a smile. "If things keep on this way I don't believe she will ever come east again to live, Polly."
"She won't if I can help it," said Uncle Dick from the doorway. "What do you think of our scheme, Pollywog?" he asked as he caught Polly and tousled her.
"I think it is grandiferous," replied Polly, squirming out of his grasp. "But you'd better behave yourself, Mr. Dicky-Pig, or I'll tell on you."
"Just see how she gets me in her power," said Uncle Dick to his sister. "I'll not be safe a moment from that wicked child's malicious tales."
"Don't you call me a wicked child," said Polly darting at him. "Now for your nose."
"Spare me! Spare me!" cried her uncle, putting up both hands. "I'll be good, Polly; I will indeed, but if you spoil my features, how can you expect Miss Ainslee ever to like me? If you'll promise to be good and say nice things about your dear uncle, I'll let you be bridesmaid."
"Oh, Dick, you silly boy!" expostulated his sister. "Don't fill the child's head with such notions. He hardly knows Miss Ainslee, Polly, and it will make her so uncomfortable that she will leave, in a month, if your Uncle Dick keeps up this sort of nonsense."
This hushed up Master Dick and he began to ask Polly such silly questions as: "What is the result of half a dozen ears of corn and a pint of Lima beans?"
"You can't add ears and pints," protested Polly stoutly.
"Oh, yes, you can," returned her uncle jauntily. "Luella does it often and the result is succotash."
Polly made a contemptuous mouth at him.
He laughed and went on. "Here's another. When apples are ten cents a quart how much are blueberries?"
"Why, why—they're just the same. Aren't they?" Polly appealed to her Aunt Ada.
"The blueberries are less; they're always less; they're smaller, you see," her uncle answered.
"That's no answer at all," said Polly in a disgusted tone. "I won't play," and she stalked off to join her cousins.
Yet, as the poet Burns says: "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley," and, after all, things did not turn out exactly as was at first expected; for when the children had made their rounds to say good bye to Ellis and Myrtle, Leona, Ora and the rest, and when they were actually on the boat with Cooney safe in a big basket, Uncle Dick pulled some letters out of his pocket and began to look them over. "I found these in our box this morning when I went into the post-office," he said. "There's one for you, Ada, and here's one for me from Arthur." He glanced down the page. "Well, well, well," he exclaimed, "this settles your hash, Miss Molly."
"What do you mean?" asked Molly, leaving her seat and coming over to him.
"Why, listen. This is from Mary's father. 'A turn in the business which brought me over, compels me to remain at least three months longer, so I am accepting John Perrine's kind offer to keep my little girl till I am ready to go back home. I am sure the dry climate of Colorado will complete the good work of the summer and that I shall be able to take Mary home with her health entirely established.'"
Polly rushed tumultuously at Mary and gave her a hearty squeeze. "I'm going to have you! I'm going to have you!" she cried. "Won't we have good times?"
Molly sat with a very grave face looking on. Her uncle smiled down at her. "Looks as if you were out of it, doesn't it, Mollykins?" he said.
Molly turned a mournful countenance upon him and gave a long sigh. "I s'pose mother and I will not be going to England at all," she said.
"I' s'pose' not," said her aunt. "In fact I am quite sure of it." She put down the letter which she was reading. "There is a change of plans all around, Molly dear, and you're not left out, as you will see. You know, my dearie, that your mother was taking the opportunity of visiting England because your father expected to make a business trip which would keep him away from home all winter, and your parents had concluded to rent their house to some friends. Now that the house is actually rented and you are not going to England your mother will go with your father, and you, Molly, my kitten, will go to Colorado that you may still have your lessons and be in good hands. Your father and mother will stop for you on their way home. As for me——"
Molly did not wait for the last words, but rushed over to where Mary and Polly with heads together were excitedly talking over the plans for the coming winter. Molly precipitated herself upon them in a tumult of excitement. "I'm going, too! I'm going, too!" she cried.
"Where? Where?" exclaimed Polly.
"To Colorado! to Colorado, with you and Mary!" chanted Molly.
A squeal of delight from Polly was followed by one scarcely less joyful from Mary, and then the three took hold of hands and danced around the steamboat cabin till they dropped in a heap at the feet of their aunt and uncle.
"Just think," said Molly when she had recovered her breath. "We'll all be together just as we were this summer, you, Polly, and Mary and Uncle Dick and Aunt Ada."
"You must count me out, Molly," said her Aunt Ada. "I shall do no more than see you all safely at the ranch, and then I am going to spend the winter further south with my dear friend Janey Moffatt who has been married a whole year and whom I have never yet visited. I have just had this letter setting the time for me to come. I think Miss Ainslee and your Aunt Jennie can keep you three in order."
"If not, there am I," put in Uncle Dick scowling savagely.
"As if you——" began Polly. But he made a dive at her and she disappeared behind a pillar of the cabin.
"Now," said Miss Ada, "it is just as I said: there will be no difficulty in deciding where Cooney is to go, and to tell you the truth, my dears, I think he will thrive better in a cool climate than anywhere else, for with their fluffy coats, these little coon cats are liable to fall ill and die where it is too warm for them. The ranch will be just the place for him." So Cooney's future was assured and in time he reached his new home safely, none the worse for the long journey, during which he was tenderly cared for. Luella had gladly taken charge of Cosey, promising to return to Miss Ada the next summer and to bring the little cat with her.
"Even if I'm married," she said, "Granville says I may live with you summers, Miss Ada, whilst he's off fishing."
When Molly had spent two weeks with her parents and Mary had seen her father, the three little girls were ready to set out upon their longer journey, though it must be confessed that at the last Molly found it hard to say good-bye, and Mary looked rather grave. Polly, however, reminded Mary that there would be no Miss Sharp at the ranch, and Uncle Dick whispered to Molly that he didn't see how any one could be other than happy at the prospect of spending part of each day in Miss Ainslee's company, and from that began to make such delightful plans that in a short time they were happy in thinking of the good times ahead of them. Uncle Dick promised to provide each with a safe little broncho to ride. Aunt Ada told them that their Aunt Jennie had put three small beds in her biggest room, so that the little girls could room together. Miss Ainslee told Molly confidentially that it made all the difference in the world to her that she was to have one of her own little pupils with her, and Polly, who really loved Cooney more than either of the others, was so delighted at not having to give him up that she was ready to share him generously with her cousins, and always lifted him over into Mary's or Molly's lap whenever one of them said: "Now, Polly, you have had him long enough."
Altogether the long journey was not unpleasant, and when the travelers at last arrived, though they were weary, they were very happy, and that night cuddled down in their little white beds while around their dwelling place towered up the great mountains, steadfast as the friendship which was born that summer in the hearts of the three little cousins and which lasted their lifetime.