Kitabı oku: «The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe: or, There's No Place Like Home», sayfa 6

They talked it over at some length, and Flossy listened with delight to the description of the beautiful house. This was altogether different from Mrs. Van Wyck's affair.

Presently they arrived at the hotel. Mrs. Osgood ordered the horses to be cared for, and then entered the parlor.

"Can we have a private room?" she asked with an air that Florence thought extremely elegant. "And then our dinner" —

"Will you have it brought up to your room?"

"Oh, no! Perhaps I had better give my order now," and there was a languid indifference in her tone.

"Yes, it would be better," replied the brisk waitress.

"Well, we will have some broiled chicken, I think – are you fond of that, Florence? and vegetables – with some lobster salad and relishes."

Florence had a wonderful deal of adaptiveness, and she almost insensibly copied Mrs. Osgood. They went up to the room, and refreshed themselves with a small ablution, for the riding had been rather dusty. Florence shook out her beautiful curls, and passed her damp fingers over them.

"What lovely hair!" exclaimed Mrs. Osgood with a sigh: it was a habit of hers, as if every thing called up some past regret. "When I was a young girl, mine was the admiration of everybody. You would hardly think it now."

"Were you ill?" asked Florence, feeling that she was expected to say something sympathizing.

"My health has been wretched for years. Mr. Osgood was sick a long while, and I had so much trouble! His people were not very kind to me: they tried to make him leave the property away from me, and then they attempted to break the will. There's so much selfishness in this world, my dear!"

Florence experienced a profound sympathy for Mrs. Osgood, and was quite ready to espouse her cause against any one. Already she felt in some way constituted her champion.

But, as Mr. Osgood left no children, he thought it quite just that his property should go back to his own family after Mrs. Osgood's death. And, to confess the truth, he had not found his wife quite perfection.

There were not many people in the dining-room when they entered. They had one end of the long table, and the colored waiter was most polite and solicitous. One by one their little dishes came on, and the broiled chicken had a most appetizing flavor.

Florence acquitted herself very creditably. She was not awkward with her silver fork, and allowed herself to be waited upon with great complacency. Mrs. Osgood was wonderfully pleased, for she was watching every action. How had the child acquired so many pretty ways?

By the time they reached home again it was agreed, if grandmother made no objection, that Florence should spend a month at Seabury with Mrs. Osgood. This was the better arrangement the lady thought; for, if she changed her mind, in that case she could draw back gracefully.

Granny was much relieved to see them return. Mrs. Osgood deigned to enter the cottage again, and explained the matter to old Mrs. Kenneth. Florence seconded the plan so earnestly, that it was quite impossible to refuse. And somehow Granny felt very much bewildered.

"Can you be ready next week?" asked Mrs. Osgood.

Florence questioned Granny mutely with her eyes; but, seeing that her senses were going astray, answered for herself.

"Monday, then, I will come over for you. And now, my child, good-by. I hope you have had a pleasant day."

Florence thanked her again and again. Mrs. Osgood's heart was really touched.

"What does she want you to do?" asked Granny, absently trying to thread the point of her darning-needle.

"Why, – I'm sure I don't know;" and Flossy fell into a brown study. "To wait upon her, I suppose, and sew a little, and – I like her so much! We had an elegant dinner at Salem, and ice-cream for dessert. O Granny, if one only could be rich!"

"Yes," rejoined Granny with a sigh.

"Tell us all about it," said open-mouthed Charlie. "Mrs. Green saw you riding by; and maybe she didn't make a time! She said you put on more airs than all Madison."

"It is nothing to her," bridled Flossy.

"But what did you have? Lots of goodies?"

"Yes, indeed. Silver forks and damask napkins and finger-bowls."

"Finger-bowls?"

That grandeur was altogether above Charlie's capacity.

"You need not look so amazed."

"What do you do with 'em."

"Why, there's a piece of lemon floating round on the top; and you dip in the ends of your fingers, and wipe them on the napkin."

"But can't you eat the lemon? That's what I'd do."

"It would be very ill-bred."

"Hum!" and Charlie's nose was elevated. "As if I'd care!"

"You would if you were out with refined people."

"Oh, my! How aristocrockery you are getting!" and Charlie gave a prolonged whistle, and stood on one foot.

Flossy sighed a little over the supper-table. How nice it would be to live at a hotel, and have a servant to wait upon one! But every thing here was so dreadfully common and poor. And, though Flossy would have scorned the idea of living out as a servant, she fancied a position of companion or ladies' maid would be rather agreeable than otherwise.

Hal was very much interested in her day's adventure. He seemed to understand it better than any of the others, and she could talk to him without the fear of being laughed at. They still sat in the moonlight, when suddenly a sharp click was heard, and a report that made them all scream.

Joe, the good-for-nothing, laughed.

"Wasn't that gay? Hurrah for Fourth of July!"

"Is it you?" asked Granny, who had thrown her apron over her head to keep her from being shot. "And is it a musket, or a cannon?"

"Why don't you frighten us all to death?" said Florence indignantly.

"Oh, it's a pistol!" exclaimed Hal.

"O Joe! and you'll be shot all to pieces before to-morrow night," bewailed Granny. "I'm so afraid of guns and fire-crackers! I once knew a little boy who had his hand shot off."

"If he could only have had it shot on again. I mean to try that way, like the man who jumped into the bramble-bush. Or wouldn't it do to shoot the pistol off instead of my fingers."

"Is it yours for good, Joe?" and Charlie's head was thrust over Hal's shoulders. "A real pistol! Let me see it."

"Yes, it's mine. I bought it to keep Fourth of July with."

"Why, I forgot all about Fourth of July," said Charlie in an aggrieved tone. "And I haven't a cent!"

"Bad for you, Charlie."

"Won't you let me fire off the pistol?"

"Oh, don't!" implored Granny.

"Just once more. It was splendid! I was fast asleep on the floor, and it woke me up."

"Good for the pistol," said Joe. "I'll try it in the morning when you are asleep."

They all had to handle the pistol, and express their opinions. Joe had bought it of Johnny Hall, for a dollar, as Johnny, in turn, wanted to buy a cannon. And the remaining half-dollar of his week's wages had been invested in fireworks.

Granny sighed. But boys would be boys, and Fourth of July only came once a year.

"There's to be an oration on the green, and the soldiers will be out, and it'll be just jolly! Hurray! And a holiday in the middle of the week! Mr. Terry said I needn't come to the store at all."

"There'll be some music, won't there?" asked Kit.

"A drum and a bass-viol, I guess. But it would be royal to go over to Salem, and hear the brass band."

"What's a brass band?" was Kit's rather puzzled inquiry.

"What a goose! Why, a brass band is – horns and things."

"What kind of horns?" for Joe's explanation lacked lucidity.

"Oh, bother! Kit, you'll burn up the ocean some day with your brightness."

"Cornets," said Hal; "and something like a flute, and cymbals, and ever so many instruments."

"Did you ever see 'em?"

"No, but I've read about them."

Kit chewed his thumb. It was one of his old baby habits.

"Now I am going to load her again," said Joe, in a peculiarly affectionate tone. "It's as light as day out here."

"But, Joe, if you should shoot some one, or your fingers, or put your eyes out!"

"Never you mind, Granny. Boys go ahead of cats for lives."

Granny put her apron over her head again, and then ran in to Dot.

"Bang!"

"Nobody wounded," laughed Joe, "and only two or three slightly killed. The country is safe, Granny, this great and gelorious country, over which the eagle waves his plumes, and flaps his wings, and would crow if he could. My soul is filled with enthusiasm, – I feel as if I should bust, and fly all round! There's that miserable Dot lifting up her voice."

The racket had broken her slumbers, and then the children were implored to be quiet. Joe went to bed, in order to be able to get up good and early. Charlie thought she should sleep with her clothes on, so as to save the trouble of dressing. Kit sat in the moonlight chewing his thumb, and wondering if he could manage to get over to Salem to-morrow. If he could only hear that music!

CHAPTER IX
FOURTH OF JULY

The children were up at the peep of dawn. Granny was awakened by something that seemed not unlike the shock of an earthquake; but Flossy, rubbing her eyes, said with a sigh, —

"Oh, dear! Joe has begun with his pistol the first thing! What does possess boys to be so noisy!"

Charlie, perched astride the gate-post, her clothes considerably tumbled, and her hair unkempt, thought it splendid. "If Joe would only let her fire once! Just as soon as she had a dollar she meant to buy a pistol of her own. It would always be good to keep away robbers!"

Joe laughed uproariously.

"Robbers indeed! There's nothing to steal here, unless it's some of the youngsters. You'd be sure to go first, Charlie!"

"I shall be thankful when Fourth of July is over," said Granny in a troubled voice, while Joe was singing, —

 
"But children are not pigs, you know,
And cannot pay the rint;"
 

but at that remark so derogatory to patriotism, he bridled up at once.

"Fourth of July's as good as Saint Patrick, or any other man. Who would be so base and ignoble of soul, and stingy of powder, as not to celebrate his birthday! when the country stretches from the north pole to the south, and is kept from bursting only by the centrifugal forces of the equator" —

Hal's rooster finished the speech by his longest and loudest crow.

"Good for you! You've some patriotism, I see. You are not craven of soul, if powder doesn't come in your way. Granny, when can we have breakfast? I'm about famished with all my speech-making."

Hal fed his crowd of chickens, and amused Dot, who did not quite enjoy being deprived of her morning nap. Presently they were summoned to their meal.

"I'm going over to the store," announced Joe. "I want to see the Declaration of Independence read by the American eagle, and the salute fired by the Stars and Stripes, while the militia climb up their muskets and give three cheers."

"Are they going to do that?" asked Charlie. "Granny, can't I go too?"

"You must put on a clean dress."

"Oh, dear! when I slept in mine too, so as to be ready," Charlie exclaimed, broken-hearted. "Won't you wait, Joe?"

"I can't bother with girls," returned Joe.

Charlie lamented her hard fate, but emerged from the hands of Florence quite a respectable looking child. Kit spent some time in adorning himself, and trying to smooth his refractory scalp-lock. He had been very quiet all the morning.

"Now that they are off we can have a little peace," said Florence.

Granny sighed. They were a great bother and torment, to be sure; but, after all, it was good to have the merry, noisy crew, safe and sound, and she should be glad when they returned.

Hal's tastes inclined neither to fire-crackers nor sky-rockets. So he went into the garden, and began to look after his rather neglected vegetables. The chickens made bad work, it must be confessed, though the attractions of their buckwheat field were pretty strong, and Hal ingeniously repaired the fence with brush; but now and then there would be a raid. The Lima beans were doing beautifully, the corn looked promising; and, altogether, he thought the prospect was fair. Then he met with a delightful surprise.

"O Granny!" and he rushed into the house. "Just think, – three of my grape-vines have beautiful long shoots on them. I haven't looked in ever so long, for I thought they didn't mean to grow. Come and see."

There they were, sure enough. Hal had set out some cuttings from the neighbors, but he had been almost discouraged with their slow progress.

"That's a Concord, and that's a Hartford Prolific. Don't they look lovely in their soft, pinkish green! Why, I feel as if I could give them all a hug. I'll have to put a lattice round, for fear of the chickens."

So he went to work. Dot wanted to help, and brought him useless sticks, while she carried off his hammer and lost his nails. But when she looked up at him with the sweetest little face in the world, and said, "Ain't Dotty 'mart? Dotty help 'ou," he could not scold her.

The dinner was rather quiet. None of the stray youngsters made their appearance. Afterward Florence dressed herself, and went to see Netty Bigelow, her dearest school-friend, and imparted to her that she was going to Seabury next Monday, to stay a month with a very elegant lady, and that she would live at a hotel. Then she described her ride to Salem, and the dinner.

"Oh, how nice it must have been!" said Netty. "You are the luckiest girl I ever did know, Florence Kenneth."

"I just wish I was as rich as Mrs. Osgood. It seems to me that poor people cannot be very happy."

"I don't know," Netty returned thoughtfully. "The Graysons do not seem very happy."

"But I never saw such mean, disagreeable girls; and they are not dressed a bit pretty. If there's any thing in school they always want their share, but they never treat."

"And we are poor," continued Netty; "but I'm sure we are happy."

Florence felt that her friend could hardly understand the degree of happiness that she meant. She was rather out-growing her youthful companions.

About mid-afternoon Hal took a walk over to the store. The old rusty cannon of Revolutionary memory had been fired on the green, the speeches made, and the small crowd dispersed. Nearly everybody had gone to Salem; but a few old stagers still congregated at the store, it being general head-quarters.

Hal picked Charlie out of a group of children, in a very dilapidated condition. Her once clean dress was soiled, torn, and burned; her hands gave the strongest evidence that dust entered largely into the composition of small people; and her face was variegated by perspiration and dabs from these same unlucky hands.

"O Charlie! you look like a little vagabond!" exclaimed Hal in despair. "I'm ashamed of you!"

"But I've had such fun, and cakes and candies and fire-crackers and torpedoes! I wish Fourth of July would keep right straight along. I burned one of my fingers, but I didn't mind," declared the patriotic girl.

"Where's Kit?"

"I don't know. Joe was round this morning, but I guess he went to Salem."

"You must come home with me now."

"O Hal! we haven't found all the 'cissers' yet. They're almost as good as fire-crackers."

Several of the children were burrowing in the grass and sand for "fusees," – crackers that had failed to explode to the full extent of their powder. They broke them in two and relighted them.

Hal was inexorable; so Charlie cried a little, and then bade her dirty companions a sad farewell.

"Oh!" exclaimed Granny, as they came marching up the path, "what a sight! And your Sunday best dress, Charlie!"

"Well," sniffed Charlie with a crooked face, though there were no tears to give it effect, "I'm sure I didn't want to put it on. I hate to be dressed up! Something always happens to your Sunday clothes. I couldn't help tearing it, and Jimmy Earl set off a cracker right in my lap" —

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't your eyes," said Granny thankfully. And then she took the forlorn pyramid of dirt and disorder up stairs, where she had a good scrubbing, and was re-arrayed in a more decent fashion. Anybody else would have scolded, but Granny was so glad to have her back safe and sound.

Her heart was sorely anxious about Kit and Joe. She let the supper stand on the table, and they all sat on the doorstep in the moonlight; for Dot had taken a nap in the afternoon, and was bright as a new penny.

And she fancied, as many mothers and grandmothers have before now, that shocking accidents had happened, and maybe they would be maimed and crippled for life.

Presently they came straggling along, and Granny uttered a cry of relief.

"Oh!" she said, "are you all here? Haven't you lost your hands, nor your fingers, nor" —

"Nor our noses, and not even our tongues," laughed Joe. "Here we are, pistol and all."

"O Kit! where have you been? I was a most worried to death; and you look tuckered out."

For Kit was pale to ghostliness as he stood there in the moonlight.

"Where do you think I found him, – the small snipe? Way over to Salem!"

"O Kit! did you see the fireworks and the soldiers?" exclaimed Charlie breathlessly.

Kit sank down on the doorstep.

"Walked all the way over there, and hadn't a penny!"

"How could you Kit, without saying a word?" exclaimed Granny in a tone of mild reproach.

"I could have given you a little money," said Hal tenderly.

"And it's a mercy that you didn't get run over, or shot to pieces, or trampled to death in the crowd" —

"O Granny! don't harrow up our feelings," said Joe.

"I was afraid you wouldn't let me go," began Kit, at the first available opportunity for slipping in a word. "And I didn't walk quite all the way there, – a man came along, and gave me a ride. I wanted to hear the music so much! The soldiers were splendid, Charlie; some of 'em with great white feathers in their hats and swords and beautiful horses and coats all over gold" —

"Wonderful hats," suggested Joe with a twinkle; for Kit had gone on with small regard to commas or accent.

"They all know what I mean!" said Kit rather testily.

"Don't plague him," interposed Hal. "About the music, Kit?"

"Oh! I can't half tell you;" and Kit gave a long sigh. "There were drums and fifes, and those clappers – I don't remember what you called 'em, but I liked it best when the men were horning with their horns" —

Joe gave a loud outburst, and went over on his head.

"Well," said Kit much aggrieved, "what are you laughing about?"

"Horning! That is good! You had better write a new dictionary, Kit. It is a decided improvement upon 'toot,' and must commend itself to Flossy's attention for superior elegance. There, my dear, give me a vote of thanks;" and Joe twitched Flossy's long curls.

"I don't know what you call it, then," said Kit rather sulkily.

"They blew on the horns," Hal rejoined in his soothing tone, that was always a comfort in times of disturbance; "and the cornets, wind-instruments, I believe, though I don't know the names of them all. It must have been delightful."

"Oh, it was! I shut my eyes, and it seemed as if I was floating on a sea, and there were all the waves beating up and down, and then a long soft sound like the wind blowing in and shaking it all to echoes. I was so sorry when they stopped. They all went into the hotel, I guess it was. By and by I wandered off a little ways, and sat on a stoop; and some one was playing on a piano. That was beautiful too. I'd like to crawl inside of something, as the fairies do, and just live there and listen forever."

"And then I found him, hungry and tired, and bought him some cake," interrupted Joe. "We waited to see the fireworks, and rode home in Mr. Terry's wagon. But for that I guess he'd been sitting on the stoop yet."

"And you haven't tasted a mouthful of supper!" exclaimed Granny; "and I a listenin' here, and never thinkin' of it."

"I'm not much hungry," said Joe. "I was treated a time or two by the boys."

But he thought he wouldn't tell that he had taken up his week's wages in advance, and spent it all. Fourth of July did not come but once a year, and a body ought to have a good time.

Poor Joe had discovered, much to his chagrin, that a dollar and a half would not work wonders. It seemed to him at first that he never could get his suit of clothes paid for; then it was a hat, a pair of shoes, some cheap summer garments; and he never had a penny for Hal or any one else. In fact, he began to think that he would make more money working round for the farmers. But then the store was steady employment.

He gave Charlie a glowing account of the fireworks, while Kit was eating a bowl of bread and milk; then they were glad to tumble into bed.

"I'm thankful it's all over, and their arms and legs are safe, and their eyes not blown out," said Granny with fervent gratitude.

Kit was pretty tired the next day, and Joe found it rather hard to make all things work together for good. Granny shed a few tears over Charlie's "best dress," and wondered how she could patch it so as to look decent.

Florence, in the mean while, was much occupied with her own plans. She could hardly wait for Monday to come, and proposed to do the usual washing on Saturday, so there wouldn't be any "muss" around when Mrs. Osgood called.

She was neat as a new pin as she sat awaiting her visitor. Her clothes had been looked over, and the best selected. There was nothing to pack them in, however, except a small, moth-eaten hair trunk, or a dilapidated bandbox; and the latter was Florence's detestation.

"I can do them up in a paper," she said; and Charlie was sent to scour the neighborhood for the required article.

Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Duncan came together. The latter lady had laughed a little at her sister's plan at first; but, when she found it was really serious, thought it would be as well for her to try it a month.

Mrs. Duncan was rather exclusive, and had a horror of crowds of poor people's children.

"It would be so much better to take some one who had no relatives," she said.

"I shall not adopt the whole family, you may be sure," was the response.

Some of Mrs. Duncan's prejudices were surmounted by the general order and tidiness to which Florence had reduced matters; and she was wonderfully well-bred, considering her disadvantages.

"I shall keep her for a month, while I remain at Seabury; and, if I should want her afterward, we can make some new arrangements," Mrs. Osgood explained. "I shall see, of course, that she has ample remuneration."

Florence colored. Living with such a grand lady seemed enough, without any pay.

"What are you crying for, Granny?" she asked as she followed her into the kitchen. "How ridiculous! Why, it is just as if I were going away upon a visit; and you wouldn't be sorry then."

"It isn't because I'm sorry; – but – none of you have ever been away afore" —

Florence knitted her brows. How foolish to make such a fuss!

"There are so many of us, that we're like bees in a hive. You ought to be glad to have me go. And I dare say I shall ride over some day" —

"To be sure. But every one is missed."

Florence kissed the children all round, and was much mortified at the bundle tied up in a newspaper.

"If I get any money, I mean to buy a travelling-bag," she commented internally.

"Tate me too," exclaimed Dot, clinging to Florence's dress: luckily her hands were clean.

"Oh! you can't go, Dotty: Charlie will show you the beautiful chickens."

Dot set up a fearful cry, and wriggled herself out of Charlie's arms, and Granny took her. Florence hurried through her good-bys, and was glad to leave the confusion behind.

Granny indulged in a little cry afterward, and then went to her ironing. Of course they must all flit from the old hive some time. She could hardly persuade herself that Florence was fifteen, – almost a young lady.

Joe and Hal wanted to hear all the particulars that evening. Charlie dilated grandly on the magnificence of the ladies.

"It's real odd," said Joe. "Flossy always wanted to be a lady; and maybe this is a step towards it. I wonder if I shall ever get to sea!"

"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Granny in a pitiful voice.

When Mrs. Green heard the news, she had to come over.

"I don't suppose they'd ever thought on't, if it hadn't been for me," she exclaimed. "They stopped to my house while their wagon was bein' mended, and the sickly lookin' one seemed to be terribly interested in your folks; so, thinks I, if I can do a good turn for a neighbor it's all right; and I spoke a word, now and then, for Florence, – though it's a pity her name hadn't been Mary Jane. I never did approve of such romantic names for children. And I hope Florence will be a good girl, and suit; for the Lord knows that you have your hands full!"

Charlie ran wild, as usual, through vacation. In one of her long rambles in the woods she found a hollow tree with a rock beside it, and her fertile imagination at once suggested a cave. She worked very industriously to get it in order; brought a great pile of leaves for a bed, and armsful of brush to cook with, and then besought Kit to run away and live in the woods.

Kit tried it for one day. They had some apples and berries, and a piece of bread taken from the pantry when Granny wasn't around. They undertook to fish, but could not catch any thing; though Charlie was quite sure, that, if Joe would lend her his pistol, she could shoot a bird.

"Anyhow, we'll have a fire, and roast our apples," said Charlie, undaunted.

"But it's awful lonesome, I think. S'pose we don't stay all night: Granny'll be worried."

"Pooh!" returned Charlie with supreme disdain.

So she lighted her fire. The twigs crackled and blazed, and the flame ran along on the ground.

"Isn't it splendid!" she exclaimed, "Why, it's almost like fireworks! Oh, see, Kit! that dead tree has caught. We'll have a gay old time now."

Alas! Charlie's "gay old time" came to an ignoble end. Some one rushed through the woods shouting, —

"Hillo! What the mischief are you at? Don't you know any better than to be setting the woods on fire?"

It was Mr. Trumbull, looking angry enough. He bent the burning tree over, and stamped out the blaze; then poked the fire apart, and crushed the burning fragments into the soft ground. A dense smoke filled the little nook.

"Whose work is this? You youngsters deserve a good thrashing, and I've half a mind to take your hide off."

With that he caught Kit by the arm.

"He didn't do it," spoke up courageous Charlie. "He never brought a leaf nor a stick; and you sha'n't thrash him!"

"What's he here for, then?"

"I brought him."

"And did you kindle the fire?"

"Yes," said Charlie, hanging her head a little.

"What for? Didn't you know that you might burn the woods down, in such a dry time? Why, I could shut you up in jail for it."

That frightened Charlie a good deal.

"I didn't mean to – do any harm: we thought – we'd have a little fun" – came out Charlie's answer by jerks.

"Fine fun! Why, you're Granny Kenneth's youngsters! I guess I'll have to march you off to jail."

"Oh, let Kit go home!" cried Charlie with a great lump in her throat. "It wasn't his fault. He didn't even want to come."

Something in the child's air and frankness touched Mr. Trumbull's heart, and caused him to smile. He had a houseful of children at home, every one of whom possessed a wonderful faculty for mischief; but this little girl's bravery disarmed his anger.

"I want to explain to you that a fire like this might burn down a handsome piece of woodlands worth thousands of dollars. All these large trees are sent to the sawmill, and made into boards and shingles and various things. So it would be a great loss."

"I'm very sorry," returned Charlie. "I didn't know it would do any harm."

"If I don't take you to jail this time, will you promise never to do it again?"

Charlie shivered a little at her narrow escape.

"I surely wouldn't," she said very soberly.

By this time Mr. Trumbull had the fire pretty well out.

"Well, don't ever let me catch you at it again, or you will not get off so easily. Now trot home as fast as you can."

Charlie paused a moment, tugging at the cape of her sun-bonnet.

"I'm glad you told me about burning up the woods," she said. "I didn't think of that."

Mr. Trumbull laughed pleasantly.

So the two walked homeward, Charlie in a more serious frame of mind than usual.

"I tell you, Kit," she began at length, "out West is the place to have a cave, and fires, and all that Hal had a book about it. Sometimes children are kidnapped by Indians, and live in their tents, and learn how to make bead-bags and moccasins" —

"I don't want to go;" and Kit gave his slender shoulders a shrug. "They scalp you too."

"But they wouldn't me. I should marry one of the chiefs." Then, after a rather reflective pause, "I'm glad we didn't burn down Mr. Trumbull's woods: only I guess he wasn't in earnest when he said he would put me in jail."

But for all that she begged Kit not to relate their adventure to Granny, and perplexed her youthful brain for a more feasible method of running away.

The house seemed very odd without Florence. The children's small errors passed unrebuked; and they revelled in dirt to their utmost content. For what with working out a day now and then, getting meals, patching old clothes, and sundry odd jobs, Granny had her poor old hands quite full. But she never complained.