Chicken Little Jane
by Lily Munsell Ritchie · English · Gutenberg #23955 · 360,046 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Chicken Little Jane
Author: Lily Munsell Ritchie
Release date: December 21, 2007 [eBook #23955]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23955
Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHICKEN LITTLE JANE ***
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Until the water was dripping from noses and chins.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chicken Little Jane
By
Lily Munsell Ritchie
Publishers
BARSE & HOPKINS
New York, N. Y.--Newark, N. J.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1920
By
Barse & Hopkins
Adventures of Chicken Little Jane
Printed in the United States of America
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"To Olive F. Y. Dart, the kind friend who first encouraged me to
write, I gratefully dedicate my first book."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Alice and the Siege of Acre 11
II. The Millinery Store 29
III. The Duck Creek Treasure 45
IV. Chicken Little Jane and Her Mother 65
V. The Back-Yard Furnace 78
VI. The Wedding 91
VII. Chicken Little Jane and Dick Harding Play Providence 108
VIII. Christmas and the Day After 131
IX. Chicken Little Jane's Gift 150
X. Skating 163
XI. Chicken Little Jane's Birthday 176
XII. Poor Ernest and Poor Marian 189
XIII. Forbidden Books and Candy Hearts 205
XIV. May Baskets 219
XV. Thunder and Gooseberry Bushes 234
XVI. Letters and a Surprise 249
XVII. Cousin May's Party 260
XVIII. The Children Go Exploring 272
XIX. Things Happen 286
XX. Off To the Ranch 298
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Until the water was dripping from noses and chins Frontispiece
Facing Page
By way of reply Katy opened the book and began 20
Wiping his eyes as the puffs came thicker 80
"Give her this on the train and--please carry it carefully" 154
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE
CHAPTER I
ALICE AND THE SIEGE OF ACRE
"Chicken Little! Chick-en Lit-tle!"
The three little girls in the fence corner looked up but no one
responded.
"Chicken Little _Jane_!" The voice was a trifle more insistent.
The little girl in the blue gingham dress and white frilled pinafore
looked at her small hostess reproachfully.
"Why don't you answer, Jane?"
"'Cause I'll have to go in. She'll think I don't hear if I keep still."
"Ja-ane!--I want you!" The voice was several notes higher and betrayed
irritation.
"She's getting mad," said the little girl in the pink dress and white
frilled pinafore--sister to the blue dress. "You'd better go--she's
leaning out the window and she'll see us in a minute." Katy Halford was
facing the house and her facts agreed with what Jane Morton knew of her
mother's ways.
She got to her feet reluctantly.
"Yes-m, I'm coming!" she yelled in a shrill treble. "You come, too,
girls," she added in a lower tone. "Maybe she won't make me stay if I
have company."
"All right--let's tell her about Alice." Katy jumped up quickly.
Gertie Halford followed suit.
The two small sisters were as like as possible in dress and as unlike in
disposition. They were always immaculately starched and neat with their
thick brown hair parted in front and braided into smooth tight braids
ending in bows the exact shade of their dresses. These bows were a
constant source of envy to Jane Morton, because they never seemed to
drop off or hang by three hairs as her own invariably did.
Gertie Halford was a gentle little mouse of a girl with soft hazel eyes,
who loved pretty things and hated anything rough or boisterous. Her
sister Katy's gray eyes, on the contrary, were shrewd and keen, as was
their small owner, who could be relied upon to take care of herself and
have her own way on all occasions. The sisters were nine and eleven
respectively, and Chicken Little not quite ten.
Jane Morton or Chicken Little Jane, as she had been nicknamed while a
toddler, because she was always teasing for the story of "Chicken
Little," was usually described as all eyes. Her slim, active legs,
however, were also a very important part of her anatomy. But her eyes
easily held the center of the stage--big and brown and wondering, they
had a way of looking at you as if you were the only person about. Her
straight brown hair was swept back from her face by a round rubber comb
and tied atop her head with a ribbon for further security. Despite these
precautions, it usually looked as if it needed brushing. Her clothes,
too, were prone to accidents because of her habit of roosting on picket
fences or tree branches. Today, however, she was almost as spick and
span as Katy and Gertie. She had just been through the painful process
of cleaning up after dinner.
The children burst into Mrs. Morton's bedroom without the ceremony of
knocking, too intent upon the news they had to tell, to inquire what
Mrs. Morton wanted.
"Say, Mother," Chicken Little began jerkily with what breath was left
from running upstairs, "Alice says she used to live in this house when
she was a little girl!"
Mrs. Morton paused in adjusting the folds of black lace around her plump
shoulders and stared at her small daughter in astonishment.
"Alice--in this house--a servant-girl--nonsense! Dear me, I hope she
isn't untruthful; she seemed so promising."
"But she says her father used to own this house--she says they weren't
always poor, and she never 'spected to have to be a hired girl. Yes, and
Katy says she remembers when the Fletchers lived here and they used to
have a lot of company--didn't you, Katy?" Katy nodded importantly.
"Yes, Ma-am, my mother says it's a shame Alice has to go out to work.
She says it would break her mother's heart, only she's dead and doesn't
know it."
"And her father's dead, too," broke in Gertie, anxious to add her quota,
"but she's got an uncle and aunt that ain't dead--they live a long way
off in Cincinnati, but they're so stuck up they won't do anything for
Alice."
"Well, never mind now, I'll investigate this some other time," Mrs.
Morton replied absently, still fussing with her lace. Tiny beads of
perspiration were standing out on her flushed face--she kept dabbing
them away with her handkerchief.
It was a hot day for late September and Mrs. Morton found tight corsets
and a close-fitting silk dress trials to Christian fortitude. But she
was a resolute, dignified lady who knew her duty to her church and to
society and did it, regardless of her own comfort or her family's.
"But, Mother, aren't you sorry for Alice?"
"My dear, I didn't call you in to talk about Alice. I want you to play
quietly with your dolls this afternoon like little ladies. Remember to
keep your dress clean, Chicken Little, you have to wear it again
tomorrow afternoon. I don't want to come home and find it all stained
and torn off the belt as I did yesterday. And don't forget to be polite
to your guests. Kiss me good-by now, and run along."
The children, a little disappointed over the meager effect of their
sensation, obediently filed out.
They collected the dolls and ensconced themselves under a spreading
maple in the fence corner to play house, but dolls somehow seemed tame.
"I thought she'd be more s'prised," ventured Katy after a few moments,
as the trio watched Mrs. Morton sweep down the front walk to the gate,
the shimmering folds of her gray silk dragging behind her.
"My, I wish I had such a grand dress," said Gertie, changing the
subject.
"Your mother's got a lot of dresses, hasn't she?"
"Yes, heaps, but I don't want any old silk dresses. I hate to be dressed
up, you can't climb trees or nothing, and your mother always tells you
to be a little lady. Bet I won't be a little lady when I grow up."
"Why, Chicken Little _Jane_, you'll have to be!"
"Sha'n't either--Mother says I'm the worst tomboy she ever saw and I'll
disgrace my family if I don't look out. I don't care if I do--I think
it's fun to be something different. Maybe I'll be a circus-rider." Jane
swung her unfortunate doll about by one arm to emphasize her decision,
and smiled defiantly.
Katy refused to be impressed.
"Pooh, you never saw a circus-rider--you said yesterday your mother'd
never let you go to a circus. I've been to six, counting the one Uncle
Sim took us to in the evening."
"I don't care, I've been to see the animals--and I just guess I did see
circus-riders, too, in the parade!"
"Well, you'd have to dress up if you were a circus-rider 'cause they
have lots of fussy skirts and spangles and things--only they aren't very
clean most always. I saw one close to once. I'd rather have a lace shawl
and a beautiful watch like your mother's," put in Gertie.
"I don't care, I like horses and I just hate dolls they're so pokey,"
retorted Jane recklessly, rather floored by so much wisdom. "Let's play
our children are all taking a nap and go and get Ernest and do something
lively."
Katy pricked up her ears at the mention of Ernest's name, having no
brothers herself, she considered boys extremely interesting. She
promptly threw her cherished Rowena under a heap of doll clothes, and
was on her feet in an instant calling, "Come on."
Gentle little Gertie eyed her half undressed doll child ruefully.
"'Tisn't nice to leave them this way. You girls go on and I'll put
Minnie's nighty on and tuck her in."
Chicken Little shoved both doll and doll clothes unceremoniously into
the fence corner and was after Katy in a flash. Gertie lingered not only
to tuck away her own doll but to rescue the neglected playthings of the
others, and to put each doll child carefully to bed, with sundry
croonings and caresses. Then she followed slowly to the house.
Katy and Jane were already having troubles of their own. Ernest, who was
four years older than Jane, was deep in a book and deaf to all coaxing
and persuasion on the part of his gypsy-sister and her friend. He was
stretched on the floor in the embrasure of the dormer window, nursing
his face in his hands, his near-sighted eyes fairly boring into the
pages. He was a lanky, sober-faced boy with a trick of twisting a lock
of hair as he read that resulted in its perpetually hanging down in his
eyes to his great annoyance. The boy liked to be ship-shape and he made
manful attempts to let it alone. He plastered it down with bay-rum till
the family begged for mercy from the smell. It was even on record that
he once went so far as to dab it with glue with painful consequences.
Today he was so absorbed that he had almost twisted the offending lock
into a double bowknot and he heeded the children no more than flies.
Finally Katy audaciously grabbed his book away, and he came to life with
a growl.
"Here, drop that, infant, give me that book!"
He raised up on his elbow threateningly, but Katy, shaking her head
saucily, flew out the door and down the staircase in a flutter of
delicious fear.
Ernest got to his feet blusteringly.
"Mother said you kids were to keep out of my room and you can just go
get that book for me or I'll tell her when she comes home."
He made a grab for his sister's arm, but she eluded him skilfully and
darted after Katy, chanting maliciously: "Get it yourself--get it
yourself--old cross patch!"
An exciting chase followed. Ernest tearing out the front door almost
knocked over Gertie who was just coming in. He quickly righted her with
a smile--he was fond of little Gertie who never bothered. The momentary
delay gave the girls a start and Ernest saw Katy's flying skirts
disappearing round the kitchen ell, with Chicken Little close behind
her, as he turned the corner of the house.
Once at the back he found Chicken Little had sought sanctuary with
Alice, the maid, who was sitting under a tree peeling peaches, but Katy
had vanished.
"Which way'd she go, Alice?" Alice shook her head teasingly, at the same
time glancing toward the kitchen door.
Ernest bolted in, but a swift search of the house revealed no Katy. Jane
still clung to Alice clapping her hands derisively.
"Has she gone home?" he demanded.
Chicken Little shook her head.
"Am I hot or cold?"
"Hot! My, you're just burning!"
Gertie, who had followed, stared up into the branches overhead, but
Ernest, gazing after, caught no glimpse of Katy's pink gingham or
mischievous face.
"Bet you can't find her," jeered Jane; "boys aren't smart as girls if
they are so stuck on themselves."
"Bet Alice hid her."
"Bet she didn't."
At this moment a whistle at the side gate interrupted them. Ernest
trilled in answer and a moment later Carol Brown and Sherman Dart,
Ernest's two sworn cronies, came round the corner with a whoop.
"You smarties can have the old book. Mother'll make you give it back
tonight, anyway."
A chuckle overhead punctuated his sentence, and some fifteen feet above
him, seated gracefully astride the comb of the low roof, Katy waved the
book at him tantalizingly.
"Gee, how'd you get up there?"
By way of reply Katy opened the book at random and began to read:
"The third crusade which had opened so disastrously, was at last to be
prosecuted with vigor. The eight days' truce was over and Philip of
France again led the assault upon the walls of Acre. King Richard slowly
convalescing was borne to the scene of conflict where----"
Here the boys interrupted with cat calls, and Ernest shied a green apple
which Katy successfully dodged.
"How'd you get up?"
"For me to know and you to find out."
"Say, Alice, how'd she get up?"
"Climbed."
"Oh, say, honest how did she?"
"The same way that Philip and Richard got into Acre."
"Ladder?"
"Yes, the man who fixed the eave troughs this morning left a ladder
here. It's on the other side."
[Illustration: By way of reply Katy opened the book and began.]
The three boys made a bolt to investigate and soon swarmed up on the
roof with Jane close behind.
The old white house with its big front porch and green blinds was a
notable one. Built upon a terrace, it stood several feet above the
tree-shaded lawns about it. A group of old apple trees crowded close up
to the windows at the side and rear. Both the western and southern
gables were overhung with great wistaria vines, so old the stems were
like huge cables and could easily bear a man's weight, as the children's
grown brother Frank had already discovered. He had been locked out one
night, and wishing to get in without disturbing the family, had quietly
gone up the vines, hand-over-hand, to his own window.
The old house boasted many gables and more dormer windows, each bedroom
having one or more. The children found these little nooks cosy places to
play and read, indeed only a little less fascinating than the great
rambling closets which were only partly enclosed and seemed to end, no
one knew where, off under the roof. They had never been able to fully
explore these--indeed their mother had not encouraged such voyages of
discovery, because there were sundry narrow places, dark and dusty,
where wriggling through in snake-fashion wrought havoc with their
clothes.
The children were on the roof of the low kitchen, a kitchen that had
apparently been an afterthought, for the roof sloped both ways like an
inverted V and had no connection with the main roof.
"I tell you what, boys," said Ernest after they had explored it to their
satisfaction, "let's play the 'Siege of Acre.' We could use this roof
for the tower."
"Aren't enough of us!" objected Carol, a big, handsome boy with tight
blond curls who was inclined to be lazy.
"Can't we play, too?" put in Chicken Little.
"Shucks, girls don't know how to fight."
"Don't be too sure of that," said Alice. "We girls used to play all
sorts of games when I was a child."
"We'll have to divide up some way," said Sherm. "Ernest, let's you and
me be Richard and Philip, and Carol can be the sultan and defend the
place. And we could have the girls up here for the sultan's wives--he
had a lot--they'd be out of the way."
"Not on your life," grunted Carol, disgusted at having all the girls put
in his charge.
"It won't be bad, Carol, the garrison'll have to have a lot of
provisions, and I'll give you some apples and cookies if you'll let the
little girls play," Alice interposed tactfully.
"Cricky, Alice, you're a brick!"
"Gee, Alice, wish you lived at our house!" Carol and Sherm exclaimed in
unison.
Alice Fletcher, a sturdy, intelligent-looking girl of twenty, was
pleased at the boy's praise. "Thanks, my lords!" she replied, waving a
peeling at them.
"Oh, well, I don't care if the girls'll keep out of the way," conceded
Carol.
"Gertie can be the wives and me and Jane will be the soldiers. Carol
will need somebody to help him," said ambitious Katy.
The preliminaries were soon arranged. Timid Gertie was safely stowed
away where she could hold to the chimney if a sudden panic seized her,
and the boys graciously posted Jane and Katy on the battlements,
otherwise known as the comb of the roof, to man the engines and spy out
the landscape. They kicked off their shoes, the better to cling, and
pranced around stocking-footed regardless of possible parental
displeasure.
Ernest and Sherman were just preparing to rush up the ladder armed with
villainous-looking battle-axes made out of old lath, when Alice halted
them.
"But you'll have to decide how to take the tower. If Carol tries to keep
you off and knocks over the ladder you'll get hurt. Suppose you give him
a switch and if he can touch you before you can get within two rounds
of the top, you're dead, but if you can touch him, he'll have to
surrender."
The opposing forces parleyed. The scaling party was rather dubious about
tackling the sultan with only one scaling ladder, but they finally
compromised on very short switches, so short in fact that Alice was
worried lest the sultan should promptly take a header off the roof in
his efforts to repel the invaders.
The attack began merrily. The boys swarmed up the ladder with
blood-curdling yells of "Richard for England!" from Ernest and shriller
cries of "France! France!" from Sherm, whose voice always trailed off
into high C when he got excited.
The "sultan's wives" hugged the chimney in her excitement and Captain
Jane promptly deserted the battlements and slid down to reinforce the
sultan who certainly looked lonesome. There was much ducking and dodging
and great flourishing of switches to the imminent risk of all concerned,
for Chicken Little came down full force against the sultan in her
frantic efforts to help, and Ernest, alias Richard, stepped on the King
of France's royal fingers when forced to retreat from the sultan's
spear.
It soon became apparent that the advantage lay with the defenders of
Acre. The besieging monarchs withdrew down the ladder to hold a council
of war, while the sultan's wives and troops--it was difficult to
distinguish them--crowed triumphantly. They even did a little
undignified taunting of the discomfited enemy.
Alice had been cheering the besiegers and now joined their counsels.
After some whispering they divided forces, and King Richard climbed up
the old apple tree at the corner of the house while King Philip led his
forces up the scaling ladder again.
The sultan was at his wit's end, but finally left Captain Jane in
command at the head of the ladder while he tried to repulse this flank
movement. Captain Jane fought valiantly, and once more France was driven
back. The sultan was equally successful. The cause of the Crusaders
began to look dark, when suddenly the sultan detecting Captain Katy in
the act of munching the cherished provisions, proposed a ten-minute
truce, but the invaders with their weather eye on the self-same goodies,
haughtily declined.
Again they whispered. Suddenly Alice clapped her hands and hurriedly
explained. Immediately King Philip once more planted his scaling ladder,
but his ally disappeared around the house.
The sultan sent his aide over to the other side of the roof to scout,
but King Richard continued his march around the house and was soon
hidden from the observers on the kitchen roof, by the angle of the main
house.
Presently queer rasping noises were heard. The besieged craned their
necks to see what was going on. The sultan became so curious and
apprehensive about his rear that he almost let the King of France get up
the ladder. The ominous sounds continued, bumping, scraping, tapping,
punctuated by sundry exclamations and advice to "Be careful!" from
Alice, who had followed the English forces.
Philip of France, so interested in the efforts of his British allies,
forgot to attack and had several narrow escapes from being captured
himself.
Finally, after one prolonged scrape accompanied by several grunts, the
sturdy figure of Richard towered an instant on the roof of the main
house six feet above, then with a whoop of triumph, cautiously dropped
down among them amid the shrieks of the defenders.
Acre had fallen.
The vanquished garrison pressed round him, not to demand mercy, but to
ask questions.
"How'd you get up there?" Chicken Little demanded.
"Bet Alice put you up to that," this from Carol.
"Should think you'd been scared to death!" whispered Gertie, still
breathless with surprise.
"Pshaw, 'twas easy--just shinned up that wistaria vine on the gable,
it's awful old and strong. I've climbed heaps of times before, but I
wouldn't of thought of it, if Alice hadn't told me."
"My, wisht I could climb it!" said Katy fairly awestruck with admiration
at such daring.
"Oh, you couldn't--you're just a girl, but I'll show you where I got
up," said Ernest condescendingly. "Say, where's all the apples and
cookies?"
The hint was sufficient and both besieged and besiegers, perched in
various attitudes along the low roof like a flock of variegated
chickens, were soon merrily celebrating the downfall of Acre.
It was thus that Mrs. Morton found them, coming around the house a few
moments later in search of her offspring.
"Children! What are you doing?" she gasped in horrified tones. "Jane
Morton, I thought I told you to play quietly. The idea of little girls
climbing up on a roof. Put on your shoes this instant--all of you--and
come down! Ernest, didn't you know better than to let your little sister
go into such a dangerous place?"
Neither the valorous sultan, nor the doughty Crusaders were proof
against this onslaught, and the visitors speedily retreated homewards
while their crestfallen host and hostess went to bed to think over their
sins. Chicken Little indeed started to say something about Alice having
let them, but stopped suddenly, warned by a dig in the ribs from
Ernest's elbow.
While the more favored members of the family were at supper that night,
and Ernest was tossing restlessly and wondering if they were having
apple dumplings, a small, warm hand reached up beside the bed and
touched him.
"Hush, here's your book, Ern, and here's two slices of bread and jam,
and some cheese and apple pie."
"Where in the Dickens did you----"
"Somebody poked a plate with it on inside my door a minute ago. We'd
better eat it quick."
Ernest needed no urging.
"Do you suppose Frank brought it?"
"No," replied Chicken Little between mouthfuls, "I s'pose Alice."
CHAPTER II
THE MILLINERY STORE
Chicken Little was seated on the end of the kitchen table swinging her
legs and watching Alice make pies.
"Look out--you'll get your stockings black off the stove," warned Alice
lifting a pie from the oven.
"I wisht I didn't always have to wear white stockings--they're such a
nuisance."
"They are hard to keep clean. But the nice families always make their
children wear white, I notice. I don't see why black wouldn't look just
as well with black shoes--especially for school."
"Grace Dart has two clean pairs every day. Did you wear white stockings
when you were a little girl, Alice?"
"In summer--in winter we had heavy knitted ones, red and white or blue
and white striped. Mother used to knit them."
"Did your mother die when you were a weenty girl?"
"No, I was fifteen when she went. Father died five years before. It was
grieving about him, and the hard work and going hungry that killed
Mother before her time. She'd be living now if we'd had our rights."
Chicken Little puckered her brow for a moment trying to think this out.
"What was the matter with the rights? Did somebody take them?"
Alice laughed till she showed her dimples.
"You funny dear! Yes, took them away from us. I am afraid I can't make
you understand, Jane. It was our property--money and this house and some
bank stock that we lost. My father went to the war and left all his
business in the hands of his partner, a man named Gassett. Father fought
in the war two years till he was badly wounded and had to come home.
Some day I'll show you a piece of a Confederate flag he helped capture.
He was never himself again and Mr. Gassett ran everything. Father said
just before he died that he was thankful he at least had the home and
some bank stock to leave us--but he didn't have even that it seems. We
couldn't find any bank stock certificates and Mr. Gassett had a big
mortgage on the house--so he got it, too. Mother said she was sure
Father had paid off that mortgage two years after he went into
partnership with Gassett--but, pshaw, you can't understand all this!"
"I can, too, I'm very quick. I heard Mother tell Mrs. Halford so and she
said I had the strongest will she ever saw in a child!" Chicken Little
was indignant.
Alice smiled but went on fluting the edge of an apple pie with a fork.
"Please tell me some more, Alice. Did your mother get awful hungry? Was
that why you brought us some supper?"
"How do you know I brought you any supper?"
"'Cause. It was you--wasn't it, Alice?"
"Yes, Jane, and I expect your mother would be very angry with me if she
knew. But I can't bear to have anybody go hungry since Mother--and I
know how it feels myself--there's Katy whistling, you'd better run
along."
Katy's smooth brown head appeared above the high board fence on her side
of the alley that divided the Morton and Halford places. Chicken Little
promptly mounted the top of their fence by the aid of a convenient wood
pile.
Few days passed in which the children did not visit across the alley.
They were not permitted to go outside their own yards without leave,
but no embargo had been placed upon the fences. So they sweetened the
days when permission to visit was denied by consoling each other across
the alley. The result of this conference sent Chicken Little scurrying
in to her mother.
Mrs. Morton sat by one of the long French windows with a small writing
desk on her lap, busily writing a letter.
"Um--n--yes--what did you say?"
"May I have ten cents, Mother? We're going to start a millinery store
and you can get a lot of the loveliest little roses and forget-me-nots
down to Mrs. Smith's for ten cents. They fall off the wreaths you know.
Grace Dart has promised to buy a hat and Katy's Cousin Mary said maybe
she would, and it's Saturday and we can work all day--say, will you,
Mother?"
"Dear, dear, what's all this? A millinery store? You and Katy and
Gertie, I suppose. Well, I don't know but that would be a nice way to
help teach you to sew. You must comb your hair again and put on a clean
white apron before you go downtown--and don't go anywhere but Mrs.
Smith's. By the way, have you finished your practicing?"
Chicken Little wriggled painfully before she reluctantly shook her head.
"Well, do your hour first, then you may have the money."
"Oh, Mother, couldn't I practice after dinner--the girls are waiting for
me?"
"Duty before pleasure, little daughter, go finish your hour and I'll
hunt up some bits of tulle and ribbon for you myself."
"Oh, will you, Mother? Goody, goody! May I go tell the girls? I'll come
straight back."
"Yes, but don't get so excited. Little ladies should learn to be more
composed--and don't stand on one foot. Come here--the top button of your
dress is unfastened." Jane submitted to the buttoning process then flew
off to tell the others, who were already setting up shop in the fence
corner.
"Oh, Jane," they chorused the moment she came in sight, "Mother gave us
the loveliest yellow satin and some pink flowers and lace, too!"
"Yes, and I found six chicken feathers that'll be grand for turbans,"
broke in Gertie.
Chicken Little flung herself breathless upon the grass and explained
between gasps.
"If it wasn't for that horrid practicing!" she finished.
"Never mind," said Katy, "Gertie can be fixing the store and I'll start
right in on a hat. It'll take a lot of work I tell you--we're going to
charge ten cents a hat."
Chicken Little started reluctantly back to the house and still more
reluctantly settled down on the old green-velvet piano stool to
practice. There was not much music in her soul, and sitting still at
anything was torture. She squirmed even when she read, and her brother
Frank said she got into sixty-nine different positions by actual count
during the sermon one Sunday. He had made her a standing offer of ten
cents whenever she could sit perfectly still for five minutes, but so
far his money was safe.
The moon-faced clock on the opposite wall ticked monotonously and
Chicken Little's small fingers thumped stiffly at the five-finger
exercises while she painfully counted aloud, partly to get the time and
partly for company.
At the end of ten minutes she looked up at the clock in despair--surely
it must have stopped! But no, the big pendulum was swinging faithfully
to and fro. She tried scales, then she went back to exercises. She
squirmed and wriggled and counted the big white medallions in the
crimson body-brussels carpet. These medallions were her especial
admiration, for each was bordered with elaborate curlicues, and
contained a gorgeous basket of woolen flowers, the like of which never
bloomed in any garden, temperate or tropical. There were fifteen of
these across the room and twenty-five lengthwise.
The lace curtains were floral, too. She occupied five minutes trying
for the hundredth time to decide, whether a delicate lace bloom with the
circumference of a holly-hock was intended for a lily or a rose. The old
steel engraving of General Washington's household hanging over the piano
helped on a few moments more. The colored servant back of the general's
chair had a fascination for her even greater than Martha Washington's
mob cap and lace mitts. But, alas, even with the aid of these diversions
she had only worried through twenty-five minutes.
Then she had an inspiration. "Grimm's Fairy Tales" lay on the sofa open
face downward where she had left it half an hour before. She propped the
book on the music rack and started in once more on the exercises. The
exercises, however, refused to combine with reading--the discords were
painful even to Jane's ears so she tried scales which worked like a
charm. Mechanically her hands rippled up and down the keys while her
fancy fluttered off after "Snow White" and "Rose Red." And the big clock
was so neglected that it was five minutes past the hour before she
thought to look at it again.
"Finished your hour, Daughter? Did you practice faithfully?"
Chicken Little considered a moment before replying.
"I didn't play the exercises much," she said doubtfully.
"Well, you did the scales very nicely."
Again Chicken Little paused.
Her conscience was pricking. On the chair beside her mother was a
glowing pile of odd ribbons and old artificial flowers and her mother's
kindness suddenly made the child realize that the Grimm hadn't been
quite fair--she did not like the feeling of not playing fair. She
twisted the handle of the door trying to muster up courage to confess,
but Mrs. Morton was in a hurry to finish her letters.
"Run along now. Here are some things for you and here's the dime. I am
busy, dear."
And Chicken Little feeling that the Fates had excused her, flew off
joyfully to join the girls.
The fence corner was swept and garnished. An old lumber pile and several
soap boxes had been pressed into service for shelves and counters and
were artistically covered with an old lace curtain. Gertie was just
putting a vase of real flowers on a table as a finishing touch, when
Jane came up.
"Um-m, isn't that too sweet for anything, and see what I've got!"
"Look at this! It's most done," Katy held up an adorable creation of
white tulle and pink rosebuds which her nimble fingers had almost
completed.
She dispatched Gertie and Chicken Little to Mrs. Smith's for more
flowers while she trimmed away industriously. It was a very happy
Saturday. The fame of it spread throughout the neighborhood and the
three little girls were kept busy snipping and fussing with the tiny
headgear. Katy had natural style and taste and some of the little hats
were really charming.
The boys dropped over once or twice to see what was going on. Finally,
they were so fired by this business enterprise that they started a
lemonade stand just outside the front gate, having painfully secured a
capital of five lemons by dint of much coaxing of mothers and maids.
Their venture could hardly be called a success. They sold one glass for
five cents, then Carol, who was always awkward, upset the whole
pitcherful. The ice melted out of the second, and no customers
appearing, the boys were drinking it up themselves, when Sherman
gallantly proposed to treat the little girls. The supply was getting low
by this time, but they carried over one rather skimpy and distressingly
seedy glass to be divided among the three.
The young ladies were too grateful for this unexpected attention to be
critical. Besides their exchequer was filling up beautifully.
"How much did you make? We've got thirty cents already," said Katy.
"Gee, how'd you make such a lot?" Sherm looked impressed.
"Say, lend us a quarter, won't you?" urged Carol.
"Not much we won't, but I'll tell you. If you'll take this hat down to
Cousin May's we'll give you five cents, 'cause Mother won't let us go so
far by ourselves. And I'm afraid she'll change her mind about taking it
if we wait till Monday at school."
The boys dickered a while and reckoned up the number of blocks their
weary feet would have to travel. Carol insisted that seven cents was
none too much for the effort, but Katy was a good business woman and was
firm in sticking to her first offer.
The lads finally agreed to take it on their way to the ball game, but
this small errand raised a veritable tempest in the little company
before it was finally settled.
The tiny package was carefully wrapped and the boys carried it with due
respect and delivered it into May Allen's hands. They duly pocketed not
only the ten cents in payment but another as well, for May was so
delighted with the hat and the elegant manner in which it had been
delivered, that she sent an order, with payment in advance, for another
bonnet.
All would have been well but for the seductions of a certain ice-cream
parlor where candy, apples and cigars were temptingly displayed in a
window, draped genteely with a fly-specked lace lambrequin.
Sherman suggested they get a dime changed and expend their nickel for
the sweets. Once inside, the sight of sundry acquaintances eating
alluring pyramids of creamy coolness confronted them. The boys had been
standing around at Brown's field watching the ball game. It was hot and
dusty and their mouths watered. Carol had ten cents of his own. By using
their nickel and the remaining fifteen cents they could each have a
dish. Ernest hesitated about this borrowing, but the boys said they
could pay it back. Ernest was sure he had that much in his toy bank at
home, and the other boys were positive they could shake it through the
slit if they tried hard enough.
So the tempter won and the trust money was speedily converted into
ice-cream. The ice-cream once down the transaction began to take on a
different phase. The boys plodded home rather silently.
Sherman voiced the first doubt.
"Say, Ern, are you sure you've got enough?"
Ern was wondering himself if he had.
"I guess we'd better go in the side gate and get it out before the girls
see us," he replied.
The boys slipped in the side gate in a manner so noiseless that it might
almost be called sneaking. On up to Ernest's room they filed and
hastily secured the bank.
Alas, no rattle of coin repaid them. Absent-minded Ernest had entirely
forgotten that his father had taken the contents to the savings bank for
him the preceding month, and that he had not been able to save up
anything since.
The boys looked at each other.
"Maybe Mother'll lend me fifteen cents," said Ernest after a pause.
A speedy search of the house revealed the sad fact that Mother was not
at home.
The boys' faces fell. They someway did not care to meet the little
girls. Ernest twisted his scalp lock in deep thought.
"Say, I'll cut home and ask Sister Sue for it," volunteered Sherm, who
didn't have red hair and freckles for nothing. "She'll almost always
help a fellow out."
The boys watched impatiently. Fifteen minutes passed. They could see
from the window that the little girls were all on the front fence
watching for their return.
"How'll Sherm ever get in?" asked Carol gloomily.
"He won't! They've seen him now, I bet. Watch them all running. Sherm
must be trying to make it in the back way. Gee, they've got him!"
Sherm shook off his pursuer's clinging fingers. His longer legs soon
distanced them enough for him to dash up the stairs and shoot into the
room ahead of them. Ernest promptly shut the door and bolted it.
Sherm dropped panting into a chair, shaking his head.
"Sue wasn't there, and Mother didn't have any small change and said I'd
had more spending money than was good for me anyhow."
The little girls began to pound vigorously on the door.
"We might tell them we lost it," suggested Carol desperately.
"No, we won't!" retorted Ernest. "I'm not that kind, thank you, to spend
the kids' money and then lie about it! Nope, we're up against it and
we'll have to take our medicine," Ernest marched straight to the door
and flung it open.
"What you boys up to?"
"Where's our money?"
"Did you get the hat to her all right?"
The little girls stood in an accusing half-circle and fired their
questions in a broadside.
Ernest put the facts as diplomatically as possible. Sherman and Carol
backed him up manfully, promising to pay back with the very first money
they could get their hands on.
For an instant the children were stunned. Ernest remembered the look of
sorrowful amazement on his little sister's face long after the whipping
his father gave him for the offense had been forgotten. Chicken Little
adored Ernest and he knew it.
She didn't say a word. She just looked. Gertie started to cry, but Katy
flared up and turned red as a little turkey cock.
"I think that's the meanest thing I ever knew anybody to do--it's just
plain stealing, so it is! I'm going right straight to tell your mother,
Ernest Morton--I hear her coming!"
Chicken Little tried to stop her, but Katy was half way down the
staircase before she reached the head. A moment later they heard her
shrill little voice and the grieved tones of Mrs. Morton in response.
Presently Mrs. Morton came puffing up the stairs. The boys fidgetted
uneasily. Ernest began twisting his scalp lock again and Carol hitched
up his suspenders to keep up his courage. He alone was guiltless of
taking the money, but it did not occur to him to desert his companions
in distress. As for Sherm, his face got so red by the time Mrs. Morton's
step sounded outside the door, that his freckles looked like the brown
seeds on a strawberry.
Mrs. Morton entered majestic and angry; her black lace shawl slipping
from her shoulders unnoticed in her haste.
"Boys, what is this I hear?" The inquiry that followed was long
remembered by all concerned. Chicken Little did not utter one word till
her mother declared it her painful duty to tell their father. Then she
plucked her mother's dress and whispered: "Please don't, Mother, I'll
pay it back for him out of my share from the store, he's awful 'shamed."
Mrs. Morton smiled at the troubled little face.
"No," she said firmly, "these boys have done very wrong, and Ernest, at
least, must be punished."
The next morning at Sunday School Carol asked Sherman rather
shame-facedly: "Get a licking?"
"Yep, did you?"
"Nope, but I can't play on the nine for a week."
They both fell upon Ernest as he slid soberly into his seat a moment
later.
"Catch it?"
"You bet--good and plenty! Father made me cut three switches and he
didn't waste any. But I could stand Father's lickings if Mother wouldn't
pray over me."
Carol looked shocked at Ernest's irreverence but Sherm grinned
sympathetically.
"Mother makes me read a chapter in the Bible--but she most always gives
me a doughnut or something when I've finished."
There was no opportunity for further conversation. Miss Rice, their
Sunday School teacher fluttered in at this moment and tactfully seated
herself between Sherm and Ernest. After the teacher stood up to begin
the lesson, Ernest nudged Sherm.
"Say, want to tell you something when we get out. S-h-h, teacher's
looking now!"
On the way home Ernest unburdened himself.
"You know Chicken Little's crazy to go hazel-nutting. S'pose we take the
kids Saturday--to kind of--oh, you know--make up!"
What Ernest said was not exactly clear but the boys understood.
"They couldn't walk to Duck Creek," objected Sherm.
"Maybe Frank would drive us. Perhaps you could get Sue to go too.
Mother'd let Jane go sure if she went."
The boys agreed to think it over and to keep it for a surprise for the
little girls.
CHAPTER III
THE DUCK CREEK TREASURE
Sundays always dragged in the Morton household. Dr. and Mrs. Morton,
like many other excellent people of their day, believed in the saving
grace of "Thou shalt not!" The list of things the children couldn't do
on Sunday was much longer than the list of coulds.
On this particular Sunday Ernest was specially aggrieved because his
mother had sternly deprived him of "The Last of the Mohicans" as being
unsuitable for Sabbath reading, offering him a painfully instructive
volume from the Sunday School library in its place.
He relieved his feelings to Chicken Little.
"I bet if I ever grow up I'll do what I please on Sunday! I think when a
fellow goes to their old church and Sunday School he might be let alone
for the rest of the day. Think I'm going to read that dope?--all the
chaps with any life in them get expelled or go to the penitentiary and
the rest are old goody-goody tattle-tales you wouldn't be caught dead
with! Guess they're 'fraid if they got a real live boy in a book he'd
bust the covers off!"
Ernest's disgust was so real it was painful. Jane sympathized acutely.
"The 'Elsie Books' aren't so bad only I guess Mother'd spank me if I
talked to her the way Elsie does to her father."
"Can't play with the boys--can't read--can't go for a tramp--can't even
get my lessons for tomorrow."
Ernest flung himself on the old haircloth sofa and groaned.
Chicken Little looked out of the window wistfully. It was a glorious
September day. The fragrance of ripening grapes from the long arbor
outside floated in temptingly; the maples were already showing gleams of
red and yellow and the soft air was fairly calling to a frolic. Beyond
the two high board fences that bounded the Alley separating their yard
from the Halford place, she knew her two small playmates were happy out
in the sunshine. Mrs. Halford's views on Sunday keeping were not so
rigid.
Chicken Little sighed, then suddenly brightened. "Katy and Gertie
haven't got a brother anyhow!" she said half aloud, balancing
advantages.
"Who you talking to?" Ernest raised himself on his elbow to find out.
"Nobody--I was just a thinking."
"Must be hard work. Say, Sis, I know something you don't know. No, I'm
not going to tell--it's a secret. Bet you'll be tickled to death when
you find out--here, look out!"
Ernest flung his arm up in defense as Jane threw herself joyfully upon
him.
"Ernest Morton, you mean thing--tell me this minute or I'll tickle you."
"Pooh, you couldn't tickle a fly. Think you're smart, don't you? I'm
going to tell you next Saturday and not one second sooner so you don't
need to tease."
"Next Saturday? Is it a picnic? Am I going?"
"Sha'n't tell you what it is, but you're going."
"Goody! Are Katy and Gertie going?"
Ernest saw that she was getting perilously near the facts and
considered.
"Tell you next Saturday," he replied tantalizingly.
"Please, Ernest, just tell me that."
"Nope, little girls shouldn't be so curious."
"Say, Ernest, if I'll get you a cooky will you?"
"You can't. Mother said if we didn't leave that cooky jar alone she'd
punish us--besides Alice hid them."
"I don't care. I've got six."
"Where in--how'd you get them?--hook them?"
"I did not, Ernest Morton. Mother says we can eat all we want when Alice
bakes, and I didn't want very many 'cause my throat was sore so I just
put some away."
"Cricky, wouldn't Mother be mad if she caught you? Where did you put
them? Well, I'll tell you about Katy and Gertie for four cookies."
"Old Greedy, I'll give you three if you'll tell all about it."
"No you don't, you promised you'd bring me two if I told about the
girls. Get them quick, I'm hungry."
"All right, if you'll promise to stay right there till I come back."
"All right."
"You're grinning. Promise honor bright."
"Honor bright."
"Hope to die?"
"Oh, yep, trot along."
Chicken Little, relenting, was back in three minutes with the entire
cache of cookies, which she religiously divided and the children munched
contentedly while Chicken Little speculated as to what the wonderful
excursion could be. With feminine persistence she wormed a few more
facts from Ernest.
"Carol and Sherm going?"
The cookies had limbered up Ernest's tongue.
"Yep," he answered, but suddenly remembered himself when his small
sister began to giggle.
"Bet we're going hazel-nutting. Ernest, tell me."
"Sha'n't tell you another thing and you might as well let up."
"If I can get you off the sofa will you?"
The old haircloth sofa had been a famous battle ground between the
children for the past two years, and many a frolic they had had on its
slippery length. Ernest would entrench himself firmly in its depths and
Chicken Little would tug at arms or legs or head indiscriminately in an
effort to dislodge him. She not infrequently succeeded, for while he was
much the stronger, the old sofa was so slippery it was difficult to
cling to it.
Chicken Little did not wait for an answer now. She made a grab at his
head which he defended vigorously. A sharp tussle ensued. She got his
legs on the floor twice, but he still clung to the back with his hands.
"Huh, girls are no good!" he ejaculated breathlessly.
Chicken Little's only reply was a dash at the clinging hands.
"No you don't!"
But he spoke too soon. Chicken Little pried one hand loose and throwing
her weight on the other arm before he could recover his hold, rolled him
triumphantly off on the floor.
"Anyway, I didn't promise to tell," he crowed.
Saturday morning was a testimonial to the weather man's good nature. It
was glorious with a little frosty tang to the air and a belt of blue
haze over the distant woods.
Sister Sue couldn't go, but Mrs. Morton generously permitted Alice to
supply her place, and Frank Morton was to take them out to Duck Creek
some three miles away and call for them again after office hours in the
afternoon. The children were wild with excitement. Alice had fried
chicken before breakfast, and there had been such hunting for bags and
baskets that Frank said if they filled half of them, the horses wouldn't
be able to drag the crowd and their plunder home.
The old carriage fairly bristled with heads and waving arms as they
drove off. Chicken Little sat squeezed in with Katy, Sherm and Carol on
the back seat uncomfortable but happy. Even timid Gertie chattered in
her excitement.
The youngsters had dressed up especially for the occasion. Sherm was
resplendent in a scarlet and white baseball cap that set off his red
hair to advantage. Ernest took his straw hat because he said it shaded
his eyes, and much reading had made his eyes sensitive. Katy and Gertie,
just alike, were trim in blue gingham with smart little blue bows on
their flying pig-tails. And Jane was brown, hair, eyes, and tanned skin
as well as her dress, with a red coat like a frosted sumach leaf on top.
Carol felt quite grown up in an old hunting jacket of his father's. He
had stuck two homemade arrows in his belt as a final touch.
Duck Creek was ablaze with autumn leaves and the hazel thickets were
full of the tempting gray-brown clusters, though the nuts themselves
when cracked seemed a trifle green.
"They don't taste like the hazel nuts you buy," said Katy.
"'Cause they're not dry yet, Goosie." This from Sherman.
"Bet you never picked a hazel nut before!" put in Ernest.
"Well, I've been hickory-nutting three times, and I guess you've never
seen Niagara Falls and I have!" boasted Katy by way of keeping her
self-respect.
The children worked busily all morning only stopping now and then to
chase the squirrels who came scolding the intruders for taking their
winter stores. By noon Alice declared they had more nuts than they
could stow away in the old carriage, if they hoped to get in themselves.
Sherm and Gertie found a tempting persimmon tree and there were some
wry-looking faces till Alice showed them how to find the fruit the frost
had sweetened. After that the persimmons became immensely popular, and
dresses and jackets alike were liberally stained with the mushy orange
pulp to which samples of the picnic dinner were added later. They spread
their feast out in the sunshine, using the sacks of nuts for seats, and
waging war on intrusive ants and whole colonies of welcoming flies.
"I don't see what the Lord made so many flies for," said Sherm
disgustedly fishing one daintily out of the butter by the tips of its
wings.
"My, they are thick!" said Alice. "Cover up the cake, Chicken Little."
"What shall we do now?" inquired Carol relaxing after the hard labor of
eating three pieces of chicken, two hard-boiled eggs, a generous wedge
of pie, and two chunks of cake.
"Do?--I should think you'd need a rest, Carol," Alice replied slyly. She
had been mentally thanking her stars she didn't have to cook for Carol
very often.
"I say we hunt that old cave," suggested Sherm.
"Huh, Frank says he used to hunt for that confounded old cave when he
was a boy till he wore out enough shoe leather to have one dug."
"I don't care--my father says there used to be one somewhere along here,
but he guesses the mouth must have got covered up when Duck Creek
changed its course. You know the creek used to flow on the other side of
the island there. But when they had that tarnation big freshet about
twenty years ago, it cut through this side too and made the island."
"Yes, I remember hearing my father tell about that flood--it was before
the war," said Alice with interest. "A lot of people got drowned and
they say some of the Seventh Day Adventists thought the end of the world
had come."
"Maybe the cave got washed out," hazarded Carol who was beginning to
feel that Alice's advice to rest sounded good. He felt sleepy.
"Couldn't have--Father said it was quite a ways up the bank. Said he
explored it once when he was a boy. He talks about coming out to hunt
for it himself, but he won't," explained Sherm.
"There's a lot about a big cave in Kentucky in our Geography," put in
Katy who hated to be left out of anything.
"Yep--the Mammoth," said Ernest. "Well, come on, Sherm, let's us have a
try at it."
"Let us go, too, Ern," piped Chicken Little.
"No you don't--you'd get all tired out and want to come back."
Chicken Little opened her mouth to protest but Alice interposed.
"We will think up something nice to do here. We might hunt for it over
on that wooded bank. Nobody seems to know where it was--it's just as
likely to be one place as another."
"We might find some bitter-sweet berries. Mother said she wished we'd
bring her some if we saw any." Gertie was getting to her feet stiffly,
her legs cramped from being doubled under her.
"Yes," added Katy, "she wants some sumach leaves, too. You boys can just
go off by yourselves. I bet we have the most fun."
Carol had pillowed his curly head on a bag of nuts and was deaf to the
other boy's urging to "Come Along." He was fast asleep before they were
fairly out of sight.
Alice said they'd leave him as a guard for the nuts and wraps. She set
off with the little girls in the opposite direction from that taken by
the boys.
"Wouldn't it be fun if we could find the cave?" exclaimed Chicken
Little, who had been studying over the glorious possibility for several
minutes.
"Why, yes, you might find an Aladdin's lamp there," replied Alice
teasingly.
Jane was not to be discouraged. "We might find something. Let's play we
do anyway. What'd you like to find, Katy?"
Katy considered.
"I'd like to find all those silver spoons and watches the burglars stole
from the Jones' and Gassetts' last month. Then we'd get the twenty-five
dollars reward and I could buy a lot of things."
Alice laughed.
"Those things are probably up in Chicago in some pawn shop long before
this, Katy. It's only in stories that burglars hide things in caves."
"Well, they might," insisted Katy.
"Yes, the moon might be made of green cheese--but it isn't," returned
Alice.
"Well, anyway, we can play we find the things," said Chicken Little.
Gertie surprised them all by saying: "I'd like to find a weenty teenty
bear cub."
"Gertie Halford, whatever would you do with a bear cub? You'd be scared
to death of it." Katy looked at her sister in scornful amazement.
"I'd like to find those stock certificates Father lost," said Alice.
"Perhaps we'll find them tied round your bear's neck, Gertie."
This absurdity made the children laugh as they toiled through the
underbrush, which was getting dense, planning merrily. They wandered and
explored for about half an hour up and down the bank, finding nothing
but a few haw-berries, some sumach leaves, and a pocket full of acorns
which Gertie was taking back to Carol to carve into dishes, for her.
Carol was an expert with his knife.
Chicken Little had a big scratch on her arm from a thorn bush, and Katy
a long tear in her blue gingham dress, which greatly annoyed her.
"Let's go back to Carol--this isn't any fun," she complained.
But Alice had just spied something that interested her.
"I bet I know what we can find that you'll all like," she said. "Wild
grapes! I see a big vine over on that tree by the rocks. It's in a
perfect thicket and there may be some left."
It was difficult forcing their way through the bushes. They were almost
tempted to give up but Alice was sure she smelled grapes and Chicken
Little and Katy were eager to carry back some booty to make the boys
curious.
So they plodded on getting so many scratches and slaps from overhanging
branches and interlacing bushes that they made a joke of them.
"Mr. Bush, if you catch my hair again, I'll break a piece out of you,"
and Chicken Little gave the offending bush such a shove that it promptly
rebounded, grazing her cheek.
"Never mind," said Alice. "I've got my thirteenth scratch and my hair's
almost down. I won't have a hair-pin left by the time we get out of
this."
"I guess Mother will feel bad about my dress, but maybe she won't mind
so much if we take her some wild grapes. She hasn't had any this year.
Oh, bother these burrs!" and Katy stooped down to pick a bunch from her
shoe strings and several scattered ones from her white stockings already
profusely streaked with green and brown stains.
Gertie bringing up the rear of the little procession was too busy
defending her head and face against briars and brush to say anything.
Alice crashed through a particularly matted growth of bushes and gave a
shout of triumph. "Here we are, children, and there are grapes--scads of
them!"
They found themselves under a low spreading oak that was fairly canopied
with huge wild grape vines that hung almost to the ground on three
sides, forming a big tent. The grapes were plentiful and the fragrance
delicious. But, alas, these were like the grapes the fox found sour,
most of them hung high above their reach.
"What a shame--if only the boys were here they might climb!" said Alice
disgusted.
"I can climb if you'll boost me, Alice," Chicken Little volunteered
quickly.
Alice was surveying the tempting fruit thoughtfully.
"I don't believe you could reach them if you did, Chicken Little. See,
you'd have to go clear out on the ends of the branches. Perhaps if we'd
go up on the hill above--it's pretty steep here--we could reach some. It
will be hard to get through--there's a perfect rat's nest of vines and
bushes."
Chicken Little was already crawling under the overhanging vines. She
soon shouted a discovery.
"Say, somebody's cut a little path here through the bushes. Come
on--it's easy after you get through a little ways."
The others followed and sure enough there was a faintly worn path
leading off up the hill side. Some of the densest undergrowth had been
trimmed a little to permit a fairly easy passage.
"How queer!" Alice exclaimed. "Somebody's been here right lately. Funny
they didn't take the grapes--they're dead ripe."
"Whoever came here last crawled right in under those vines." Katy's
sharp eyes had noticed how the weeds had been crushed down by some heavy
body and that some of the vines were broken.
"You're right--they have--dear me, I hope it isn't a tramp!" Alice
replied, a little anxious. "Anyway he wasn't here today because--see
those leaves he broke off are dead."
"What do you suppose he went in there for?" demanded Katy.
"I'm sure I can't imagine--to hide maybe," Alice looked puzzled.
"Oh, maybe he was the burglar--maybe he hid the things under there--I'm
going to find out," and before Alice could stop her, Chicken Little was
disappearing under the vines again.
"O-h--Oh! I'm 'fraid! Oh, Alice, don't let her!" Gertie flew to the
protection of Alice's skirts in terror and Katy edged nearer to her
side.
"Don't Chicken Little--don't--come back--there might be snakes under
there." Alice was worried herself.
The mention of snakes brought Katy with a scream to cling to her arm,
but Jane was not to be daunted. They could hear her puffing and breaking
off twigs as she progressed. Suddenly there was a complete silence and
Alice's heart jumped with fear lest something had happened to the child.
"Jane," she called anxiously.
"I'm here, Alice, but there's something funny--there's a great big hole
in between some rocks--only I can't see much, 'cause there's so many
vines and it's dark."
"Oh, do you s'pose it's a bear den? Oh, I want my mother!" Gertie began
to whimper.
"Shut up, silly, there aren't any bears 'round here!" said Katy
unfeelingly. "It's a woodchuck hole most likely."
"I wonder if it could be that cave," said Alice. "You wait here, girls,
I'm going in there too."
Alice fought her way in to Chicken Little's side. Sure enough there was
a dark hole about two feet high.
Jane encouraged by Alice's presence was for exploring at once, but Alice
caught her dress determinedly.
"Don't you dare, Jane Morton, it wouldn't be safe--there might be
snakes--you can't tell what's in there. I believe whoever came in here
went into that hole--see, here's two foot prints. I think we'd better
get out of this."
Alice made Chicken Little precede her back to the spot where Katy and
Gertie were waiting.
The Halford girls were thoroughly frightened and clamored to go home.
Alice hesitated.
"I hate not to get some of those grapes after all our trouble. I don't
believe there's anybody round here now and there hasn't been a wild
animal seen on Duck Creek for years."
"I could reach those over there if you'd hold me up, Alice," said
Chicken Little.
"Pooh, I can get some by myself," said Katy reassured by Alice's words.
"Well, let's fill this old apron anyhow, it won't hurt it." Alice had
worn an old apron to protect herself against the muss of the lunch and
had forgotten to take it off.
They all set to work, but the apron proved capacious and before it was
half loaded, they heard a shrill whistle below them and Carol's voice
calling:
"Hello there--where have you got to?"
An answering call soon brought him to the tree.
"Whew, aren't they beauties?" he gloated, surprised.
"How'd you find us?" inquired Katy.
"Trailed you by your tracks--woke up and found everybody vamoosed and I
knew it was no good going after the boys and----" he was not allowed to
finish.
"Oh, Carol, we've found the cave!" Chicken Little's voice was shrill
with importance.
"Honest to goodness?" Carol looked incredulous.
"Cross my heart," affirmed Katy promptly though she hadn't so much as
had a glimpse of the mysterious hole.
"Where?"
"Under there--I'll show you," Jane made a dive for the vines but Alice
caught her arm.
"You are not going in there again."
"Show me--I'll go." Carol was eager with excitement.
"Got any matches, Carol?"
"No, but Ern has a pocket full."
"I tell you--the boys must be coming back by this time. You go meet them
while we finish picking these grapes and when they come we'll explore
the thing. Cut some big sticks and bring them along, Carol." Alice had
hardly finished speaking before Carol was off.
Fifteen minutes later the boys were heard hallooing below them. They
came swarming through the thicket excited and breathless.
"Bully for Chicken Little Jane!" cheered Sherm when they got the facts.
"Here, Carol, give me your knife and I'll hack away some of these
vines."
The boys cleared a way in a jiffy, letting in a stream of light at the
same time so they could see more of the hole.
"I bet you 'tis!"
"Geewhillikens, I wonder how big it is!"
"Alice says somebody has been in there--they have too--see there!"
"Here boys, go slow. Light a match and throw it in and see how much you
can see," Alice counselled.
The match illuminated only a little way and a lone chipmunk darted out.
It was certainly a cave but apparently empty as they heard no further
movement.
The boys tied a half dozen matches on the end of a stick and thrust it
in. This improvised torch worked beautifully. The cave was only a small
affair about three feet one way and five the other--not high enough for
Carol to stand upright. It was so hung with cobwebs they could not see
into the corners clearly. The floor was partly covered with dead leaves
that had drifted in and were fast decaying into mold.
As their eyes penetrated the dimness, three of the children gave a yell
in unison.
"There's something over in that corner!"
The something proved to be a market basket covered with an old
gunny-sack.
Ernest insisted on going after it. Satisfied that the cave contained
nothing else they rushed their trophy out to the light and examined its
contents. It yielded a regular pirate treasure.
"What under the sun?" Alice opened eyes and mouth in blank amazement.
"Children, sure as you're born, we've found that stolen silver!"
The basket was speedily emptied. One silver sugar bowl, four dozen
spoons, two silver goblets, a watch and some small pieces of jewelry
were revealed, besides a package of official looking papers.
"There's Mrs. Jones' pin. I remember they advertised one big pearl set
round with ten little ones. But what do you suppose these papers are?"
Carol and Alice were busy untying them.
"Well, 'pon my soul!--do you suppose we are bewitched?--they've got my
father's name on them. Pinch me and see if I'm dreaming." Alice looked
at the papers in a daze, Ernest and Carol staring over her shoulder.
"They're some sort of legal papers 'cause they've got those big red
seals on them."
"It is your father's name--Donald Fletcher. We'll take them home to
Father--he'll know what they are," said Ernest.
"Yes, that would be best and we must be getting back. Frank will be
waiting for us."
CHAPTER IV
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE AND HER MOTHER
Family prayers were hardly decently over the morning after the picnic
before Jane Morton climbed into her father's lap armed with a fine tooth
comb and a stiff hair brush.
"I'm going to comb your hair," she announced ingratiatingly.
Dr. Morton dearly loved to have his shaggy curly head brushed, and
scratched with the fine comb, and it was Jane's office to be
comber-in-chief--a duty she was prone to shirk if she could.
"What are you after, Humbug--a new doll?"
"No," she replied in an injured tone. "I just wanted to know what a
cestificut is."
"A what?"
"A cestificut--those kind of papers we found in the cave."
"Oh, a certificate. Why Chicken Little a certificate--I don't know
whether I can make you understand. There are several kind of
certificates, but those were bank certificates."
Chicken Little looked decidedly puzzled.
"Those pieces of paper showed that Alice's father once owned part of the
National Bank here."
"Doesn't he own it now?"
"Mr. Fletcher is dead, as you know, and the question is whether they
belong to Alice as her father's heir. That is what we were talking about
last night. But don't bother your small head about such things."
Jane combed away industriously for several minutes giving him sundry
pats and smoothing his forehead deftly.
"Alice says if they was really hers she could sell them and go to school
and be like other people. I think Alice is like other people now--don't
you?"
"Alice--like other people?" Dr. Morton had been lost in the depths of
his newspaper. "Alice is all right--a very worthy girl--but I doubt if
she has any more chance of getting hold of that bank stock than the man
in the moon. The papers were evidently stolen from Gassett's house along
with the silver. It does look queer that they are still in Donald
Fletcher's name, but people are mighty careless sometimes about business
affairs--though it isn't like Gassett--he looks out for his own pretty
carefully."
"Is there anything you could do about it, Father?" asked Mrs. Morton who
had come in and overheard this last remark. "Alice seems very much
wrought up and I promised her I would speak to you."
"Why, I told her last night if I were in her place I'd just hold on to
the papers and see if Gassett inquires for them and if he does, make him
prove his right to them. It's up to him to show they are his."
"Are they very valuable?"
"Yes, they are worth about five thousand dollars. It would be a windfall
for Alice, all right."
Mrs. Morton considered.
"Well, I don't know what a girl in her position would do with that much
money if she had it." Mrs. Morton was English and very firm in the
belief that class distinctions were a part of the Divine plan.
"Chicken Little here says she'd go to school," Dr. Morton replied.
"Go to school! Why, Alice is twenty. Well, I think she'd better be
content in the station to which the Lord has called her, myself," said
Mrs. Morton dismissing the subject easily.
Chicken Little had been listening to her elders with the liveliest
interest. She could not quite understand it all but she had done her
best. Hurt by her mother's indifferent tone, she burst out indignantly:
"The Lord didn't put Alice in any station--she hasn't been on a train
since her mother died. She told me so and she wants to go to school just
awful."
"That will do, Jane; you don't know what you are talking about. I didn't
mean a railroad station--I meant that if the Lord intended Alice to be a
servant she should try to be contented." Mrs. Morton spoke severely,
pursing her lips up tight in a little way she had when annoyed.
But Jane was not to be suppressed.
"Yes, but it wasn't the Lord--it was Mr. Gassett's stealing their money.
Alice said it would make her mother cry right up in Heaven if she knew
she was a hired girl. And I just know the Lord wouldn't do such a
thing!"
"Steady, steady--don't get so excited, Chicken Little Jane," soothed her
father, amused at the tempest. "Alice has one staunch friend evidently.
Here are some peppermints--you can go and divide with Alice to even up
for her hard luck. If we find anything can be done about that money,
I'll promise to help her. Will that content you, little daughter?"
Jane gave her father a grateful hug and departed to give Alice a
decidedly garbled account of what Dr. Morton was going to do.
"Bless the child's kind heart," said the doctor, looking after her
tenderly.
"You do spoil that child dreadfully, Father, the idea of her mixing up
in a business matter like this. I'm afraid I've let her see too much of
Alice, but she is an excellent servant."
"Alice is a treasure, Mother, and she isn't hurting Jane any--that is
plain to be seen. Let them alone--the friendship is good for both of
them."
Chicken Little came home from school a few days later, bursting with
news.
"Mrs. Gassett came out to the gate when I was going by this morning and
said she heard we had found some papers along with the silver, and she
said they'd lost some and maybe they was theirs. I just told her there
was some papers with big red things on them but they belonged to Alice's
father and Alice was awful glad to find them 'cause her----"
"Chicken Little Jane, you didn't go tell all that to Mrs. Gassett!"
Ernest interrupted with the horrified surprise of one who is far removed
from such childish blunders.
Chicken Little looked from Ernest to her father piteously.
"You didn't say I wasn't to tell, Papa."
"No dear, I knew with six children in possession of a secret, it was no
use trying to keep it. There is no harm done, Chicken Little. What did
Mrs. Gassett say?"
"She just said 'Humph' real mad and she turned her old fat back and
waddled off to the house. My, I'm glad I am not fat like her."
"Didn't say thank you for finding her silver, eh?" asked Dr. Morton.
"Catch Sister Gassett saying thank you," put in Frank Morton. "They say
she's a worse old skinflint than her husband. I've been told the Gassett
girls don't get enough to eat let alone decent clothes."
"Come Frank," said his mother reprovingly. "You forget that the Gassetts
are members of our church."
"Didn't I say Sister Gassett, Mother?" asked Frank with a twinkle in his
eye.
Mrs. Morton was not blessed with a keen sense of humor and she reproved
once more.
"Yes, but it isn't quite fitting for you to call an older person Sister,
especially when you are not a church member yourself."
Frank subsided with a shy glance at his father.
Ernest seized the opportunity to impart his budget, though with a mouth
rather too full of beefsteak and potatoes to make his words
intelligible.
"Carol says--(swallow)--that old Gassett tackled him--(swallow)----"
"Ernest!"
Dr. and Mrs. Morton started in together, but Mrs. Morton finished.
"Don't try to talk with your mouth full."
Ernest hurriedly disposed of his food and resumed.
"Carol says old Gassett tackled him about those stock certificates and
he just told him we didn't find any papers with his name on. If we had,
we'd have returned them along with the silver."
"That was a mighty smart-Alecky speech," said his father. "Carol should
learn to be more respectful to his elders."
"I don't see what this younger generation is coming to," said Mrs.
Morton plaintively. "I can't see where children learn such bad manners."
"Probably corrupted by their elder brothers, Mother dear," retorted
Frank. "But, changing the subject, I am curious to see what Gassett will
do."
"Yes, I am curious about his first move myself. Perhaps, he'll come up
here and demand the papers of Mother or maybe he'll send a lawyer."
"Well, for my part I think the sensible thing to do would be to send him
the papers and stop all this fuss," Mrs. Morton replied.
"Why, Mother!" Ernest started up indignantly.
"You forget, Mother, that those papers happen to be worth five thousand
dollars," said Frank, lifting his eyebrows.
Jane looked from the boys to her mother in horrified amazement.
"They are Alice's papers, Mother, so there!"
"We don't know whether they are Alice's or not, my dear, and little
girls should be seen and not heard."
"But they've got Alice's father's name on them!" Jane's mental crater
was seething and no snubbing could keep it from boiling over. "I just
guess you wouldn't like it if somebody took something that belonged to
your little girl."
"She's got you there, Mother," said Dr. Morton, laughing. "Come on,
Frank, we must be getting downtown."
* * * * *
If Mrs. Morton was still English in her ideas, Chicken Little was
intensely American, and while Mrs. Morton was a most loving and
conscientious mother, she could never understand her rebellious small
daughter. Many unpleasant scenes occurred in her effort to bring up the
child in the ways of her forefathers.
Chicken Little was an athletic child before the days when it was proper
for little girls to be athletic, and Mrs. Morton mourned greatly over
her tomboy propensities. She did her best to overcome these by crowding
the child's playtime full of all the little womanly arts possible. But
her efforts, if praiseworthy, were hardly successful, especially her
attempts to teach her to sew.
These lessons usually began Saturday morning.
"Chicken Little, when you finish your practicing, I want you to come to
my room and do a square of your patchwork. You know I let you off last
Saturday to go nutting."
"Oh, Mother, please, the boys are making a little furnace out in the
back yard and they said we girls might help them roast apples and
potatoes--and Alice is going to let us have some doughnuts. And please,
Mother, don't make me do that nasty old patchwork."
"But, child, you must learn to sew. I should think you would enjoy that
pretty patchwork--I got those bright silk scraps on purpose to please
you. Why my mother made a shirt for her father when she was no older
than you, and you can't take five stitches neatly. Besides, I don't
think it is good for little girls to play with the boys so much. It
teaches them to be rough--girls should be little ladies."
Mrs. Morton pursed her lips in the prim little expression that was
Jane's despair.
The child's eyes flashed rebelliously.
"I don't want to be a little lady!" she said sullenly. "Mrs. Halford
likes to have Katy and Gertie play with the boys 'cause they haven't
got any brothers and she thinks it's good for them--so there!"
"Why Jane!"
"I don't care--I don't see why boys should have all the fun! You let
Ernest do most everything he wants to--and you won't let me do hardly
anything--and I don't think it's a bit fair--and I just hate this old
patchwork!" Chicken Little flung herself down on the floor in a tempest
of wrath.
Mrs. Morton's usually placid face became severe.
"Get up this minute and come here!"
Chicken Little reluctantly obeyed.
"Child, do you want to be a perfect little know-nothing? I am grieved
and pained that my only little daughter has such ideas. I can't see
where you get them. Katy and Gertie both sew very nicely for their ages
and----"
"Yes," interrupted the child between sobs, "but their mother lets them
learn on rainy days and in the summer when it's too hot to play out
doors. She doesn't keep them in all morning on Saturday!"
"You have all afternoon to play."
"But we can't roast apples--the boys are going to the ball game--and
they're building the furnace right now and I want to see them. Katy and
Gertie are up on the alley fence calling me. Oh! Mother, can't I go?
Please, please, Mother!"
Mrs. Morton looked perplexed for a moment, then straightened herself
resolutely.
"No, daughter, you have been a very rebellious little girl. I can't
encourage such conduct. But if you will practice your hour faithfully,
I'll let you put off the sewing till two o'clock this afternoon--on
condition that you promise to sit down without making any fuss and
finish that square today. Bring it here and let me see if you are doing
it right."
Jane fidgeted and looked at her mother uneasily.
"I don't know 'zackly where it is," she objected.
"Go hunt it."
Chicken Little went slowly, evidently oppressed by thought.
She returned in about three minutes with three much mussed pieces of
silk sewn together, from which dangled a needle by a remarkably long and
dirty silk thread.
Her mother examined it with disfavor.
"Where are your other pieces?" she inquired sternly.
Chicken Little answered in a most ladylike small voice.
"I--I used them."
"Used them?--what for?"
"For--silk ravellings."
"Silk ravellings?--what on earth do you mean?"
"We keep them in our Geographies and Grace Dart had the most
colors--and you wouldn't give me any old ribbons--so I used them."
"Jane Morton, what are you talking about?"
"Jane Morton" looked out the window and squirmed uneasily. "I just told
you," she said pettishly.
"Bring your Geography here!"
Chicken Little obeyed and Mrs. Morton hastily opened it. About every
third page revealed cloud-like fluffs of silk ravellings in all the
colors of the rainbow. The entire Geography was so occupied as an album
for these delectable bits of color that it was difficult to see how it
could be used for study purposes.
"Well, I never!" Mrs. Morton regarded all ejaculations as unladylike,
but the occasion seemed to require emphasis.
"Where did you get all these?--and what do you want them for?"
"'Cause all the girls have them. I took some of the pieces left from the
millinery store----"
"Yes?"
"And I cut some weenty bits of my hair ribbons and I traded for some of
the mixy ones--and the quilt pieces."
Chicken Little shut her lips tight with an air of finality.
"Go get your hair-ribbons."
Chicken Little obeyed slowly.
The ribbons were shortened anywhere from one inch to a quarter of a
yard. Some looked as if she had taken the ribbon and left the "weenty"
piece.
Mrs. Morton's face was a study. For a moment she seemed to be struck
speechless. It was only a moment.
"Your ribbons are ruined--I never saw such a child! You knew better than
that and you shall be punished severely. Go right to your practising now
and I'll think this matter over. But--you cannot help the boys with the
furnace."
"But you promised, Mother."
"I don't care if I did; you've been a very naughty little girl and----"
"But you promised and you'll be telling a wrong story your ownself if
you don't let me. And you never told me I couldn't cut pieces off my
hair-ribbons--and I asked you for some old ones and you said: 'Run along
and don't bother'." Chicken Little faced her mother flushed and defiant.
Mrs. Morton's face was equally red with exasperation. The child's logic
was not easy to gainsay.
"Very well," she said with asperity, "you may go after your practicing,
as I said, but you will be punished later. You understand--later!"
CHAPTER V
THE BACK-YARD FURNACE
It was in a more chastened frame of mind, that Chicken Little joined the
others in the back yard after her practice hour was over. She had spent
so much of the hour wondering what her mother was going to do to her,
that the hour had really slipped away rather quickly.
The three boys had the brick part of the furnace all done when she
appeared. They were carefully fitting into place the rusty piece of
stove-pipe which was the crowning glory of the structure. Katy and
Gertie were seated on an old barrel turned over on its side, watching
the process. They made room for Chicken Little between them.
Ernest got to his feet after the stove-pipe was snugly set with a grunt
of satisfaction.
"Frank said we'd better wait for half an hour before we started a fire
to let the mortar dry. The sun's pretty hot. Maybe it won't take quite
so long today."
"Let's play tag while we wait," suggested Katy.
"Bet I can roll you girls off that barrel," said Sherm with mischief in
his eye.
"Bet you can't."
"I'll help you, Sherm."
"No you don't, Ernest--Sherm said he could--he's got to do it alone."
Chicken Little perked up at the prospect of a tussle. "I'll sit the
other way, Katy. You and Gertie brace your feet against the ground--just
as hard. Move the barrel a little and I can put mine against the
chopping logs; there that's fine."
Sherm was about fifteen feet away and he made a dash to stop these
preparations. But the little girls were planted firmly before he could
interfere.
He was a stout lad but he found the rolling process more difficult than
he had imagined. The other boys hovered around eager to take a hand and
offering unasked suggestions.
"Lift up one end--that'll heave them off."
"You said roll, Sherm Dart!" squealed Katy as she felt the barrel gently
rising under her.
"That's right, Sherm, you did," put in Ernest who was usually fair.
Sherm disgustedly lowered the barrel, rubbing his hands together
preparatory to another shove.
The little girls gloated.
"H-m-m--wasn't so easy as you thought it would be--was it?" jeered
Chicken Little.
"You can't do it, Smarty," Katy shied a chip at him.
Gertie kicked her heels against the barrel in glee and said nothing.
"Before I'd let the girls get ahead of me!" Carol and Ernest joined in
the chorus of derision.
"Sherm Dart beaten by the girls!"
Sherm gritted his teeth and settled down to business. He pulled--he
pushed--he jerked, but the little maids succeeded in maintaining some
sort of balance. He couldn't get the barrel over. Finally he had a happy
thought. He also braced both feet against the chopping log and giving a
sudden shove with all his strength sent the barrel over and the little
girls sprawling in all directions at the same time.
There was a chorus of protests from Chicken Little and Katy, but Ernest
and Carol acting as umpires declared that Sherm had kept his contract.
Furthermore, the boys were eager to light the furnace, dry or not.
[Illustration: Wiping his eyes ... as the puffs came thicker.]
To Chicken Little was granted the proud privilege of touching the
match to the heaped-up fuel. It took five matches to do the work and
when the paper and kindling finally caught, the smoke showed a
disposition to pour out the door into their faces instead of puffing
decorously up the chimney.
"I don't see what ails the old thing," said Sherman, wiping his eyes and
backing off as the puffs came thicker.
"Bet there's a crack some place near the top that spoils the draught."
Ernest was a student and strong on reasons.
"Holy smoke! I should say so," reported Sherman, investigating. "Look at
the top where the pipe goes in, you could put both hands down through
the hole. Carol Brown, I thought you undertook to plaster this darned
thing!"
"Well, I daubed on two bucketsful of the stuff--maybe you think it was
fun to fill in all those cracks. I can't help it if you fellows left
half acre spaces between the bricks so it falls through!" complained
Carol, who did not love work.
"Half acre nothing, your stuff was too thin and didn't stick!
Here--gimme your bucket."
Sherm stalked off disgustedly and was soon back with a gloriously messy
batch of clay which he dashed painstakingly into the crack and into
sundry other cracks that his keen eyes discovered.
"When you're doing a job, you might as well learn to do it right--it
saves time in the long run," he lectured with an absurd imitation of
his father's manner.
"Quit your preaching!" growled Carol.
"Alee samee, Sherm did the business, Carol," retorted Ernest. "Gee, it's
going with a whoop!"
And the furnace certainly proved the force of Sherman's words, for the
fire crackled merrily.
The children watched it, fascinated, waiting till the embers should be
ready for the apples and potatoes.
Katy had a bright idea. "Say, Jane, get your dishes and I'll ask Mother
if I can bring over our little table and we'll have a sure enough tea
party."
"Oh, shucks, we don't want any doll parties!" said Ernest.
"'Twon't be a doll party--it'll be a people's party," protested Jane.
"Maybe Mother'd give me some spice cakes. She's making some," suggested
Gertie tactfully.
Carol, who was a bit of a glutton, pricked up his ears.
"Let the kids have their duds if they want them. It won't spoil the
goodies."
"Oh, well, I don't care what they have, but I'm not going to eat from
their old doll things," said Sherm, who prided himself upon being above
childish things.
"Nobody wants you to, you old cross patch, but you will, won't you,
Carol? And I bet Ernest and Sherm'll want to when they see what we've
got," and Katy bustled off with fire in her eye, resolved to produce a
spread that should make the boys' mouths water.
She dispatched Chicken Little for the dishes with instructions to beg
Alice for something for the feast, while she and Gertie foraged at home.
Mrs. Halford was a jolly little woman who readily entered into the
child's scheme.
The boys were set to tending the roasting apples and potatoes, and the
little girls spread their tiny table daintily with a big towel for a
tablecloth and rosebud china about as big as a minute.
One untoward accident occurred before the spread was ready and came near
wrecking the whole plan. While the girls were off after more food a
plate of tempting cookies disappeared bodily from the table, plate and
all, and loud and wrathful were the laments.
"You mean things--you've got to put those cookies right back!"
"You sha'n't have a single bite if you don't!"
The boys grinned sheepishly. The cookies resting joyfully in their
barbarian young stomachs could not very well be restored.
"I'll tell Mother on you," put in Chicken Little as a last threat.
"Tattle-tale, much good it'll do you. Here's your old plate, and we've
eaten the cookies. Trot along for the rest of your stuff--we won't take
any more," said Ernest.
"Well, you boys can't have but one doughnut apiece, now." Katy tossed
her head indignantly.
However Katy herself was the first to suggest dividing her second
doughnut with the boys when the time came.
Ernest and Sherm had begun to treat the doll's table idea with more
respect as one after another tid-bit appeared. Quince preserves settled
the matter for Sherm, and Ernest's last objection to doll parties
vanished when Alice appeared with a custard pie.
Alice, who had heard Chicken Little's complaint about the way the boys
were behaving, found time to linger till the little party was well
started to the great improvement of the lads' manners.
"It is customary, Carol, to serve the ladies first," she admonished when
Carol made a dive for a coveted dainty ahead of the others.
And when the sugar mysteriously disappeared into Ernest's pocket, she
picked up the pie without comment and started for the house. The sugar
was immediately restored and order reigned during the rest of the meal.
The boys appreciated the girls' truck the more because their own cooking
had hardly been a success. The potatoes were half done and the apples
tasted alarmingly of ashes. The moment the last morsel had vanished the
boys cleared out for the ball field and the little girls looked
longingly after them, as they surveyed the messy dishes.
"Let's leave them and go swing," suggested Katy.
Chicken Little sighed.
"Mother'd never let me use them again if I didn't clean them up and put
them away."
"Well," said Katy, "I'll take my things home, but I don't think I ought
to help you wash yours."
"Why, Katy Halford, you asked me to use them!"
"Never mind, Jane, I'll help you. Katy can just go off if she wants to.
'Twon't take long and I love to wipe," said peacemaker Gertie avoiding a
storm.
Katy thought better of deserting and the work was soon done in their
very best manner, which, however, did not include washing the inside of
the very sticky sugar bowl or gathering up the remains of the impossible
potatoes. But Alice saved the day by attending to these small details
and Chicken Little was free to worry over the hated patchwork.
"Wisht I could stay out here in the sun for always," she sighed.
"Huh, I don't. There wouldn't be any coasting or skating or candy pulls
or----"
"Well, I wisht there wasn't any sewing."
"You don't either. Where'd you get any dresses or hats, Jane Morton?"
retorted practical Katy.
"Feathers might be nice," put in Gertie, who loved birds.
"Well, I shouldn't want my clothes fastened on so I couldn't get them
off at night," announced Katy decidedly. "And if you were a bird you
couldn't read books or play dolls."
"Well," Chicken Little replied unwilling to concede the point entirely,
"snakes can slip their skins right off--my father said so--and I don't
see why birds couldn't--anyway, I wish little girls didn't have to learn
to sew, so there!"
"I don't mind sewing but I hate arithmetic," said Gertie.
"Pshaw, 'rithmetic's easy."
"Bet you wouldn't say so if you saw our problems for Monday!"
"Let's see them."
"Say, Jane, I'll help you with your patchwork if you'll help me with my
arithmetic."
"I don't know whether Mother'd let me."
"Ask her if you can't bring it over to our house."
Chicken Little had reasons of her own for being dubious about asking
further favors. She did not, however, wish to confide these reasons to
her friends.
"I know she won't let me."
"Well, ask her."
Chicken Little shook her head.
"Go on, Jane," Katy insisted.
But Chicken Little was obstinate.
"Why won't you?"
"'Cause she's mad," she confessed finally.
But the Fates favored her. When she went into the house in much fear of
the promised punishment, she found her mother had gone out for the
afternoon leaving some new patchwork cut out for her. Alice readily gave
her permission to take it over to Halford's.
Chicken Little joyfully gathered up her pieces and needle and thread,
but instead of running back to the girls, she went to the window looking
out into the tree tops thoughtfully. She stood there thinking for
several minutes, her brown eyes sober and her forehead puckered into a
firm little line. Finally she shook her head and exclaimed regretfully:
"I guess it wouldn't be fair!"
Then she walked soberly back to the girls.
"Mother's gone and Alice says I can, but--but--I guess I oughtn't to,
Gertie. I promised Mother I'd do it, you see. But I'll help you with
your examples."
"You could do it over at our house yourself."
"Yes, but I think Mother 'spected me to stay at home and she let me off
this morning. I guess I won't."
And she was deaf to further argument.
The child squared herself sturdily as the other children climbed the
back fence, then walked straight into the house, carefully washed her
hands--which would greatly have astonished her mother could she have
seen her--and settled herself doggedly down to the patchwork.
The stitches were pretty straggly when her mother came to examine them
that evening, but they had been faithfully and painstakingly set with
much pricking of awkward little fingers. Her mother conceded somewhat
grudgingly that she had worked pretty well.
"I trust you realize how very naughty you have been to destroy your
pretty silk pieces and your beautiful hair ribbons," she added.
Chicken Little opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it and
closed it again. Many of the hair ribbons in question had been on the
ragged edge and beautiful was a little strong--but discretion was
sometimes the better part. She kept her big eyes intently on her
mother's face. Her fingers were picking nervously at her apron strings.
Mrs. Morton felt that she was making an impression on the child and
tried to live up to it.
"I want you to ask your Heavenly Father tonight to forgive you for
being so naughty. I have decided to punish you by keeping you at home
and not letting you play with Katy and Gertie for a week."
Chicken Little had been perfectly willing to ask God to forgive her for
she felt rather mean about spoiling the hair ribbons herself, but this
awful sentence of separation from the girls decidedly lessened her
penitence.... She didn't think the hair ribbons were worth it. Her brown
eyes flashed for an instant but she didn't say anything. Presently,
supposing her mother had finished, she started to walk away.
"Jane!"
"Yes ma-am."
"Are you going to ask God to forgive you?"
The child studied a moment then replied shortly.
"No."
"What--come here!"
Chicken Little turned and looked at her mother, then came slowly back.
"Did you understand my question?"
"Yes ma-am."
"What did you mean by saying no?"
Chicken Little swallowed hard to keep up her courage.
"'Cause I ain't."
"Ain't what?"
"Ain't sorry I spoiled the hair ribbons--I don't see any use in being
sorry if I've got to stay away from Katy and Gertie a whole week. I
guess you wouldn't be sorry if somebody shut you up for a week--you'd be
mad!" And Chicken Little, despite several valiant swallows, burst into a
flood of tears.
CHAPTER VI
THE WEDDING
Chicken Little scarcely saw her mother for the next three weeks. Mrs.
Morton seemed to be always shopping or calling or doing something so
important that she could not be interrupted. She held long conferences
with Dr. Morton and Frank. On these occasions Chicken Little was sure to
be sent out of the room, and the child began to wonder what was going
on. She consoled herself by talking it over with Alice.
"What do you suppose they're all fussing about, Alice?"
Alice smiled.
"Secrets, of course."
"Do you know, Alice?"
"A little."
"Please tell me."
"I can't, but your mother will pretty soon. It's something very nice
and exciting, and you're going to be in it."
"Oh, Alice, I just can't wait! Pretty please tell me."
"Promised your mother I wouldn't tell a soul. You won't have to wait
long, dear, so be a good child and don't tease. Here's a cooky for you."
Alice patted the rough brown head lovingly.
During the next week excitement lurked around every corner in the Morton
home. Mrs. Morton was having a wonderful ashes-of-roses silk dress made.
Chicken Little found Alice concocting a huge fruit cake with a perfect
marvel of white frosting, and this was promptly stowed away in the big
tin cake box and labelled "Hands Off." Not so much as a bite was
permitted to any member of the family.
Jane came into the room unnoticed one day in time to hear her mother say
to Frank: "Of course, the house is from both of us, but I want to give
you something all by myself, and I think I will make it a silver water
set."
This was too much for Chicken Little. Why should her father be giving
brother Frank a house? Wasn't he going to live with them any more? She
decided to go and talk the mystery over with Katy, but her mother saw
her and called her back.
"I've something very nice to tell you, little daughter, but we want to
keep it a secret for a week or two yet, so you must promise Mother not
to tell anybody till Mother gives you permission."
Chicken Little nodded eagerly.
"Your brother Frank is going to be married, dear, early in November, to
lovely Marian Gates--they are going to live near us over on Front
Street. Your father has given them that pretty cottage next to Darts'.
You have always wanted a sister--now you will have one. Won't that be
nice?"
Chicken Little was too astonished to answer and her mother continued: "I
am going to take you over to see Marian tomorrow afternoon and you must
be a little lady so brother Frank will be proud of his little sister."
Chicken Little was so absorbed with the main idea that the hated "little
lady" passed unnoticed. When her mother had finished telling her some of
the details about the wedding, which was to be a quiet one at Marian's
home, she went off to school in a maze of wonderment. She had never seen
a wedding. She knew vaguely that people always got new clothes for such
occasions and that the minister always seemed to be present.
Her lessons suffered sadly from her excitement. She got wrong answers to
four of her ten examples. When her teacher asked her for the second time
where New York was situated, she answered confusedly, "Over on Front
Street," and was soundly, scolded for her lack of attention.
She relieved her mind of a few questions at noon.
Was the wedding going to be at night? Could she sit up till it was all
over? Was Alice going? Were Katy and Gertie going?
General conversation at the dinner table had to be largely suspended
till her curiosity was satisfied.
"Well, Miss Interrogation Point," laughed her father when she had
finally subsided for a moment, "any other little matters you'd like to
know about?"
Chicken Little was too intent on her own ideas to notice his pleasantry.
"Why isn't Alice going?"
"Because she won't be invited, my dear," responded Mrs. Morton shortly.
"Why won't you invite her, Mother?"
"My dear, I do not do the inviting. Marian and her mother will attend to
that part. Besides, my child, it is hardly customary to send wedding
cards to hired girls. I may offer Alice's services to Mrs. Gates to help
in the kitchen."
Chicken Little finished her apple dumpling in silence and her mother
supposed she was satisfied.
She took up the question with Alice when she came home from school that
afternoon.
"I wisht you were going, Alice."
"I wish I were, Chicken Little. Your mother suggested that I might go
and help, but I used to play with Marian Gates when I was a little girl
and I couldn't bear to go there as a servant. I would like to see your
brother married--and Marian, too."
After her talk with Alice, Chicken Little started over to Halford's
feeling very important but vowed to silence. Alice cautioned her as she
went out the back door, "Don't tell Katy and Gertie, Chicken Little."
She rather resented this. She was resolved to die rather than tell
anyone--as if she couldn't keep a secret!
But her reception was certainly disconcerting. Katy and Gertie met her
at the gate, bubbling with information and determined to get all the
facts they didn't know.
"Say, Jane, your brother's going to be married isn't he?" questioned
Katy, and Gertie added:
"The wedding's in November isn't it? And he's going to marry Marian
Gates and she's to have a white silk dress. I heard your mother tell
Mamma this afternoon when I came home from school."
How could a ten year old maiden already full to bursting with a secret
withstand such an attack?
Jane hesitated, got red in the face and tried to pretend not to know
anything about it, but sharp little Katy had it all out of her in no
time, and the deed once done Jane joyfully volunteered a few facts on
her own account.
"I'm going, and I'm going to have some white shoes and a pale blue silk
poplin dress with lots of little ruffles all up and down in hills--you
know," and Jane danced about on her tip-toes boastfully to be recalled
promptly to earth by Katy.
"Your mother didn't want you to tell, did she? Gee, I bet she'll be
mad!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Chicken Little conscience-stricken, "you mustn't ever
tell!"
"Well, I just guess I knew it before you told me, Jane Morton, and I
guess I didn't promise anybody I wouldn't tell. 'Sides, everybody that's
got eyes knows it. I've seen your brother out riding with her heaps of
times."
"She's got be-utiful clothes," said Gertie, "and her sister May says her
hair reaches most down to her knees and it's just as thick as----"
"Yes," interrupted Katy, "and I guess you'll have to like Jennie Gates
whether you want to or not 'cause she'll be a kind of a sister, too."
"She won't either!" denied Chicken Little hotly. "Mother said just
Marian, and she's lovely--so there!"
"Isn't it funny her name will be Marian Morton now instead of Marian
Gates," replied Katy, satisfied with the commotion she had caused and
wishing to give a new turn to the conversation.
This was a new thought to Chicken Little and she paused to ponder over
it. Of course her mother's name was Morton the same as her father's, but
then she supposed it had always been Morton. That night when she went
home she astounded her mother by asking why Frank's name wouldn't be
Frank Gates if Marian was to be Marian Morton. She also made her big
brother's face flush by asking if Marian's red hair really truly came
below her knees.
"Why, little Sis, I don't know. It looks as if it did."
Jane looked forward to the call on the new sister with mingled dread and
delight. She drove off in state beside her mother proudly arrayed in her
best red merino dress and little brown furs, and firmly resolved to put
prejudice aside for once and be a little lady.
Her awe of this new sister was so great that she followed her mother
into the Gates' parlor in such a condition of stage fright that she
resembled a jointed doll more than an active child. She extended her
small hand stiffly to the tall girl in blue who bent to greet her. But
the new sister had heard too much of Chicken Little to stand on
ceremony, and putting both arms around her, kissed her twice, once
between the wondering eyes and once on her prim little mouth.
The child's heart was captured immediately and she joyfully cuddled up
close to this new relative, who drew her with her to a big chair
relieving her own nervousness, at this interview with dignified Mrs.
Morton, by petting Chicken Little.
Marian Gates soon noticed that Jane seemed specially interested in her
hair. She detected small fingers feeling it cautiously and saw Mrs.
Morton shake her head. Finally, Chicken Little reached up and whispered
something. Marian laughed and nodded, then turning to Mrs. Morton
explained: "She wants me to take my hair down."
Mrs. Morton protested but Marian bent her head and told Jane to pull out
the pins. The child's fingers trembled and she touched the soft dark
masses almost reverently.
When the last pin was out and the hair tumbled a shimmering cloud over
Marian's shoulders, over the chair arms, and on down to the floor, Mrs.
Morton exclaimed in admiration and Chicken Little stood spellbound.
Marian, blushing, got to her feet.
"There's really too much," she apologized. "It's hard to do anything
with."
Chicken Little stepped forward fascinated, slipping her fingers among
the shining strands.
"It is"--she gasped finally, "it is--clear below your knees--and it's
real!"
She could hardly wait to get home and assure brother Frank of the
miraculous fact. He seemed deeply interested. When he went to see Marian
that evening he remarked:
"Why this _unfair discrimination_? Don't you love me as well as you do
Jane?"
And blushing Marian displayed her wealth of hair to a second audience no
less admiring than the first.
It seemed to Chicken Little that the day of the wedding would never
come. She bubbled about it till each individual member of the Morton
family, including the sympathetic Alice, wished she hadn't been told.
Ernest, who was secretly almost as excited as Jane, though he considered
it the manly thing to pretend that he wasn't, listened eagerly to all
her facts, but got tired of her questions.
"Girls and women are always fussing about clothes. Mother says I've got
to wear a stiff collar," he complained. "Anyway, I hope they'll have a
lot to eat."
"Oh, I know they will," said Chicken Little. "Jennie Gates said they
were cooking and packing all the time at her house this week. She says
Frank gave her a quarter. I wish he'd give me a quarter."
"Ah, he's just makin' up with Marian's family. You don't have to be
paid to like Marian--you think she's the only person on the earth now."
As the wedding day approached, Chicken Little became more and more
concerned about Alice's being left at home. She broached the subject to
her mother again but was dismissed with a curt:
"It is impossible, my dear. I gave Alice the opportunity to be present
and she refused. I fear she is getting notions very much above her
position."
The child was not content. She decided to tackle her brother Frank. She
met him at the front gate one evening about three days before the
wedding, and poured out her tale of woe. Frank considered, then patted
her on the head and promised to talk it over with Marian.
The next day Miss Alice Fletcher received an engraved card requesting
the pleasure of her company at the Gates-Morton nuptials. The tears
stood in Alice's eyes as she read it. "How dear of Marian!" she
exclaimed.
Mrs. Morton had felt distinctly displeased at the arrival of the card,
but the sight of the girl's tears disarmed her. Instead of discouraging
Alice from attending the wedding as she at first intended, she turned in
and helped her arrange a dress for the occasion. She did, however, ask
Chicken Little somewhat sternly if she had teased Marian to invite
Alice.
The long parlors of the Gates home were fragrant with evergreen and
hot-house flowers that wedding night when the Morton family arrived.
Chicken Little had seen her brother's trunk start for the station, and
had admired his silk hat and white gloves as the hack called for him
before the rest of the family were ready. She had promised Katy and
Gertie to bring them a lot of wedding cake and to remember every single
thing to tell them, but especially to find out whether Marian was
dressed properly as a bride should be in "something old and something
new, something borrowed and something blue." Katy had discovered that
this was absolutely necessary to a bride's future happiness.
The something new was very apparent as Marian and Frank walked slowly
down the long room between the lines of friends and relatives to the
little bower where the minister stood waiting for them. Marian was all
in shimmering silken white, but she wore no veil, and her glorious hair
crowned a very sweet and earnest face. She carried a quaint little
bouquet of pale tea roses and heliotrope framed formally in lacy white
paper, and an exquisite lace handkerchief, whose slightly yellowed
border betrayed that it was something old, even to Chicken Little's
childish eyes.
Frank held his head high and clasped Marian's arm close as if he were a
little afraid she might vanish at the last moment. Jane noticed that
there were tears in her mother's eyes and in Marian's father's and she
felt worried lest it was because Marian had forgotten the "something
borrowed" and "something blue." She inspected her carefully the whole
length of the parlors, but no hint of anything blue could she detect
unless it was the heliotrope in the bouquet, and that she thought was
surely lavender. Her mother wore a great deal of lavender. Perhaps,
though, the handkerchief had been borrowed.
She forgot her anxiety for a few moments during the hush that attended
the solemn rendering of the marriage service. She slipped clear out in
front of everybody to see better, but Ernest pulled her back
impatiently. When the last words were uttered and the minister extended
his hand in congratulation, she slipped quietly around behind the bridal
pair, to look Marian over at close range. Her brother caught sight of
her.
"Come on, Chicken Little, and kiss your new sister. Why, what a solemn
face!"
Marian hugged her up tight and Jane found courage to whisper, "You
haven't got anything blue on."
Marian looked puzzled for an instant, then laughed heartily.
"Yes, I have, little sister, but don't you tell--it's a blue garter. And
my handkerchief is old and borrowed from my mother. It was her wedding
handkerchief--so you see it's all right. I'm glad you wished me to be
just right."
"Katy said brides wouldn't be happy if they didn't," explained the
child.
"And you wanted me to be happy--bless your heart! I'm going to be the
happiest girl in the world and I'm going to love my little new sister
very dearly."
The child's heart was rather divided for the remainder of the evening
between the desire to stay close to the new sister, and her allegiance
to Alice. A glimpse of the latter standing off by herself near a window,
decided her. With her usual impetuous movement she made a dash in her
direction, bumping smartly into a tall young man who chanced to be in
the way.
Mr. Richard Harding looked down at her with a smile.
"Hello, small craft, where are you heading for at such speed?"
Chicken Little returned the smile, rubbing her cheek where it had grazed
against his coat button.
"I was just a going to Alice."
"Alice, eh?--You are Frank Morton's little sister aren't you?"
Jane nodded.
"I'm Chicken Little."
"I see, well, Chicken Little, you'll have hard work getting through this
crowd--let me help you. Where is Alice?"
Chicken Little pointed.
Alice's simple white swiss dress was outlined very distinctly against a
dark red curtain. She looked very lovely as Mr. Harding immediately
observed. Her dark hair was coiled low on her neck with two long curls
hanging down over one shoulder. Her gray eyes were sweet and wistful as
she watched the gay company in which she had so little part. She had
tucked a spray of red berries in her hair and another was fastened at
her throat with a handsome old cameo brooch.
"So that is Alice. Well, I think I should like to go to Alice myself.
Suppose you take me over and introduce me. I'm Dick Harding."
The introduction was adequate if not conventional. One of Chicken
Little's hands was slipped confidingly into Dick Harding's by this time,
and she promptly tucked the other into Alice's when she reached her.
This brought the two very close together indeed and made them laugh.
"Here, Chicken Little, what about that introduction?"
Jane glanced from one face to the other with shy embarrassment.
"This is Alice," she said, looking up at Dick Harding, "and this is
Dick Harding, Alice."
"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Alice," Dick said, smiling again.
"Alice Fletcher, Mr. Harding."
Mr. Harding suggested that he should find them seats and bring them some
supper. He found an empty sofa and Chicken Little settled down cozily
between them. Here she rejoiced in unlimited sandwiches and cake and
ice-cream until she suddenly remembered her promise to take Katy some
wedding cake and started off on a foraging expedition.
Apparently Dick Harding and Alice did not miss her. They seemed to be
having a very jolly half hour together. When Alice rose on the plea of
helping Mrs. Morton, Dick Harding detained her to ask if he might come
to see her. He was astonished at the confusion his simple request
caused. Alice's face flushed, then turned pale, and her hands trembled
as she toyed with her handkerchief. It was a full minute before she
replied.
"I--I am afraid you don't understand, Mr. Harding. I am Mrs. Morton's
hired girl."
Dick Harding had not understood and he was very much surprised, but he
was too entirely a gentleman to hurt her by revealing it.
"I should like to come, Miss Fletcher,--if it would not embarrass you,"
he said warmly.
Alice seemed troubled. She looked up at him, as he stood there
regarding her with friendly eyes.
"I'm afraid it would," she answered. "I should love to have you--but--it
wouldn't be best--you understand."
"Yes, Miss Fletcher, I do understand, and I honor you for your
frankness, but I warn you I don't intend to let our acquaintance drop.
Good-night."
Chicken Little's foraging was most successful. She secured enough
wedding cake to furnish indigestion and dreams for a family of twelve,
not to mention samples of other edibles, but she was horribly afraid her
mother would see the bulging package in her coat pocket. It relieved her
mind to catch Ernest filling his pockets, too.
"I am just taking a little something to the boys," he apologized rather
shame-facedly.
Ernest freed his mind on the subject of weddings the following morning
at the breakfast table.
"I shouldn't mind the wedding," he said thoughtfully between mouthfuls
of buckwheat cakes and syrup, "but what a man wants a girl tagging round
all the time for, I can't see."
Mrs. Morton looked horrified, and the doctor looked up from his paper
long enough to ejaculate "What?" Chicken Little took up the cudgels:
"I'd like to have Marian round every single minute. I wish she was going
to live with us."
"Oh, Marian's all right, but I don't want any girl dearyin' me!" And
Ernest relapsed into the buckwheats again.
CHAPTER VII
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE AND DICK HARDING PLAY PROVIDENCE
"Jane," called Mrs. Morton as the child was starting back to school one
noon a few days after the wedding, "go by the postoffice on your way
home and ask for the mail. There will probably be a letter from Frank or
Marian on the afternoon train."
"I will, Mother." Chicken Little called back, but she came near
forgetting it because she had something else on her mind. She never
could keep two things on her mind at the same time successfully.
Alice had been very sober ever since the wedding. The night before
Chicken Little had found her crying.
"It's nothing, dear. I'm just silly enough to be worrying because I
can't be somebody," she told Chicken Little. "If I could only find a way
to go to school two years so I could teach! I have been thinking of
trying to work for my board, but Mary Miller did that and she had to
work so hard she didn't have time to study and she got sick. I don't see
how I could pay for my books and clothes either. Perhaps Uncle Joseph
would lend me the money if I'd write to him--I could pay it back when I
got to teaching. But I can't bear to, after the way he treated Mother.
She wrote to him when Father died asking him to help settle up Father's
affairs. He sent her $500 and said that was all he could do for
her--that he couldn't spare the time to come here--she could hire a
lawyer. Mother never wrote to him again and we never heard from him
afterwards. I've been told he still lives in Cincinnati and is very
rich. Oh, dear, if I only could get that bank stock money--I wish Mr.
Gasset would hurry up and do something."
Alice poured out her troubles to the child for want of an older listener
and Chicken Little sympathized acutely.
She wanted to talk it over with her father but Dr. Morton had been
called away some distance into the country to see a patient and had not
returned. She relieved her mind to Katy and Gertie on the way to school
that morning and they were satisfyingly indignant over Alice's troubles,
but had no suggestions to offer.
"Her uncle's an old skinflint--that's what he is. He's awful rich and
owns a big stove factory all by himself. Father orders stoves from
there. He and Mamma say it's a shame he doesn't do something for Alice
when she's his only brother's child."
The matter troubled Jane all day and she was still thinking about it
when she started home from school. She was half way home before she
remembered about going to the postoffice.
There was a letter from Frank and she was just starting homeward again
with it clasped tight in her hand, when someone hailed her.
"Hello, Chicken Little Jane, are you postman today?"
It was Dick Harding.
"Going straight home? I'm going your way then. Here, let me carry your
books."
They passed a greenhouse en route and Dick asked Jane if she thought her
mother would mind her going in with him a moment.
Chicken Little adored going through the greenhouse. She often stopped
outside on her way to school to look at the flowers, but children were
not encouraged inside. She wondered what Mr. Harding was going to do
with the heliotrope and verbena he was selecting so lavishly. He was
having the flowers made into two bouquets, one big and one little. Her
curiosity was soon satisfied.
"Will you do something for me, Chicken Little?" he asked, after the
stems had been securely wrapped in tinfoil and the bouquets adorned with
their circlets of lace paper. "Will you give this to Miss Fletcher with
Dick Harding's compliments?" handing her the big one. "And will you
please beg Miss Jane Morton to accept this with my best love?" Dick
grinned as he presented the tiny cluster with an elaborate bow.
Chicken Little was in raptures but the commission to Alice recalled the
latter's troubles. Childlike she unburdened herself to Dick Harding.
She found him a most sympathetic listener.
"Come over here and sit down and tell me all about Alice. I heard
something the other day about Gassett and the stock certificates, but I
didn't know Miss Fletcher was the heroine."
Chicken Little's account was a trifle disconnected and liberally
interspersed with "Alice says" and "Father says," but Dick Harding being
a lawyer had no difficulty in arriving at the facts. He was vastly
interested and asked many questions.
"This uncle's name is Joseph Fletcher and he owns a factory in
Cincinnati? That must be the Fletcher Iron Works."
Dick Harding pondered awhile, whistling softly to himself.
"You say Alice is too proud to write to her uncle because he didn't
treat her mother right?"
"Yes, but she wants to go to school awfully--so she can be like other
folks." This phrase of Alice's had made a deep impression upon Jane.
"Poor little girl--she's certainly had a rough row to hoe--and all alone
in the world, too." Dick was talking to himself rather than to Chicken
Little.
He turned to her again presently after another period of meditation.
"Alice certainly deserves better things of the Fates, Jane, and I've
been wondering if you and I couldn't find a way to help her out. How
would it do for you to write a letter to this Uncle Joseph and tell him
about Alice just as you have told me. I expect it would be pretty hard
work for a ten year old, but I could help you. What do you say?"
Chicken Little was overawed at the prospect of writing to a strange man,
but she was very eager to help Alice.
"Could I write it with a pencil? Mother doesn't like me to use ink
'cause I most always spill it."
"A pencil is just the thing--it will be easier to erase if you get
something wrong. But, Chicken Little, I guess this would better be a
little secret just between you and me for the present. I'll tell your
mother all about it myself some of these days. Do you think you could
write the letter and have it ready by tomorrow afternoon? I'll see you
after school and take it and mail it--if it's all right."
Chicken Little thought she could. Dick Harding gave her as explicit
directions as he dared as to what she should say and what she should not
say.
"Remember," he added, "not a word of this to anybody--especially to
Alice."
"I've probably got the youngster all mixed up with my fool directions,
but I believe she might make an impression on the uncle, if she can only
write as she talks. Bless her tender heart. Alice has one loyal friend
if she is small," he said to himself, unconsciously echoing Dr. Morton's
words.
Jane left Alice's flowers in the entry while she delivered the letter to
her mother, but she displayed her own tiny bouquet proudly.
"See what Mr. Harding gave me!"
"Mr. Harding is very kind. Was that what made you so late?"
"Yes, we stopped at the greenhouse to get them only I didn't know he was
going to get them--he just asked me did I think you would mind if I went
in there with him?"
"Well, that was very nice--run along--I want to read my letter."
Chicken Little hurried away to take Alice her flowers.
"For me--really?" demanded Alice: "Who sent them?"
"He asked me would I give them to you with Dick Harding's compliments."
The telltale "he" brought a flush to Alice's face and the "Dick Harding"
deepened it. Alice buried her face in the fragrant posy to hide her
embarrassment.
"Did he say anything else, Jane?"
"Yes, he said a lot. He asked me how you were and how Mamma was and if
we'd heard from Frank and Marian. He asked a lot about you----" Chicken
Little caught herself just in time. "I think he's just beautiful--don't
you, Alice? He walked most home with me and carried my books just like I
was grown up."
Alice hugged her by way of reply.
"I told him how you always saved the cookies for us and how Ernest said
you were a brick and he said Ernest evidently had good taste."
Alice's face took on several expressions during this recital. When the
child had finished, she said gravely:
"Jane, will you do me a favor?"
Chicken Little was all attention.
"Please don't say anything to the other children about what Mr. Harding
said or about his sending me the flowers--will you?"
Chicken Little readily promised though she looked disappointed. Secrets
certainly had their drawbacks.
She put her own flowers in water in one of her mother's best vases, a
white hand holding a snowy tulip, and stood off to admire the effect.
Then she soberly hunted up a box of tiny, vivid pink note paper, a much
treasured possession, and set to work on the fateful letter. She
selected the front parlor as the most secluded spot she could find, the
front parlor being reserved for visitors and holidays exclusively.
Its quiet this evening was almost oppressive. Jane stared about the room
seeking inspiration in vain. The old mahogany chairs upholstered in hair
cloth were shinily forbidding. The globes of wax flowers and fruit that
adorned two small marble-topped tables, were equally cold. The silver
water set suggested ice water, and the "Death of Wesley" which
monopolized one wall could hardly be considered cheering. Chicken Little
shivered, and taking an ottoman, ensconced herself between the lace
curtains at a west window where the late autumn sunshine was still
streaming in.
She sucked the end of the lead pencil meditatively.
"Dear Mister Fletcher," she wrote, then paused for ideas. Writing to
Uncle Joseph she found was a very different matter from talking to Dick
Harding. She was picturing Mr. Fletcher in her mind as a cross between a
minister and a tame bear. But Jane had a bulldog grit that carried her
over hard places, and she finally achieved a letter.
"I guess you'll be surprised to hear from me but I want you to know bout
Alice. Katy says your too stuck up is why you wont do anything for
Alice. But I thought mebbe you didn't know how bad she wants to go to
school. Alice says if she could go to school for two years she could
teach and pay you back. She wants to go to school so she can be like
other people stead of being a hired girl. Shes an awful nice hired girl.
Mother says so and shes prittiern anybody cept Marian. I love her heaps.
Alice says mebbe you would lend her the money only she wont ask you
cause you weren't nice to her mother and she got awful hungry sometimes.
Please Mister Fletcher let Alice go to school cause she cries when she
thinks nobody's looking. She thought mebbe she could get some money for
the cestificuts but Mr. Gassett wont do anything.
"Respeckfully,
"JANE MORTON.
"P. S. Most everybody calls me Chicken Little. P'r'aps you'd better put
it on the letter.
"J. M."
It took two entire sheets of the pink note paper to hold this
communication. Chicken Little opened and shut her cramped hand regarding
it with mingled satisfaction and distrust. She had never written so
long a letter before. She went back to the beginning and painstakingly
dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's, a detail she had omitted in
the first writing. She deliberated for some time over the spelling. The
lines, too, ran up and down hill in an undignified manner. But Chicken
Little with a regretful sigh over these deficiencies, folded the sheets
and put them into the tiny envelope, copying carefully the address Dick
Harding had written out for her. Then she consigned the precious missive
to the depths of her Geography so she wouldn't forget it on the morrow.
It was duly delivered into Dick Harding's hands, inspected and approved.
"Bravo, Chicken Little, I couldn't have done better myself."
Jane's brown eyes had been fixed wistfully on his face while he read and
she wriggled painfully when he smiled once or twice during the perusal.
"I'm 'fraid it's pretty crooked--p'raps I could change the spelling if
you'd tell me. I didn't like to ask anybody 'cause they'd want to know
what for."
"We won't change a single thing, Chicken Little. See, we are going to
seal it right up--and pop--here goes the stamp. This letter shall be on
board that seven-thirty train for Cincinnati or my name isn't Dick
Harding. And if it doesn't make Mr. Joseph Fletcher do some thinking,
why he is a little meaner than most men--that's all."
Affairs in the Morton family went on uneventfully for the next ten days.
Chicken Little was busy in school and Mrs. Morton much occupied with
preparations for Christmas.
Ernest was full of certain Christmas schemes of his own to the decided
detriment of his lessons. He had purchased a scroll saw and patterns,
and was firmly resolved to present each individual member of the family
with his handiwork. Some of the designs he had selected were exceedingly
intricate and hard on the eyes, but he was not to be dissuaded from
using them and he toiled away all his spare moments at the fancy
brackets and towel rack. He had great difficulty in concealing the
various pieces from the persons for whom they were intended. He got so
cross about it that it soon became a family habit to cough loudly,
before approaching his room on any errand whatsoever.
The little girls soon caught the Christmas fever also. Alice helped Jane
with her mother's present, a book-mark on perforated cardboard done in
shades of green silk, which Chicken Little regarded as a great work of
art. She fussed away happily over it, tormenting Alice all the while
with guesses as to what her mother was to give her. She had exploded the
Santa Claus fiction two years before.
"Alice, do you s'pose she will get me that wax doll? There's a perfect
dear down at Wolf's. It has blue eyes that shut--and real hair--oh, it's
just as yellow. I never saw such yellow hair, but Mr. Wolf said it was
really hair. Oh, do you think she'll get that for me? Alice, I wish
you'd just tell her that's what I want."
A few days later she rushed in pink with excitement.
"Alice, it's gone! Do you s'pose Mother got it? Katy says she thinks
Grace Dart's mother bought it for her. I'm going to ask Sherm. Maybe
he'd know. Oh, I do hope Mother got it!"
Another source of excitement was the Sunday School cantata to be given
Christmas eve, in which Jane and Gertie were both to have the parts of
fairies and Sherm a small role. The little girls trotted obediently back
and forth to rehearsals, proud to be in it, but Sherm was in open
rebellion, the said rehearsals taking away most of his time with the
boys. Katy scoffed openly at the fairies, not having been asked to be
one herself.
"Pooh, you won't look like fairies if you do have a lot of spangled
tarlatan. Fairies are just as tiny and they have weenty mites of feet!"
and Katy pointed this last remark by a withering glance at Chicken
Little's feet which were beginning to be much too big for the rest of
her, and were encased in stout boots with tiny copper rims on the toes
which she heartily loathed. Dr. Morton had insisted upon these as being
the only proper foot-gear for children in winter, and many were the
jibes Jane suffered from her schoolmates because of them. Katy and
Gertie wore lovely button boots, shapely if not sensible.
"You don't need to talk, Katy Halford, my feet aren't much bigger than
yours, and I'm going to wear my white shoes and Miss Gray said I'd look
lovely, so there!"
Katy, who was swinging on the gate looking down on her small sister and
Chicken Little on the sidewalk outside, took three entrancing swings
before replying:
"Well, maybe, but Miss Gray don't look so awful nice herself and your
hair isn't a speck curly and I never did see a fairy with straight
hair."
Jane was sure she had, and Gertie said pretend fairies didn't have to be
exactly like really fairies, but Jane was troubled and resolved to
consult Alice immediately.
Alice guessed Katy had been up to mischief purposely.
"Nonsense, Katy's just talking about the little flower fairies. Get your
Grimm and I'll show you all sorts. Of course, fairies are not all alike
any more than little girls. I'm sure you and Gertie will make darling
fairies, so don't you worry."
But Alice decided to give Katy a lesson, that young lady boasting a year
and a half's advantage over Chicken Little and Gertie was rather too
fond of lording it over them. She bided her time and did not have long
to wait. Katy came over a few days later proud as a peacock over a
minute pair of kid gloves, the first she had owned. Jane and Gertie
followed, admiring and not a little envious.
"See, Alice," Katy struck an attitude with both hands spread out
ostentatiously.
Alice saw and hardened her heart.
"What's the matter with your hands, Katy?"
Katy's face lost its satisfied smirk, but she held her hands for a
closer inspection.
"Kid gloves, aren't they scrumptious? Don't you wish you had some,
girls? I'd a lot rather have kid gloves than be in your old cantata."
Chicken Little started to protest, but Alice anticipated her.
"They make your hands look awfully big, Katy!"
Katy's face fell. She had lovely tiny hands and was proud of them. She
looked anxiously at the gloves then took one off and put the bare hand
beside the gloved one, surveying them critically.
"I don't think so," she said pluckily after a moment gulping down her
disappointment.
Alice couldn't bear that hurt look in the child's face even in a good
cause and speedily relented.
"Neither do I, Katy, those gloves are fine! I was only teasing. But,
Katy, that's the way you talked to Jane and Gertie about being fairies.
'Twasn't real kind was it, Katy? You know how it feels yourself now."
Katy didn't say anything but she understood and she remembered. She was
a shrewd child and a generous one when her sympathies were aroused.
One morning, a few days later, Alice was dusting the sitting room and
talking with Mrs. Morton who was seated by the window sewing. Suddenly
Mrs. Morton, glancing up, saw a man entering the front gate.
"Why, I do believe it's Mr. Gassett."
Alice came to the window to verify the fact.
There was no room for doubt. It was Mr. Gassett ponderously climbing the
steps of the terrace.
"Dear me," said Mrs. Morton, "I suppose he has come about those papers.
I do wish Dr. Morton were here. I never could understand business
matters. Go to the door, Alice; he is ringing."
Alice felt a little shaky as she opened the door to confront the family
enemy. She was a trifle reassured to discover that Mr. Gassett also
looked embarrassed.
"Ah, Alice, how fortunate--you are the very person I wished to see."
"Will you step into the sitting room, Mr. Gassett?"
"Ah--umm, it is hardly worth while. I can explain my errand here."
Mr. Gassett was not eager to encounter any member of the Morton family.
But Alice was shrewd enough to realize that it would be just as well to
have someone else present at this interview so she politely insisted.
At sight of Mrs. Morton, Mr. Gassett removed his hat, which he seemed
previously to have forgotten.
"How do you do, Madam, a beautiful winter day. I am sorry to disturb
you--I just had a little matter of business with your servant."
Alice's eyes flashed at the word servant and Mrs. Morton looked annoyed.
Despite her firm belief in class distinctions, she had grown fond of
Alice and "servant" seemed unnecessarily offensive. She drew herself up
coldly.
"Yes, Mr. Gassett?"
Mr. Gassett opened his errand rather haltingly. Mrs. Morton's dignity
oppressed him.
He had been told, he said, that some stolen stock certificates had been
found with the silver, which he understood Alice was keeping under the
mistaken idea that she had some claim to them because her father had
not endorsed them over to Mr. Gassett personally. The bank had waited
some weeks hoping she would find out her mistake and return them to
their rightful owner, himself. She had not done so and it was his
painful duty to come and demand his property.
Mr. Gassett shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at
Mrs. Morton.
Alice also looked as Mrs. Morton, who motioned her to answer for
herself.
"Mr. Gassett, I shall not give up those certificates till you have
proved your right to them."
"But, my girl, don't you understand those certificates were stolen from
my house? I should think my word would be sufficient," said Mr. Gassett
pompously.
"I am not denying they were stolen from your house, Mr. Gassett, but I
wish you to explain how my father's certificates came to be in your
possession."
"Explain nothing!" Mr. Gassett's temper was rising. "If you knew
anything about business you could see that your father had signed away
his claim to them by putting his name on the back."
"There is nothing to show that he signed them over to you, Mr. Gassett.
My father died believing he owned that stock--he told my mother so.
After his death we hunted high and low for it, but it could not be
found. My mother asked you if the certificates were in the store safe,
but you denied all knowledge of them--yet you had them all the time and
they did not appear in the settlement of Father's estate. It looks very
queer if they were yours that you did not say so to my mother at the
time. No, I shall not give them up until you prove your right to them."
Mr. Gassett's face was a very expressive one. It was red with wrath by
the time Alice had finished her little speech.
"Hoighty-toighty, my girl, you'd better think twice before you go to
insulting your betters. Your mother's dead and what you remember as a
half-grown girl won't go very far in a court of law. Your father made
over those certificates to me as security for a debt. It was none of
your mother's business whether I had them or not. They were endorsed in
blank because he hoped to pay the debt and get them back, I suppose."
"You mean he had paid the debt, but carelessly left those valuable
papers in the store safe supposing you were an honest man!"
Alice spoke hastily, scarcely daring to hope herself that she had hit
the truth.
If Mr. Gassett's face had been red before, it was purple now. He fairly
glared at Alice.
"You shall answer for this, you minx. You'll not find it so pleasant
being dragged into court. I'll give you one more chance to hand over
those papers peaceably--and if you don't, I'll have the law on you. As
for you," including Mrs. Morton in his rage, "I'm surprised that you
should encourage your servant to insult a gentleman in your own home."
"This is Alice's affair, Mr. Gassett," replied Mrs. Morton coldly. "She
has a perfect right to say what she thinks. I did not arrange to have
this interview take place here you will remember."
It was plain to the others that Mrs. Morton was on Alice's side.
This unspoken sympathy acted like a tonic on the girl. She drew herself
up in a remarkably good imitation of Mrs. Morton's grand manner.
"I've nothing more to say, Mr. Gassett."
Mr. Gassett did not take the trouble to say good-by. He clapped his hat
on his head and banged out the front door.
Mrs. Morton seemed paralyzed with astonishment.
"And he is a member of our church! Alice, I believe you are right--I
believe he did steal them. He didn't act like an honest man."
So Alice won one more friend in the Morton family.
They poured the tale into Dr. Morton's ears when he came home to
dinner.
"Well, Alice, I'm afraid you have a law suit on your hands. Have you
kept your father's papers?"
"Yes, I've got a box full of old letters and papers."
"She'll have to have a lawyer, won't she?" asked Mrs. Morton anxiously.
"Oh, dear, how can I ever pay one?" Alice clasped her hands in despair
at this new thought.
"You might get someone to take the case on a contingent fee. You don't
understand--do you? Lawyers often take cases for poor clients with the
understanding that they are to have part of the money if they win the
case, but get no pay if they lose it."
"Oh, that would be fine! Do you suppose I could get somebody that way?"
Chicken Little and Ernest had been interested listeners.
"Dick Harding's a lawyer," observed Ernest.
"He is--and a mighty good one for a young chap," replied his father.
"Yes, and he's awful sorry for Alice, too. He said she was a plucky
girl," Chicken Little broke in.
Alice blushed and Dr. Morton laughed.
"Here's a lawyer ready to your hand, Alice. But Gassett may think better
of his threat when he cools off, though I think you may look for
trouble."
The following evening Dr. Morton handed a letter to Alice.
"O dear me," she said, "do you suppose it's from Mr. Gassett? No, it's
from Cincinnati. Why it has 'Fletcher Iron Works' in the corner--I
wonder--you don't suppose it could be from Uncle Joseph, do you?"
"Maybe he's dead and has left you something, Alice," suggested Dr.
Morton.
Alice hurriedly opened the envelope, her amazement increasing as she
read.
"Why, I can't understand--why how strange! Chicken Little Jane, did you
write to Uncle Joseph?" she demanded, turning suddenly to Jane.
Poor Chicken Little sadly needed Dick Harding for reinforcements during
the next three minutes. The entire family turned astonished and accusing
eyes upon her, and it was plain to be seen by her flushed and startled
face that she was guilty.
But before either Dr. or Mrs. Morton could demand an explanation, Alice
had dropped down beside her and was hugging her tight, half laughing,
half crying.
"Oh, you darling, how did you ever happen to think of it? Oh, I'm so
happy--I can go to school all I want to, he says. I'll never forget what
you've done for me as long as I live, Chicken Little."
When Alice quieted down, it took the combined efforts of herself and
Chicken Little to explain the situation to Dr. and Mrs. Morton.
Dick Harding had guessed off Uncle Joseph's character pretty shrewdly.
The latter's pride had been touched at the idea of his brother's child
working out.
"I am sorry," he wrote, "you had so little confidence in me that you
would not write me of your difficulties! I was inexpressibly shocked to
learn that your mother suffered want. I supposed her family would look
out for you both--she had two brothers living the last I knew. At the
time of your father's death I was extremely hard up myself and thought
they were better able to care for her than I was."
"They were both killed during the war," Alice stopped reading the letter
to explain.
"I am sending you money for clothes and railroad fare, and I trust you
will let the past be bygones and come at once to make your home with us.
You shall go to school till you are thirty if you want to. Tell Chicken
Little Katy was right. I am stuck up--too stuck up to want my only niece
to suffer. Tell her, too, I owe her a debt of gratitude for her frank
letter that I shall try to pay at some future time."
"But Chicken Little Jane, how did you know where to send the letter, and
what made you think of writing to Mr. Fletcher in the first place?"
demanded Mrs. Morton, puzzled.
"Why Dick Harding said----" Chicken Little got no further.
"Dick Harding!" interrupted Dr. Morton. "Oh, I see," and throwing back
his head, he laughed uproariously.
CHAPTER VIII
CHRISTMAS AND THE DAY AFTER
Chicken Little's silver-spangled tarlatan skirts stood out crisp and
glittering. Her straight brown hair had been coaxed by dint of two rows
of curl papers to hang in shining brown curls. A silver paper star shone
above her forehead and slippers covered with more silver paper made her
feet things of beauty even in Katy's skeptical eyes.
She and Gertie fluttered in among eighteen other pink and white fairies
in the improvised dressing-room at the front of the church.
A huge Christmas tree occupied the spot where the pulpit and the
minister's chair usually held sway. The tree was likewise adorned with
silver paper and tinsel, and pink and white tarlatan in the shape of
plump stockings filled with candy and nuts. Each of the little girls was
to have one of these, and each boy a candy cane. These also hung in red
and white striped splendor on the tree.
The children sniffed the fragrance of the evergreen and eyed the candy
longingly. The distribution of presents was not to come off until after
the cantata. They peeped out at the sea of faces in front of the brown
calico curtains separating the stage and dressing rooms from the
audience.
"My, I just know I'll be scared," said Gertie with a little shiver.
"I sha'n't," declared Chicken Little stoutly. "Katy said I would and I
won't! I'm going to pretend we're just playing ring-round-a-rosy on the
school grounds and then I sha'n't mind the people."
The fairies had to circle round the despairing heroine while their queen
promised her good gifts because she had been an astonishingly good
little girl.
Sherm was to appear later when the good gifts began to arrive in visible
packages borne by human messenger boys. The heroine and her Sunday
School teacher, and her aged mother were supposed to weep for joy while
the presents poured in, and ended by singing a hymn in which the
messenger boys joined. Sherm came in and deposited his bundles with
great eclat. Unfortunately he dropped one on the heroine's toe startling
her so that she said "Oh!" quite audibly. Sherm's voice was a little
weak on the hymn till the last Halleluyah, when it came out strong and
a little off the key.
It was ten-thirty P. M. before Ernest and Jane got home and settled
themselves before the grate fire to munch candy and talk it over.
"I wish we could do it all again," said Chicken Little regretfully.
"Mrs. Dart said we made beautiful fairies and I guess Katy thought so
too. She said she never thought I could look so nice." She gave a little
simper of satisfaction.
"You kids were all right, but I didn't care for all that singing. I wish
they'd have something lively like fencing. Carol said he saw a man over
at Mattoon, the time he went with his father, who was a wonder. Wish I
could learn."
"I don't believe Father would let you, but I'll help tease if you want
me to."
"Frank knows how a little--he showed me."
"Frank and Marian are coming over for breakfast in the morning, so we
can have our presents all together. Say, let's hang our stockings up."
"Pshaw, we're too old for that--we never get anything in them but candy
or oranges--and I don't think Mother wants us to any more."
"I don't care--it's fun. Come on!"
Jane got one of Ernest's socks and her own longest stocking. They were
busy fastening them to the ends of the marble mantel when Alice came in.
Alice had not returned with the others, Dick Harding having undertaken
to see her safely home.
"Oh, children," she exclaimed, distressed, "I've lost one of my brown
gloves. I wish you'd look for it for me first thing in the morning--it
must be near the gate somewhere. And it's time for you to go to bed now.
I guess your mother didn't hear you come in or she would have called
you."
"Bet I beat you up in the morning," teased Ernest as they started
upstairs.
"Bet you don't. Say, Ernest, please wake me up when you do. I'm awful
tired and maybe I won't wake up early. I want to help fix the presents."
"All right, Sis, I will." Ernest gave her a little pat. He was very fond
of this only sister but didn't care to show it in public.
But Ernest proved as sound a sleeper as Jane in the morning. Alice had
breakfast almost ready and the family table bulged with numerous brown
and white paper packages--this was before the epidemic of tissue paper
and baby ribbon--when Dr. Morton's cheery "Merry Christmas,
Sleepy-heads!" routed them out.
A chorus of "Merry Christmases" responded. Ernest's was vigorous and
Chicken Little's sleepy, but Frank and Marian, just coming in the side
door, called lustily, and Mrs. Morton chimed in with one for each
individual member of the family.
Chicken Little flew down the stairs in her nightgown to have a peep at
the fascinating table. She entirely forgot her stocking, which was
perhaps just as well, for when she did investigate it after breakfast,
she found only a piece of kindling neatly wrapped inside.
"I told you Mother thought we were too old!" reminded Ernest.
But the table was all that could be desired. Chicken Little began
cautiously feeling the packages at her place till her mother discovered
her and sent her upstairs to dress.
"Oh, Ernest, there was one funny little flat box just like the one
Katy's bracelet came in. You don't s'pose--do you?" And she gave one
ecstatic jump in anticipation of the glorious possibility.
Chicken Little's hair went back with a sweep under the round rubber
comb, tangles and all. She really couldn't take time to comb it--and her
plaid dress had every other button carefully unfastened. Brother Frank
remarked that the front elevation was more attractive than the rear, and
Marian rushed her off upstairs to make her tidy.
Chicken Little's own contributions to the pile of gifts were made
triumphantly after she had driven every other member of the family out
of the dining room. She tucked her packages clear down at the bottom of
each pile with the exception of Ernest's present. It crowned the heap
because she couldn't wait to have him open it. Her father had given her
the money for a pocket microscope which Ernest had been coveting for
months.
Mrs. Morton made Alice set a place for herself and share their family
festival. Dr. Morton could scarcely finish saying grace before there was
a general falling to at the parcels. For some reason Dr. Morton had a
prejudice against Christmas trees, and it was always the family custom
to have the gifts at the breakfast table.
Chicken Little waited just long enough to see Ernest's face light up
over the microscope before she pounced joyously upon her biggest parcel
which certainly looked like a doll.
The rest of the family suspended operations to watch her as she lifted
the lid of the box, her face aglow with anticipation. She gave one long
satisfied look at the contents in perfect silence then voiced her
delight in a series of little shrieks.
"Oh Mother!--it is! Oh, the darling!--and it can talk! I didn't know it
could talk! And see those red shoes--and isn't that the dearest dress?
Oh--Mother!" Chicken Little jumped up from her chair to fling herself on
her mother's neck in a grateful hug.
But there were more joys. One _was_ a gold bracelet--from Frank and
Marian. Alice had made a nightgown and a fascinating coat for Miss
Dolly, and Ernest had bought a marvelous trunk for the young lady.
Ernest's brackets proved to be really charming and the young workman was
well repaid for his hours of toil by the general admiration. Mother and
Father declared themselves delighted with Jane's painfully wrought
book-mark and penwiper, and Alice was more than happy over the
substantial coat and the family's gift to her in anticipation of her
journey. For Alice was to go to Uncle Joseph's. It had been arranged
that she should leave soon after New Year's.
Alice had another surprise later in the morning. A box of gloves arrived
on top of which reposed the brown glove she had lost the preceding
evening. No card was enclosed, but evidently none was needed for Alice
blushed rosy red at sight of the brown glove and hugged the package
close as she carried it upstairs.
"I wish Christmas came every day," sighed Chicken Little happily as she
tumbled into bed that night almost too tired to undress.
But no one wished it the next day. Everybody was tired and cross and
found it hard to settle down to common daily duties after the prolonged
Christmas excitement.
Chicken Little went over to see Katy and Gertie in the morning but
promptly quarreled with Katy over the respective merits of their
Christmas presents. Katy had some new coral beads with a gold clasp that
she considered put Chicken Little's bracelet entirely in the shade so
Chicken Little gathered up her playthings and went home in high dudgeon,
and had to nurse her wrath in lonely state till evening.
Ernest went skating with the boys in the morning. The three cronies
distinguished themselves by promptly getting into trouble with a crowd
of Irish boys, who lived beyond the railroad in the new addition.
The Irish boys resented a certain irritating air of superiority that
Ernest and his friends assumed and began a series of petty annoyances,
bumping into them or crossing from the side just in front while they
were racing. The boys contented themselves at first with warning off
their tormentors by highhanded threats but the other lads outnumbering
them grew more and more daring, till finally a boy named Pat Casey,
deliberately tripped Carol, sending him sprawling on the ice. He was
pretty badly shaken up and broke a skate strap. The trio considered this
insult past endurance and a free-for-all fight ensued.
The trio were game, but they were outnumbered and would have fared badly
if two older boys hadn't come to the rescue and driven the other gang
off the pond. The Irish boys vowed vengeance and Ernest and his friends
deciding that caution was the better part of valor, started for home.
Ernest's nose had bled freely and Sherm had a black eye, while Carol
plaintively declared that every inch of his fat anatomy was black and
blue.
They slipped into the kitchen at Morton's and got Alice to patch them
up. After a good dinner their courage rose. Ernest had been ordered to
split wood for an hour in the afternoon and the other boys took turns
with him at the axe, while the three planned vengeance on their enemies.
"I saw Pat and Mike Dolan slinking past your house when I came over,"
reported Sherm excitedly. "I bet they're up to some devilment, I just
wish they'd show their ugly mugs here--I guess we'd fix 'em!"
Sherm's wish was answered with startling promptness for at that moment
the "ugly mugs" just mentioned appeared over the alley fence, and their
owners uttered hoots of derision. The boys bolted with one accord for
the fence, but their enemies were half-way down the alley, delivering a
volley of cat calls and yells as they ran. The trio vaulted the fence
and pursued in vain. The others were too quick for them.
They took turns acting as sentinel at the fence for the next hour, but
there was no further disturbance. Late in the afternoon as Ernest and
Carol were nearing the Morton home after an errand downtown, they were
met by a broadside of snow balls as they were passing an alley. It was
growing dusk and the alley was shadowy, but they had no doubt as to the
perpetrators of this fresh insult, and grabbing handfuls of snow, they
promptly charged the offenders. They proved to be the same Pat and Mike.
"Here take this!--and this!" yelled Carol as he stuffed an icy mass down
Pat's neck and administered a stout kick in the shins as nearly
simultaneously as he could manage.
Ernest was equally successful in accounting for Mike and the enemy went
away spitting and threatening.
"You dassen't show your faces out of doors tonight--allee samee!" was
their parting taunt as they retreated.
As a matter of fact neither Ernest nor Carol were allowed to do much
showing of their faces out of doors after dark unless they had some
business, their parents being firm in the belief that thirteen and
fourteen year old boys should be at home after night. But this slur on
their courage was not to be borne.
"I'll ask Mother if we can't make some hickory-nut candy tonight, then
we can slip out and watch for them," suggested Ernest after a few
moments study.
"Bully, that'll work! Mother will be glad to have me out of the way
because Susy's having a party."
It took some tact on Ernest's part before he secured the necessary
permission, for Mrs. Morton felt that early to bed after Christmas
dissipation would be wiser for all the children.
Chicken Little promptly demanded that Katy and Gertie be included, but
Ernest was obdurate, threatening to shut her out if she teased.
Sherm and Carol arrived before the Mortons had finished tea; they shot
in the side door with a swiftness that looked as if they were glad to be
inside. Their words, however, belied any lack of courage. Sherm was
armed with a baseball bat.
"I came round by Front Street," he said, "I just thought I'd see if any
of the gang were hanging round. I knew they wouldn't dare tackle me when
I had this." He caressed his weapon lovingly.
Carol had a bag of the hardest snow balls he had been able to
manufacture.
"I'd liked to put a rock in every one of them," he declared
bloodthirstily. "But Father said he'd lick me, if I ever did such a
trick again, that time I hit Jimmy Smith. 'Twan't nothing but a bit of
gravel either. I didn't suppose it would hurt him. But Father said it
was lucky I didn't kill him 'cause it struck right square above the
eye."
"'Tisn't safe, I guess, Father would never let me put anything in a snow
ball," Ernest replied.
"Do you s'pose they'll come round?"
"Don't know--but say, boys, don't let on before Mother that any thing's
up. And see that you keep mighty still, Jane Morton!" he admonished.
Chicken Little who had followed the boys upstairs unperceived and stood
listening, round-eyed, was indignant.
"I don't know what you are talking about so how can I tell?"
"So much the better--now run along, don't bother, we're busy."
"But Mother said I could help you make candy and----"
"Hush," said Sherm, "I believe I heard somebody outside on the gravel."
The boys turned out the gas and tiptoeing to the window, peered
cautiously out.
"It is--sure's you're born. I bet it's Mike and Pat!" said Carol.
"There's somebody else over by that tree!"
"Who--where--where?" Jane crowded up excitedly to the window.
"You might as well tell her," said Carol.
So Chicken Little was initiated into the mysteries of the feud and
found it both interesting and terrifying.
"Do you s'pose they'll try to get in?" she quavered.
"Oh--Oh--there he goes!" she shrieked.
"Shut up," Sherm's hand was clapped firmly over her mouth.
"If you can't keep still you go straight to Mother. Do you hear?" added
Ernest sternly.
But at this juncture "Mother's" voice was heard calling:
"Alice is ready for you now, boys. Try not to make too much muss."
"Well, let's go and make the candy now and we can slip out after a
while."
"Gee, I'd like to take a shot at them from the window," and Carol
fingered one of his snow balls.
"Here none of that! They'd fire back and break the window and we'd have
the dickens to pay with Father and Mother!" Ernest remonstrated sharply.
After one parting look from the window, the boys filed reluctantly
downstairs.
"I'm going to stay and watch them a while," said Chicken Little.
"All right--you come and tell us if they start anything."
"Whew, better pull the shades down!" said Carol as they entered the
brightly lighted kitchen.
Alice looked up quickly. "What for? Nobody can see in here at the back
of the house."
"Oh, there might some of the boys be hanging round to steal the candy
when we put it out to cool," answered Sherm easily, trying to be
off-hand.
Alice set out the molasses and butter and sugar and went off up to her
room. The boys pulling the shades carefully down, set to work, and
became so absorbed in the candy that they almost forgot their foes for
the next ten minutes. Just as they were lifting the sticky mass from the
stove Chicken Little tore in.
"Boys, I guess they've heard you, because one boy came and told those
two boys something and they all ran round to the back of the house--just
now--and there were four! Oh, you must be awfully careful! Listen,
wasn't that somebody at the door?"
There was an audible crunching of the snow outside. The door was bolted,
but all four children stood for an instant with their gaze riveted upon
it as if they expected to see it burst open at any moment.
"Pooh, they can't do anything!" said Ernest coming to himself, "and the
candy'll be all spoiled."
"Say, let's go up to the north room and slip out on the kitchen room
while the candy cools. I bet we can see 'em from there."
The boys set the candy in a pan of snow to cool and bolted softly up the
stairs. Dr. and Mrs. Morton placidly reading in the sitting room were
blissfully unaware of the excitement.
"I wonder what makes the boys so quiet tonight?"
The boys followed close by Chicken Little had reached the north room and
were cautiously opening the window, inch by inch, lest the sound should
be heard outside. Then they quietly clambered out. At first there seemed
to be no trace of the intruders. But when Carol incautiously exclaimed
in a stage whisper: "Bet they've all vamoosed!" a distinct "Hist!" was
heard from below. Finally Sherm, who was flat on his stomach, holding on
to the edge of the roof, solved the mystery. He held up his hand in
warning to the others, and presently came crawling back and motioned
them all inside.
"They're all close against the kitchen windows trying to find out what's
going on. They like to caught us when Carol piped up that time. Gee,
looked like there was a dozen, but some of 'em are little fellers. I
wish we could make a rush at them, but I guess there's too many."
"Shucks, I hate to give up," growled Ernest.
"Well, we might as well go back and finish the candy!" said Carol after
a pause. "We can't do anything with such a crowd--a sweet time we'll
have getting home tonight," he added gloomily.
"Pshaw, they'll get tired and go home before that," Ernest reassured
him. "Say I've got an idea they can hear about everything we say in the
kitchen. Let's go down and pretend we're having an awful good time
and----"
"Yes, and let's guy them!" interrupted Sherm.
"Sam's in my room at school and he can't stand being made fun of."
The trio returned to the kitchen, and ably seconded by Chicken Little
laughed and frolicked, jeering noisily at the crowd outside. The foes
soon gave evidence that they could hear distinctly. They began to return
the taunts and to rattle and pound on the doors and windows. They were
getting cold and the penetratingly tempting smell of the taffy had
evidently drifted through the cracks, for one shrill voice piped up:
"Say, give us some!" to be immediately hushed by his more warlike
companions.
If the trio had been clever enough to act on this suggestion and treat,
the feud might have come to a speedy end, but the lads were not at a
tactful age. Instead Sherm hurled the most insulting defiance he could
think of.
"Go get some yourselves, you red-headed Irish beggars!"
This taunt roused the wrath of the attacking party to a white heat, and
an instant later the kitchen window came crashing in and a giant snow
ball burst into masses of wet snow on the floor.
The boys made a dash for the door, but the bolt was hardly slid, when
it, too, crashed, open, and Frank Morton stamped in, pushing Pat Casey
and Mike Dolan ahead of him each securely gripped by the collar, in his
strong hands.
"Now look here, what's the meaning of all this boys?"
Before the boys could recover from their surprise sufficiently to
answer, Dr. and Mrs. Morton and Alice came running in.
Frank stopped their questions with a word.
"Let me tend to this, please, Father."
Little by little he extracted the trio's version of the day's
happenings.
He turned to the Irish boys. "Is that straight?" he demanded.
At first the lads maintained a sullen silence, but finally Pat
volunteered.
"They don't own that 'ere pond any more'n we do."
"Who said they did?" asked Frank quickly.
"Nobody," admitted Pat, "but they allus act like they did. They told us
to keep off the north end."
"How is that Ernest?"
"Well, we didn't want them mixing up with us."
"Anybody give you a deed to that pond?"
The boys were silent.
"Now look here, boys," Frank's voice was stern. "It strikes me you
fellows were in a pretty poor business trying to hog half a public pond
for yourselves. Now you have six times the opportunities for fun these
boys have, and yet you try to spoil their skating. Pretty small I call
that!
"As for you boys," turning to his captives, "you weren't helping matters
any by being mean--now were you? You didn't think acting that way would
make you any more popular did you? By the way you're Mrs. Casey's boy,
aren't you? Your mother is a fine woman and she works too hard to have
to pay for broken windows, don't you think so, Son?"
Frank laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked straight into his
eyes.
Pat shifted from one foot to the other uneasily.
"Yes, sir," he mumbled with an effort.
"Well, she isn't going to have to this time. I will give you a chance to
earn the money to pay for it yourself? Want to?"
The boy nodded eagerly. Frank smiled in return.
"Ernest, pass that candy over here and you boys shake hands with Pat and
Mike and see to it you treat them white after this! My brother and his
friends aren't as small as they let on, boys," he added turning to the
others.
The Irish lads grinned sheepishly, and shyly accepted the candy and
apples which the trio, with a complete change of heart pressed upon
them.
Chicken Little not to be outdone made them all laugh by offering her
small fist, which was hopelessly gummed up with the taffy she had
forgotten in the excitement.
CHAPTER IX
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE'S GIFT
"Well, Alice," said Dr. Morton, coming in one noon stamping and shaking
the snow off his broad shoulders. "I have discovered why you haven't
heard from Gassett again. He is down with typhoid fever--looks like a
bad case. He won't be in a condition to start lawsuits for some weeks,
so you may set your mind at rest for the present."
The Christmas holidays had gone by all too quickly for the Morton
family. The children were already grumbling about starting back to
school. Dr. Morton had a number of very sick patients on his hands and
looked worried in consequence. Mrs. Morton was helping Alice with her
simple wardrobe, and Alice was helping Mrs. Morton break in a new maid.
It was really a great comfort to Mrs. Morton to feel that Alice could
now be received as an equal. She had grown fond of her unconsciously,
but according to her rigid ideas, friendship with a servant was
impossible. "I have always felt," she told her friends, "that Alice was
too refined for her situation. Blood will tell, you know."
Chicken Little and Ernest mourned Alice's departure loudly. Ernest
turned up his nose promptly at the new girl--a willing soul with scant
intelligence.
"Have we got to have that thing round, Mother?" he demanded in deep
disgust. He had just deluged his hot cakes with cream which Olga had put
in the syrup jug by mistake.
"I'm afraid so, my son, until we can find someone better. Girls are hard
to get in this town. Alice has certainly spoiled us."
"What did you let her go for?" Ernest grumbled as if keeping her with
them were optional.
"Why, Ernest, I thought you were pleased with Alice's good fortune."
"Well, that's not saying I want her to go off and never see her again."
"Oh, you'll see me again, Ernest," said Alice, coming into the room just
then and divining the boy's mood.
"I am coming back to Centerville as soon as I finish school. It seems so
hard to leave you all. You've been so good to me----"
Alice broke down and turned hurriedly away to hide her tears.
Chicken Little jumped up and threw her arms around Alice's waist, laying
her face against her hands lovingly.
Alice hugged the child tight.
"I am going to miss you so, dear. There won't be any little girl to
cuddle at Uncle Joseph's."
Jane followed Alice into her room after breakfast to help pack the shiny
new trunk. This was Alice's last day.
"My, isn't it grand! It's got a place for hats and your parasol--and
what are these little places for, Alice?" Chicken Little was eagerly
investigating.
"Oh, handkerchiefs and ties and gloves. I'm a lucky girl to have all
these nice things. Just think--three new dresses! Blue and brown
cashmeres for school and a green silk poplin for Sunday best--aren't
these little bows down the front cunning?"
Alice surveyed her treasures with a sigh of satisfaction.
"If they'll only like me a little at Uncle Joseph's. I wish I could take
you along, Chicken Little Jane, I wouldn't be lonely if I had you."
"Will you be dreadfully lonely, Alice?" Chicken Little was getting
concerned.
"I am afraid I will, Chicken Little."
The child pondered the matter for the rest of the morning.
At dinner, she interrupted her father in the midst of a story to ask:
"Can people take dogs or birds on a train?"
"Yes, Chicken, what did you want to know for? The dogs are usually put
in the baggage car."
"If it was just a puppy would it have to go in the baggage car?"
"Why if it was very tiny it might be carried in a covered box or
basket."
Jane subsided for several minutes then interrupted again.
"Could you put a kitty in a basket?"
"I guess so, but don't interrupt me so much, child." Dr. Morton replied
carelessly.
"Yes, Jane, that is a very bad habit you are forming. It is not polite
to break into a conversation that way--especially when older people are
talking," Mrs. Morton added impressively.
After dinner Chicken Little began to rummage. First she found a collar
box with a cover. She took this to her mother and asked if she might
have it. Her mother readily gave it to her, but apparently the child was
not satisfied. She looked it over dubiously. "I don't believe it could
breathe," she said to herself.
The collar box was discarded and she began another search. She finally
resurrected a small covered sewing basket considerably the worse for
wear, which her mother was also willing to part with.
Her next move was to line the basket with cotton batting after which she
hunted out a doll blanket from her playthings.
"I guess that'll be enough," she remarked aloud.
These preparations completed, she tucked the basket under her arm and
slipping out the side gates, went over to Grace Dart's. She had not
taken the trouble to ask permission.
About ten minutes later she returned carrying the basket most carefully.
Very little was seen of her till train time. When she started down to
the station with her mother and Alice she still had the basket with her.
Mrs. Morton did not notice it until Chicken Little put it down beside
her on the seat of the omnibus.
"What are you bringing that old basket for?" she asked.
"Oh, just 'cause."
"Well, of all the queer children!" Mrs. Morton sighed. Chicken Little's
whims were very puzzling at times.
Alice suspected that the basket contained some parting gift for herself.
Ernest had hung around her at the last and had finally thrust a big bag
of candy into her hand--an offering that deeply touched her since she
knew he must have spent his last penny to buy it.
[Illustration: Give her this on the train and--please ... carefully.]
They found Dick Harding at the station. Chicken Little heaved a sigh
of relief when she caught sight of him. She had an idea.
When the train rolled in and he picked up Alice's valise to carry it
into the car for her, Chicken Little pulled at his arm. As he leaned
down, she whispered hastily; "Give her this on the train and--please,
carry it carefully."
Dick Harding took the basket. Mrs. Morton was bidding Alice good-by and
did not notice the transfer.
Mr. Harding seated Alice and delivered the sewing basket.
"Here is something very special Miss Jane Morton wished me to give you.
I have an idea its contents may surprise you, judging from certain
sounds I heard."
Alice took it on her lap and lifted the cover.
A sheet of bright pink note paper lay on top. It read, "With love for
Alice so you won't be lonesome."
Beneath the note paper a tiny gray head peeped out from under a doll
blanket and a plaintive "miauw" greeted her.
"Well, I never!" laughed Alice. "What can I do with it?"
"Keep the basket and I'll put kitty in my pocket and dispose of her
some way."
"No, indeed, I'll manage somehow--bless the child. This must be the
kitty Grace Dart promised her. If they'll only let me keep it at Uncle
Joseph's I believe it will be a real comfort."
Dick Harding lifted Jane up for a parting wave to Alice through the car
window as the train pulled out. Alice held up a pert maltese kitten and
made it wave its paw in return.
"Why--where did she get that kitten?" gasped Mrs. Morton, a sudden
suspicion entering her mind. "Chicken Little Jane was that what you had
in that basket?"
Chicken Little looked abashed, but Dick Harding came to the rescue.
"Mrs. Morton, may Jane walk up with me--I'll take good care of her?"
After a moment's hesitation Mrs. Morton consented. Dick handed her into
the omnibus and Chicken Little trotted joyfully along beside him. Dick
Harding seemed to enjoy having the warm little hand tucked confidingly
into his own.
It was an ideal winter day, clear and crisp and gorgeously white.
They walked along in silence for a few minutes before Jane burst out
with the idea that was occupying her small brain.
"Why does it make people nicer to go to school a lot? I don't think
Alice could be any nicer, do you, Mr. Harding? Our teacher's gone to
school, oh, most always, I guess, and I don't think she's near as nice
as Alice."
Dick Harding laughed heartily.
"Miss Alice is A1, isn't she? And we don't like to have her go away so
far--do we? Education doesn't always make people nicer, but it often
helps, Chicken Little. You like your father's ways rather better than
old Jake's don't you? Well, your father has education and Jake hasn't.
That's not all the difference but it is part. Besides, even if it didn't
make us nicer to know things, it is rather good fun to learn them, don't
you think?"
He patted the hand in his and smiled down at her. Chicken Little partly
understanding yet puzzled, smiled back.
They walked on a half block farther before Jane found anything more to
say.
"I guess Alice won't be lonesome now she's got the kitty. Don't you
think it was a pretty kitty? I wanted it awfully bad myself but I've got
Ernest and Katy and Gertie to play with and Alice won't have anybody you
know."
Dick Harding stifled a laugh as he recalled Alice's surprised face.
"I think that was an uncommonly pretty kitty and you were very generous
to give it away when you wanted it yourself. It is mighty hard to part
with things we want ourselves, don't you think so, little partner?"
Dick looked off where the smoke of the departing train could still be
plainly seen in the distance.
Chicken Little followed his gaze but not his thoughts.
"Do you s'pose I'll ever go 'way off to school, Mr. Harding?"
"I think it likely some day. When you do, I'll promise to see you off
and bring you a big box of candy, if I'm round when you start. Say, how
would it do to stop in at Jackson's and get the candy today? I might not
be there when the time comes, you know."
They stopped and made the important purchase after much deliberation as
to kinds.
"I like gum drops and chocolate creams best," Jane volunteered naively.
"Mr. Harding is too generous," her mother remarked with a wry smile when
Jane proudly displayed her trophy. She had never had a whole boxful of
candy before. Usually a dime's worth had been the maternal limit.
Chicken Little treated Katy and Gertie and Ernest and Carol and Sherm
and the new maid, with lavish generosity. She also ate all her mother
would let her, herself. Finally, Mrs. Morton ordered her to put the
rest away for the next day. It would have been well for Chicken Little
if her mother's direction had extended to the next day as well. But by
morning Mrs. Morton had forgotten all about the candy. Chicken Little
had strict orders not to eat sweets before breakfast so she heroically
withstood temptation until her last bite of waffle was swallowed, then
munched away till school time. The box with its remaining contents
accompanied her to school to her later undoing.
She had never known such popularity as was hers when the other children
found what the big box contained. One boy made her a present of a brand
new slate pencil on the spot. She was allowed to choose up for her side
in "No bears out tonight," though this honor usually fell to one of the
bigger girls. By the time the bell rang she felt blissfully important.
She settled regretfully down to her work with the candy snugly tucked
away inside her desk.
All went well until about the middle of the geography recitation, when
turning around from her work at the board, she caught the small boy, who
sat across the aisle, in the act of helping himself to a handful of her
cherished sweets. She was surprised into forgetting where she was and
exclaimed out loud:
"Oh, you mustn't!"
The teacher looked up in pained amazement.
"Who was that spoke out loud?" she demanded.
Chicken Little raised a reluctant hand.
"Jane Morton, I'm surprised--I wouldn't have believed it of you! You may
stand on the floor by my desk for half an hour."
The teacher had been much annoyed by whispering that morning, the
children being all more or less riotous after their vacation, so without
stopping to investigate, as was her usual custom, she promptly visited
the sins of the whole school upon Jane.
Jane had never stood upon the floor for punishment before and she felt
the disgrace keenly. It hurt the child's sense of fairness, too, but she
dared not try to explain lest Miss Brown should confiscate the remainder
of her precious candy. She took her book and walked slowly over to the
spot indicated in front of the whole school, her face growing redder and
redder. It was several minutes before she dared lift her eyes and face
her mates.
When she did, several of her friends telephoned furtive messages of
sympathy that cheered her a little. But her humiliation over her
disgrace was soon swallowed up in wrath when the offending small boy,
who had caused all her troubles, added insult to injury by
ostentatiously eating his booty whenever the teacher's back was turned.
He would roll his eyes and smack his lips in the utmost enjoyment.
Chicken Little forgot her disgrace in a desire for revenge. She would
not give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared. She set herself
resolutely to study, avoiding even a glance in his direction. But she
did more than study; she laid her plans for swift vengeance. When
permitted to go back to her seat, she still ignored him though he did
his best to attract her attention.
His place in the line was just ahead of hers, and she followed him down
the halls and the long stairs calculating to a nicety just how she would
get even. The moment they passed through the outside door, the boy
turned for a parting taunt. He did not get it out. Before he could utter
a single sound Chicken Little struck him a resounding slap in the face
with all her young might.
The youngster would have hit back, but another boy grabbed him and
ordered him roughly to let little girls alone. And Chicken Little went
home ashamed but solaced.
She was nervous for a while lest her mother should hear of her scrape.
However, several days went by and she was beginning to breathe easier,
when Brother Frank overtook her one morning on her way to school.
"Hello, Sis, what is this I hear about having a prize-fighter in the
family?"
Jane's face grew hot, but she looked at him mutely.
"I thought it was only rough boys who smashed in people's noses and made
them bleed. I didn't suppose my gentle little sister would do such a
thing."
Chicken Little swallowed hard but still kept silent and Frank pressed
harder.
"I have always believed my little sister was a lady. I am afraid Mother
will be grieved to hear what her daughter has been doing."
Words came to Chicken Little at last in a burst of sobs:
"I don't care--he took my candy--I had to stand--on--on the floor--and
it wasn't fair--you can just go and tell Mother if you want to!"
Frank took her hand and patted it.
"Out with the whole story, Sis. I suspected there was something more to
it than I heard--you aren't usually warlike."
So Chicken Little sobbed out the woeful tale. Brother Frank smiled
broadly above the bent head over the ludicrous incident, but he
controlled himself sufficiently to admonish soberly.
"Well, Johnny seems to have deserved all he got. At the same time, Jane,
I don't think I'd do such a thing again, if I were you."
CHAPTER X
SKATING
Chicken Little watched Ernest tie his red muffler around his neck and
sling his skates across his shoulder, enviously.
"I wish I could go skating," she sighed.
"You shall some day, dear," said her mother, who was sitting sewing by
the open fire. "But the pond is too far away for you to go without some
older person to look after you."
"I don't see why Ernest and Carol couldn't look after me."
"They would forget you in ten minutes. No, you must be patient, little
daughter, and wait till you are bigger."
Chicken Little flattened her nose against the cold pane ruefully.
"You may go and play with Katy and Gertie for an hour if you wish."
But Jane didn't wish. She was a child of one idea and her head was
filled with visions of Cedar Pond and its crowd of gay skaters. She
could fairly see the boys gliding away across the glistening surface or
cutting fancy figures they loved to boast of. She knew some of the girls
at school skated. She had listened to glowing tales of the sport at
recess the day before.
She peered out the window, an ugly little pucker creasing her forehead.
Marian, coming in a few minutes later, found her glooming there still.
"What a long face, little sister, what's the matter? Have you broken
your Xmas dolly or lost that new bracelet or what?"
"Oh, Marian, did you ever skate?"
"Skate?--I should say so. Frank and I are going out this afternoon after
the bank closes."
"Oh, Marian, couldn't I go, too? Mother said I might learn if I only had
some grown up person to go with."
"But you haven't any skates, Jane."
This was a poser, but Jane moved a way out. "Maybe Grace Dart would let
me have hers. May I ask Mother?"
Marian hesitated a moment, but the child's face was very pleading and
she replied heartily:
"Come along if your mother will let you. We'll look after you--you may
as well ask Katie and Gertie, too. Katy knows how to skate a little, I
think."
Mrs. Morton's consent was soon obtained as well as Mrs. Halford's. Grace
Dart intended to use her own skates, but Mrs. Morton said Jane might as
well buy a pair, if she were really going to learn. Marian volunteered
to get them for her on the way down.
Chicken Little was gay as a robin redbreast when she ran to meet Marian
at the side gate. She was in red from top to toe, red coat, red leggings
and red hood. And she was so excited she acted like a much distracted
robin, as Marian told her a little later.
"She does enter into things so heart and soul," Marian confided to
Frank, "she fairly quivers with excitement sometimes. Katy and Gertie
are so different. They enjoy themselves just as much but they don't tire
themselves out as Chicken Little does."
"Sis is too high strung, I guess--gets it from Father's people. Funny,
too, she's a sober little puss a good deal of the time."
The new skates were soon purchased and slung over her shoulder in exact
imitation of the way she had seen the boys carry theirs. They looked
delightfully sharp and glittering. Chicken Little felt immensely
superior to Katy whose skates were two years old and not nearly so
shiny.
It was a radiant afternoon, frosty and clear. The pond was covered with
skaters of all ages. Some of the men were pulling women and children on
sleds.
Frank strapped the little girls' skates on firmly. Katy struck off
boldly for herself, while Marian helped Gertie. Frank undertook to keep
Chicken Little from measuring her length on the ice--no small task for
the child was ambitious and daring. Great was her joy when she finally
succeeded in taking a few short strokes without having her feet shoot
out from under her. Presently Frank left her to her own devices while he
went to skate with Marian.
"My feet don't seem to want to go the same way I do," she complained to
Gertie after two hard bumps.
Gertie was proceeding more cautiously and had fewer falls in
consequence.
"I guess you'll learn pretty soon--my--just see Katy!"
Katy was circling around as gracefully and easily as if there were no
such thing as falls to dread. Chicken Little began to lose faith in the
superiority of her new skates.
"Katy skates most as well as the boys--I don't see how she does it," she
said enviously.
"Cousin Sim taught her last winter. Oh, see, those boys are making an
eight on the ice and,--Carol's writing his name I do believe."
"Yes, and there's Pat and Mike--dear me, it seems as if everybody can
skate just as easy 'cept me."
The little girls stood watching the boys wistfully as they glided along
cutting marvellous figures on the ice. The boys were bent on showing off
for Marian's benefit.
"Tired, little girls?" called the latter, skating gaily past, her cheeks
rosy with exercise and the frosty air.
"No--o," said Jane slowly, "I'm not tired but my ankles hurt and the ice
seems to get slipprier and slipprier."
"I'll help you if you want me to," said a voice at her elbow, and
Chicken Little looked around to find Pat Casey standing shyly beside
her, cap in hand.
"I think I could be after showing you how to do it."
She hesitated a moment wondering what her mother would say to her
skating with Pat, then deciding to take the chance, put out her hand
with a little smile. Things went better after that for the Irish lad had
a good deal of chivalry in his make-up and was very patient and careful.
"Hello, Pat," said Frank, skating up. "That's good of you--I believe
you're a better teacher than I was. You'll skate like a bird in no time,
Sis, you're so light. Ice is tricky at first--throws you like a balky
horse till you get the hang of it. Come on, I'll take you for another
turn."
Frank took her spinning with him clear to the end of the pond. When they
started back he made her strike out for herself, steadying her with his
hand. Before they got back to the big bon-fire at the starting point,
Chicken Little had discovered the all-important secret of keeping her
balance.
Ernest and Carol came up in great excitement to tell them there were
going to be races and the spectators must line up along the sides of the
pond.
"See they are starting now--you must be careful to keep off the track,
girls. Here, let's go over by that rock."
Frank made haste to post his small charges midway of the course, where
they could have a clear view of both ends of the pond.
Six young men lined up at the starting point while the starter stood off
to one side to give the signal and another man was posted at the farther
end of the course.
"One, two, three--go!"
The starter snapped the words out and the men swung off in long steady
strides. Faster and faster they came till it seemed to Chicken Little
they fairly flew. She watched them closely as they came nearer--there
seemed something familiar about one of the racers. Suddenly she gave a
little shriek of surprise.
"Why, it's Mr. Harding--see, see! It is Mr. Harding. Oh, I just hope
he'll beat! Don't you think he'll beat, Frank?"
"He is a good skater, all right, Sis, but that dark chap is going it
strong, too. They have to make the circuit of the pond three times. We
can tell better the next lap."
Dick Harding heard Jane's exclamation and waved his hand at her as they
swung by. He was about six feet behind the dark man, skating easily with
long swinging strokes. Chicken Little waved her red mittened hand
enthusiastically in return.
Carol and Ernest, who had been trying to follow the racers along the
edge of the pond, pulled up along side for a breathing spell.
"Say, Frank," exclaimed Ernest, "they say that dark fellow is a
professional skater--his name is Sanders."
"Yes, and Sherm says he's tricky--he has just come here from some place
up on the lakes," added Carol.
"I'm afraid he has Harding outclassed," replied Frank watching the
racers circle gracefully around the end of the pond and start toward
them again. The dark stranger was in the lead and Harding a couple of
lengths behind, with the other four spilling out at irregular distances
in the rear.
"He keeps crowding Harding out--do you see? He cuts across his path
every now and then, but part of the time he only makes a feint so
Harding loses a stroke and he doesn't. I don't think that's fair!"
Ernest raised his voice indignantly.
Frank watched them a moment keenly before he replied.
"You're right--that is what he is doing--and it isn't clean sport. He's
tricky--I'd like to see Harding beat him; but I'm afraid he can't. He's
soft yet for we haven't had more than two week's skating here, and this
chap has probably been at it for two months or more up north."
"Oh, Frank, isn't he skating fair? Do you think he's going to beat Mr.
Harding?" Chicken Little was genuinely distressed.
"Can't tell, Chicken, watch and see!"
The racers turned the end of the pond for the second time and came
swiftly past--Harding about the same distance behind the other as
before. Again they turned and shot past for the third round, the
stranger still pursuing his tactics of interfering with his rival.
"Jove, that makes me hot!" Frank exclaimed wrathfully. "I believe
Harding could beat him on a fair and square race."
"Gee, I wish we could make him give way once himself, the scoundrel!"
Ernest shook his fist viciously at Sanders' back.
"If he had to turn out just once would it help Mr. Harding?" demanded
Jane.
Her own party were so intent upon the race that no one replied, but Pat,
who had just skated up, answered her question himself when he found the
others were ignoring it.
"It'd help--but sure Mr. Harding's too grand a gentleman to do that kind
of dirty work!"
"Oh, I just wish we could make him turn out!"
No one heeded her but Pat and he replied only with a grin.
Chicken Little clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. The men had
made their last turn and were heading swiftly toward them on the home
stretch. Harding had gained a little on his antagonist and was scarcely
three feet behind.
"He is gaining--if Sanders will only play fair!" said Frank tensely, his
eyes glued on the two dark forms.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Sanders made a feint to
cross directly in front of his competitor and Harding lost a length in
consequence.
"Confound him!" growled Frank, "the judges oughtn't to stand for that!"
Chicken Little stood fascinated, gazing at the advancing figures.
Her small fists clenched as she saw Harding drop the few paces behind.
Suddenly an idea popped into her head. Forgetful of her own uncertain
feet, and both ignorant and reckless of any danger, she darted forward,
a small red danger signal directly in front of Mr. Sanders as he came
opposite. The annoyed racer swerved quickly to the right, but poor Jane
once started could not stop, and would have fallen a scarlet heap in
Dick Harding's path had not Pat, divining her intention, followed
swiftly and grabbing her by the shoulder steered her in a sharp curve
out of the way. She got a good scolding from both Frank and Marian when
Pat brought her back to them.
"You might have been hurt--you almost spoiled the race--don't you ever
do anything so foolhardy again, Jane." This from Marian.
Frank was still more severe. "I'm ashamed of you, Sis. Did you suppose
Dick Harding would be willing to win the race by a trick--besides you
nearly tripped him. If Pat hadn't been so quick there would have been a
bad mix-up."
Chicken Little scarcely heeded at first because from the far end of the
pond a shout went up, and looking with wide eyes, she saw the dark
stranger and Mr. Harding slip over the line together--it was a tie!
Then Frank's words began to sink in. The idea that she might have hurt
or disgraced her beloved Mr. Harding frightened her much more than the
possible danger to herself. Her eyes filled with tears and though she
tried valiantly to wink them away, they soon overflowed.
Katy and Gertie eyed her curiously, and Frank and Marian though they
felt sorry for the child, felt that she needed a lesson. Ernest
returning from the finish, felt called upon to rub it in still further.
"What in the dickens were you trying to do, Jane Morton, were you
crazy?"
Chicken Little answered never a word, but the tears dripped faster and
an observing person would have noticed that the child was digging her
finger nails into her palms to keep back the sobs. But her family was
too disgusted with her to be either sympathetic or observing. They
scarcely noticed that she was loitering behind.
She had no definite purpose till she saw they were about to pass Dick
Harding who was the center of an admiring group. This was more than she
could stand, and dropping a little farther behind, she slipped into the
crowd and started off in the opposite direction. No one missed her for a
time as they all stopped to congratulate Dick. It was not until he
inquired what the child had been trying to do in her reckless dash, that
her absence was discovered.
"Oh, Frank, I am afraid we were too hard on her!" exclaimed Marian.
Frank himself looked anxious for it was fast growing dusk. He scanned
the thinning crowd on the pond sharply--no little red figure was to be
seen.
"She can't have gone far!" he said now genuinely alarmed.
"Marian, you go on home with the children and I'll find her."
"Let me go with you--poor little girlie she was trying her small best to
help me." Harding was scanning the pond narrowly as he spoke.
"I believe she must be behind that big tree across there. She could
hardly have got completely out of sight any place else."
Dick Harding fastened on his skates and hurried across the pond to a big
oak, which stood flanked by a clump of bushes close to the edge of the
bank.
Sure enough, Chicken Little had flung herself down in the snow behind
the tree, and was sobbing her heart out. He lifted her tenderly.
"Dear me, little friend, this won't do--where's my little champion who
tried to help me win the race just now?"
Chicken Little hushed her sobs in astonishment.
"Frank said--he said--he----" the tears were coming again, "he said I'd
disgraced you and I didn't think--you'd ever speak to me again!"
"Nonsense, Jane, listen to me. I am proud and happy that you wanted to
help me--it wasn't the best way to do it, but you didn't know. Now come,
dry your tears and let's hurry back to the others--they thought they'd
lost you."
"And you aren't ashamed of me?"
"Ashamed of you? Bless your heart, I am proud to have such a staunch
friend."
CHAPTER XI
CHICKEN LITTLE JANE'S BIRTHDAY
February was birthday month in the Morton family. Jane's came first on
the thirteenth, Ernest's on the twenty-second, and Mrs. Morton came near
having a birthday only once in four years, for hers was on the
twenty-eighth.
"My, I'd hate to be born on the thirteenth. Cousin May says thirteen is
awfully unlucky," said Katy impressively, when Chicken Little told her
the fateful date.
"Yes, but you see I was born on Sunday, too, and Sunday's the very
luckiest day there is to be born on."
"Yes, Jane, 'Blithe and bonny and good and gay, is the child who is born
on the Sabbath day,'" chanted Marian, who was sitting by the window
sewing. "You have something to live up to, little sister, if you are
all that."
"I'm glad my birthday isn't coming on Sunday this year," said Jane
thoughtfully. "It did one year and I couldn't have a party or nothing. I
do think Sunday is the inconvenientest day--I wish God hadn't ever
thought to make it!"
"But we need one day of rest," said Marian, struggling with a laugh.
"Ye--es, but I think we get enough rest sleeping nights; I think Sundays
are awful tiring,--you have to work so hard remembering what you can't
do."
"I like Sundays," said Gertie, "'cause Father's home and he reads to us
Sunday afternoons."
"Father takes a nap, you can hear him all over the house--and Mother
tells us to be quiet so we won't wake him. 'Sides your mother lets you
do more things."
"I guess your folks are religiouser than ours," said Katy complacently.
"You think it is more religious to sleep Sunday afternoons, Katy?"
interposed Marian smiling.
"Well, you can't do anything bad when you are asleep," replied Katy a
little confused, but bound to stick to her point.
"Not a bad idea--whenever I am tempted to be bad after this, I'll take a
nap and throw the devil off the track that way."
"My mother says it isn't nice to talk about the devil." Katy looked so
gravely disapproving that Marian had hard work to keep her face
straight.
"Oh, excuse me--I'll be careful not to mention his Satanic majesty
again. Well, Chicken Little, are you going to have a birthday party this
year?"
"Not a really party, but Mother said I could have Katy and Gertie and
Grace Dart come to tea. There's going to be a sure enough birthday cake
with candles and my name and age in pink frosting--and we're going to
have chocolate creams--and all the dolls."
"I shall bring Violet--she's got a new dress and she's just had her hair
glued on--I curled it on the curling iron," said Gertie.
"I'm going to bring my nigger Dinah and you can play she helps wait on
the table," put in Katy.
"Dear me, is that the latest thing in dolldom, to have the guests wait
on the table?" quizzed Marian.
"I guess it would be all right to play she did," Jane responded with a
grin.
"Your mother's birthday comes soon. What are you going to give her,
Jane?"
"Yes, and Ernest's too, his is the twenty-second."
"And Valentine's day comes the fourteenth--just the day after your
birthday."
"Yes, Father says I was intended for a valentine only I was mailed too
soon. I was just wondering what I could give Mother, Marian,--and
Ernest. I've only got sixteen cents. I don't think birthdays ought to
come so near Christmas."
"Sixteen cents isn't much for two presents, is it? We'll have to put our
thinking caps on. Let me see. How would you like to make Mother a little
tidy for her rocking chair? I think I have a piece of honey-comb canvas
left that would be just about the right size--you might do a Greek
border with rose-colored worsted. It's fast work. You could do it
easily."
"Oh, Marian, you do think of the nicest things!" and Chicken Little got
up impulsively to give her a grateful hug.
"But Ernest will be harder--he wouldn't care for fancy work."
"He wants a new base ball--an awfully hard one like Carol's."
"Frank can get him that. I'll tell you, Chicken Little, I believe he'd
like a nice strong bag for his marbles--it won't be long till marble
time now. But, perhaps, we can think up something else."
"I wisht you'd come to my tea party, Marian."
"I'd be charmed to, and I'll bring my old doll, Seraphina. She is huge
and hasn't any nose left and only one eye. Will she be welcome in this
wounded state or had we better put her in a hospital?"
"Oh, Marian, will you?--I'd love to see her."
"She's down in the bottom of a trunk, but I am sure she would be
delighted to get out in the world again. What are you looking at with
those big eyes of yours, Katy?"
"I was just thinking she must be awful old."
"She is--frightfully--almost as old as I am. My aunt brought her to me
from Paris when I was just seven. She was elegant then--all pink silk
ruffles with a little wreath of forget-me-nots in her hair. I crowed
over all the children I knew because she was so fine, but I must be
getting home. Children dear, I wonder if your mothers would mind if you
ran down to the postoffice to mail this letter for me. I want it to get
off on the five o'clock train."
Chicken Little's boasted luck seemed about to fail her entirely on her
birthday morning. She got up late and was so excited over her little
remembrances that she almost forgot to get ready for school. She ran as
hard as she could, so hard she had a stitch in her side, but the last
child in the line was disappearing inside the school-house door, when
she was still half a block away.
She knew what that meant. Miss Brown had a harsh rule for tardy
pupils--they stayed one-half hour after school, rain or shine. And to
stay in a half hour on one's birthday with a party on foot was
unthinkable. Why it would be most dark when she got home! And her
mother--well, maybe her mother wouldn't say very much since it was her
birthday, but Jane wasn't keen about hearing what she would say.
She dragged herself reluctantly up the stairs, taking an unnecessarily
long time to hang up her wraps and it was fully five minutes past nine
when she took her seat. Miss Brown looked severe.
"You understand this means thirty minutes after school. I have told you
I will not tolerate tardiness."
Chicken Little didn't try to catch up with Katy and Gertie going home
that noon. She plodded along soberly by herself with such a forlorn air
that Dick Harding, just behind her on his way to his own lunch, was
struck by it, and overtook her to find out what was amiss now.
"Have to stay after school on a birthday--well, that is tough. I see
plainly you need the services of a lawyer. I guess I'll have to take
this under advisement and see what can be done. You know it's my turn to
help you out. Clear up that solemn face, Chicken Little,--that's
better--I see the smile coming. I'll tell you--wait by the school gate
when you come back from dinner and I'll think up some way to mend
matters."
Chicken Little hurried through her dinner and back to school, posting
herself expectantly to watch for Dick Harding. She did not have long to
wait. Mr. Harding had hurried, too, on her account.
"I have been considering this, Jane. I don't believe it would be quite
fair to the other pupils to persuade Miss Brown to let you off, as I at
first thought of doing. Do you think it would?"
Richard Harding regarded the child keenly, curious to see whether she
would see the point.
Chicken Little looked up at him soberly.
"No, I guess it's just as bad to be late on your birthday as any other
time. And I s'pose if Miss Brown let me go she'd have to let the rest
go, too. And I guess there wouldn't be any rule if she did that."
"Right you are, but I think I have a plan that won't be unfair to
anybody and will still keep the birthday intact. We couldn't have the
birthday hurt you know, Chick
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