 CHAPTER VI. THE T-PARTY When the carriage left the house, Mrs. Hardy directed the driver to go through one of the pleasant roads leading from the town. Which is your favorite drive, Dimple? she asked. Oh, pleasant valley and big run! answered she. Don't you think so? I hardly know, said Mrs. Hardy. I have been around so little, you will have to be our guide and tell us the pretty places. Dimple felt quite important, and chatted away at a great rate. Didn't Rock make our dolls pretty hats? she asked. Mrs. Hardy, I wish he were my brother. He couldn't be, could he? Even if he could only be my cousin, I should like it. Mrs. Hardy looked at Rock, who laughed and said, that is more likely than the other. I don't see how, said Dimple. You will see, said Rock, but at a look from his mother he was silent. They leaned back on the soft cushions, breathing the sweet air, spicy with the scent of the pines through which they were driving. At big run they all back to get out, to see if there were any fish in the water. They clambered about on the bank and over the stones, till Mrs. Hardy told them it was too late to stop longer, and they drove toward town. After they had reached the house where Rock and his mother were boarding, they took off their hats and were ready for tea. They wondered if they were all to sit with Mrs. Briggs family at the table, and dreaded it a little. However, when Rock said, Come this way girls. They were a little mystified, for he took them out into the garden. Under a trellised summer house there was a set of three little tables for three, and on the bench a very small table with two little chairs. That is for the dolls, explained Rock. Oh Rock, exclaimed the girls. Where did they come from? Did you make them? Yes, said he. Do you like them? They are perfect, said Florence. Dimple, do you see how nicely Celestine sits up to the table? And Rabina too, said Dimple, as she took off her doll's hat. Don't they look lovely? Look, Rock, what a boy you are! Rock laughed, and they turned to their own table, which had a tiny bouquet, by each plate, and a pyramid of fruit in the centre. The long drive had given them all an appetite, and they did full justice to the croquettes, muffins, and fried potatoes before they took off the jelly, fruit, and cake. How will we get our chairs and table home? said Florence. I will take them to-morrow, said Rock. Oh no, said Dimple, it was enough for you to make them, without taking them home too. Well, said Rock, if the cabinet-maker can't take home his own goods, I think it is a pity. The girls laughed, and so the matter rested. What shall we do now? asked Rock. Will you look at pictures or play games or what? Dimple looked at Florence, and Florence looked at Dimple. I think pictures are nice in winter, when you can be out of doors, said Florence, who never could get enough of out of doors. So they concluded to play out of doors. What nice long grass, says, said Dimple. We could almost hide ourselves. We might play weaver rabbits, and hope about and make nests. Let's hide ourselves, cried Florence. I speak for first count. One reed-two reed-dickery-day, eleve-le-leve-luck-a-ve-lay, one condemned the American line, Omni-bomni-twenty-nine, Phyllison-Follison-Nicholas John, query-query English navy, signum-segnum-buck. You're out! she sang out to Rock, and they went again rapidly over the count, making herself it. Then Dimple and Rock stole softly off to hide themselves, while Florence covered her eyes by a tree. Woop! called Dimple presently. Woop! called Rock a moment later. And Florence went in search of them, but before she found them, she discovered something else and called out. Rock! Dimple! Come here quick! I have found something so funny and cunning. Out of their nests started the children to see Florence standing over another nest in trellis, in which was a family of little baby-rends, opening their small beaks and clamoring to be fed. Shhh! Dimple said softly. Don't let scare them, poor little things. See, there is the mother bird. She is distressed because we have found her babies. Oh, Rock, don't let anyone else know they are here, for they might hurt them. Let us go away now, said Rock in a whisper. The poor mother bird is flying around, and it is so troubled. She doesn't know that we wouldn't harm her little ones for anything. So they tipped her away and left the mother in possession. What kind of bird was it? Florence asked in a low voice. Why, don't you know? It was Jenny Wren, return Dimple, more accustomed to creatures of woods and fields. Was it really Jenny Wren? explained Florence delightedly. I am so glad I've seen her. Didn't you ever see her before? You have heard Mr Wren's saying, haven't you? Oh, how he sings! I think house wrens are such dear, dear birds. We always put up boxes and cans and such things for them, for we like to have them around, and they can build our nests in quite small places. The other big birds try to dry them away sometimes, but we always try to protect them. Mama says Jenny Wren is a very neat housekeeper, and takes excellent care of her family. They are such friendly little birds. I love them better than any others. Do you believe you have any Wren's nest near the house this year? Florence asked. Yes, indeed, ever so many. I know just where to look for them. I'll show you some tomorrow. There's one in the funniest place. You know where the bamboo shade is rolled up at the side of the front porch? Well, in one end of that, a Wren has built a nest, and Mama will not have the shade let down till the little birds are ready to fly. Florence gave a side of content. She enjoyed such things so heartily, and so none of them in her city home. I like the robins, put in rock. They are such cheerful fellows. Listen to that one whistle. Doesn't it remind you of juicy cherries? Dimple laughed. Yes, and don't they love cherries? I believe they eat half on our trees, and they are always pick out the very finest ones. Of course. So would you if you were a robin. Rock returned. Speaking of birds, Florence, have you ever watched the swallows, the chimney-swifts, come home? It's a sight. No, I never saw them. Are there any here? returned Florence eagerly. Lots of them. They build in that old chimney, and they come every year on the certain day of the month. They seem to have a sort of system in the way they circle around and go down the chimney, just as if they were regularly drilled for it. It's about time for them now. Suppose we sit here and watch them. This they did, and when the last belated swallow had dropped down into that old chimney, they went up to the house where Mrs. Hardy was waiting for them, and where they were glad to listen to her tales of California. Its big trees, its fine fruits, and the lovely flowers that grow while there. And she told many funny tales of the Chinese till Mr. Dulles made his appearance, and with regretful goodbyes they took their leave. All this time the girls had not once remembered bubbles. They were having such a good time, and it was not till they were on their way home when Mr. Dulles questioned them, that they thought of how they had left her on the roof. Mrs. Hardy is just lovely, Mama, said Dimple when they reached home. I hope she liked me, for I liked her, and oh, Mama, I am so sorry about bubbles. I am glad you like Mrs. Hardy, said her mother. But the next time bubbles does wrong, I hope you will tell me and not punish her yourself. You must remember that she is only a little ignorant colored girl, and that it is no wonder she wants what you have, for you have played with her and been with her so much. Of course it was wrong for her to take anything without leave. Were you and Florence good girls? Yes, I think so. Mama, what did Rock mean when he said he was more likely to be my cousin than my brother? Did he say that? said Mrs. Dulles, smiling. Well, so you are. Mama, I don't understand. No, I know you don't. You will in a few days. Now go to bed. Florence, said Dimple after they were in bed. There is another secret somewhere, and I cannot puzzle it out. Mama wants Mrs. Hardy to be fond of me, and Rock is likely to be my cousin, and all that. I can't imagine, answered Florence sleepily. I don't see into it, said Dimple after thinking a while. Florence, are you asleep? But Florence made no answer, having by that time arrived in Dreamland, and Dimple soon followed her, dreaming that she was feeding the little rands on croquettes, and was taking her doll to drive in California, when a big tree came up to her, and insisted on shaking hands because it said it was her cousin. She laughed right out in her sleep, and frightened a little mouse back into its hole. When the two little girls ran down to breakfast the next morning, they wore very happy faces, for Dimple had just discovered that her birthday was only a week off, and she and Florence had been planning for it. Papa always does something very specially nice for me, Dimple had just announced, and I always have a lovely birthday cake with icing and candles. Mama makes it herself, because I always think it tastes better when she does. And she lets me choose what we are to have for dinner. You will tell what you like best, Florence, and we'll have that. I like fried chicken better than anything, except of course ice cream and cake. So do I, I am so glad you like what I do, and I am very glad my birthday is in June, for it is such a rosy month, and we can have strawberries with ice cream. There are so many good things to eat in June, strawberries and peas and asparagus, and oh I don't know what all. This conversation took place before breakfast, and Dimple was sitting on the floor hugging her knees, and looking as contented as it was possible to be. They were still talking on the important subject when they entered the dining room. What's all this about birthdays? asked Mr. Dollos, looking up from his morning paper. Why, Papa, don't you know my birthday will be next week? returned Dimple, as she went up to give him his morning kiss. Aren't you glad? she added. Is it an occasion for great joyfulness? I'm not so sure of that. Don't you know it makes my mom feel very serious to have a daughter or eight, or is it nine years old? And as for myself, I begin to feel the gray hairs popping out all over my head at the very thought of it. I shall be nine years old. But, Papa, you are always making out that you are old and that makes me feel sorry. I don't see a single gray hair. People are not very old till they are forty, at least, are they? Well no, but they are rather decrepit when they reach such extreme old age as that. Uncle Heath is forty, you know, and see what a tethering old man he is. Now, Papa, you are laughing at me. I don't believe you will have gray hairs for years and years. They are starting, I am sure. However, we will change the subject, if you wish. What do you expect me to give you on that festival day? Not a not a doll, surely? No. I don't know. Perhaps. Oh, you are insatiable, as to dolls. I believe if anyone were to give you a dozen at Christmas, you would be glad to have a dozen more on New Years. I don't believe Florence is so doll-crazy. Yes, she is. Aren't you, Florence? Florence nodded. Nevertheless, continued Mr. Dulles, I'll promise no doll this time. Shall it be books? Perhaps we'd better consult Mama. Come to think of it, I had an idea about this same birthday. It seems to me I thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide some amusement for rainy days. The two little girls looked at each other, and then bull-hunk her head. What do you think, Mr. Dulles asked, quizzically? It seems to me that I have heard that the rain produces a singularly bad effect upon two little girls, I know. Yes, papa, we were horrid, especially one time. We didn't know what to do, and so—and so— Satan found some mischief still, for I will hence to do. Was that the way of it? Dimple glanced at Florence shame-facedly. Yes, papa, I'm afraid it was just that way. She replied meekly. Well, as I said before, I think it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide against such trouble. Perhaps that birthday will show you a way out of future difficulty. And so it proved, for on her birthday morning the secret of the little house was revealed. You must wait till after breakfast to see your birthday gifts, daughter, Mrs. Dulles said, as Dimple came bounding into the room to receive her nine kisses. Oh, Mama, why? I always have them the first thing. Do tell me where they are—downstairs or up here? Downstairs, in one sense, but they are not in the house at all. Dimple's eyes opened wide. Not in the house? Florence, just listen, there is a great secret. Oh, dear, how can I wait? Well, dearie, returned her mother, the sooner you are dressed, the sooner the secret will come. See, I am nearly ready to go down. Please help me, just this morning, Mama. It will make it so much easier, and it's my birthday, you know. Very well, since you are the person of importance today, I will help you. Hurry up, Florence, cried Dimple. Come in here and I'll fasten your buttons while Mama does mine. Then we'll get through all the sooner. Although Dimple the day before had carefully selected the day's bill of fare, the breakfast was scarcely tasted, her favorite waffles offering no inducement for her to linger over them. So great was her excitement, and she watched eagerly till her father pushed back his chair and declared himself ready for orders. It seemed to Dimple that he had never had such an appetite before, and she watched with anxious interest as he helped himself to waffles from each plateful that bubbles brought in. There was a twinkle in his eyes as Dimple at last heaved a long sigh, and he immediately arose and led the way through the garden to the little new house between the house and the stable. We'll look in here, he remarked, as he unlocked the door. Although Dimple had been quite curious to see the inside of the house for little chicks, she was rather disappointed at the delay, for she thought perhaps her papa had something for her in the stable, a fox terrier or maybe a goat, since she had expressed a wish for both. But when the door of the little house was opened, her surprise was so great that she gave expression of a long drawn, oh, and looked from one to the other half bewildered. For instead of a brooder on an incubator, she saw before her the dearest little room with white curtains at the window, a rug upon the floor, a small cooking-stow in one corner, a table, chairs, and all to suit a little girl. Upon the shelves were raged plates, cups, saucers, and dishes, and a cupboard in the corner looked as if it might hold other necessary things for housekeeping. Moreover, her family of dolls sat along in a row on the window-seat, looking as expectant as is the nature of dolls to look. Well, Dott, how do you like it? asked Mr. Dollas, smiling down at the child, whose color came and went in her fair little face. Oh, papa, oh, papa, is it truly my house? she asked, clasping him closely. Yes, it is truly yours. I thought a rainy day-house might help to keep our little chicks out of mischief, because here they can peep as loud as they choose, and it will not disturb any one. You said it was for little chicks, and I never once thought of you mantas. Did you, Florence? It is lovely, lovely. Oh, papa, you are too good. I think it is a matter of self-defense, for if you and Florence are so ambitious as to take violent possession of your neighbour's houses, it seemed to me there would be no end of complaints, and the best way to prevent further house-breaking was to give you a house where you could cook and sweep and exercise your domestic tastes of your heart's content. Dimple understood all this banter, and she laughably said, Florence, we are like the birds that try to take the rent's houses to live in, but now we have a nest of our own, we won't do it any more, papa. Thank you so much. It is the most lovely surprise I ever had in all my life. I'm glad you like your house, Mr. S. Eleanor Dollas, but dear me, I can't stand the chattering. I must be off. Dimple gave him an ecstatic parting hug, and returned to a survey of her house. Papa gives you the house, and I the furniture, her mother told her. You must try to keep the place neat and clean. Of course, bubbles can help you sometimes, but I want you to learn to take care of it yourself and to be a good housekeeper. Like Jenny ran. Oh yes, mama, I will try. Florence will put up boxes for the rents, up there by the door, and maybe they'll come and build. Mama, maybe have I ice cream and cake out here this afternoon? Yes, if you like, and you may go over and ask Rokardi to come, and Leila and Eojin Clark too, if you like to help them. That will make quite a nice little party. You can use your own dishes, and have all the fun you choose. Won't that be fine? cried Dimple, softly clapping her hand. Shall we go now? she asked. Yes, unless you would rather wait. No, I'd rather go now, so I won't have to think about it, for I shall not want to leave my house today. It is so dear and cunning. And Florence, when we come back, we'll gather some flowers and make everything look as pretty as possible. Just think, we'll be like grown-up ladies with a house and a servant, and oh mama, please let bubbles wear a cap. Mrs. Dulles laughed. I don't believe we shall insist upon that, but you can rig up one for her, if you like, when she is out here. Now I must go in. Come, Florence, we'll go and invite the company, and get that over with, and then we'll have nothing to interrupt us the rest of the day, said Dimple. Won't it be fine to come out here on rainy days and make all the noise we want? What time shall we tell the children to come? she called after her mother, who was just tapping off the little porch, at four o'clock, I think. That's the time Rock had his tea-party, said Dimple. I am glad we can invite him to our feast, because we had such a nice time over there. I wonder if he knows anything about this being our little house. If he doesn't, won't he be surprised? It proved that Rock didn't know, and he was as interested as anyone could wish. So much so indeed, that he begged to go over at once to see it, and his mother allowed him to do so. My, but it's fine, he declared, examining both outside and in. You might have a pretty little garden out here, and plant some wires to grow over the porch. So we might, Dimple responded. I never thought of that, it will make the little porch so much prettier. Just think, I never dreamed that it was being built for me. Your father is awfully good, returned Rock, adding soboly. I hope it runs in the family. Dimple laughed, but looked sober herself, immediately after. I'm afraid I'll never be as good as Papa and Mama, for I do horrid things, she said. She looked at Florence wistfully, then lifted one of her cousins soft, obrom curls, and laid her cheek against it, to which Florence responded by giving her a sudden kiss. They both remember that day in the garret. Rock became so interested in the idea of a garden, that after Mrs. Dallas's consent was gained, he spent most of his day in digging up a little patch in which children planted a remarkable collection of plants, both wild and cultivated. They even put in some corn, so as to have roasting ears, Dimple said, and the pumpkin seed, because she liked pumpkin pies. They were so busy all day, that they were scarcely willing to go in to prepare for their feast. Leila and Eugine Clark were properly impressed with the new house. Yet, with the others, were quite ready to stub their play, that they might do justice to the big cake with its nine candles and its red of flowers, while the amount of ice-cream eaten showed plainly that the refreshments were quiet to the taste of the guests. Leila brought Dimple a box of candy, and Eugine presented her with a bunch of beautiful roses. Rock, too, although he hardly could spare the time to rush home and get his gift for her. Had something to donate, an exquisite little fan with card ivory sticks, that he said was made in China, and which his mother had brought in California. Mrs. Hardy added to the gift a dainty pink stash, and Florence had struggled in secret to make Rubina a new frock, and had succeeded very well. So Dimple felt herself bountifully remembered. It's been just the very happiest day I ever had, said the little girl as she stood in her white nightgown ready for bed. I ought to be a very, very good girl, mama, and I have done so many nasty things lately, but I didn't think. Didn't think is a bad enemy to most little girls, said Mrs. Dulles, holding her daughter's fair head against her shoulder. Did you have to fight him? I did indeed. That's a comfort. Perhaps when I grow up, I may be a little weeny, weeny bit like you, darling Mamzy. Please give me nine more kisses. One on your forehead, one on your each cheek, one on your each eyelid, one between your eyes, one on your chin, one on your mouth, and where shall I put the other? Here, in the tickly place under my chin. Now say, my blessed child, that always makes me feel good, and then I'll pop into bed. But the head was no sooner on the pillow, than it was bobbed up again, and there came the whisper, mama, please kiss Florence more than one time, and call her something nice. And when this was done, two very tired but very happy little girls kissed each other, and in a few moments were fast asleep. End of CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN OF A SWEET LITTLE MAID This Liberwax recording is in the public domain. Recording by Diana Moilinger. A SWEET LITTLE MAID by Amy Ella Blanchard. CHAPTER SEVEN. HOUSEKEEPERS MAMA, said Dimple, with her elbows on the arm of her mother's chair. What are you thinking about so hard? You have a little packery frown between your eyes whenever you look at Florence and me. What have we been doing? Nothing, replied Mrs. Dollos, smiling. I was wondering if it would be wise to leave you two alone here with bubbles for a day. Mrs. Hardy wants me to go to the city with her tomorrow, and I promised Sylvie some time ago that she should have the day. She wants to go off on an excursion, and has been making great preparations. I could not have the heart to disappoint her, and your papa will not be at home for another week, so I'm very doubtful about leaving you. Oh, do go, Mama! cried Dimple, clapping her hands. We can keep the house beautifully, can't we, Florence? And it will be such fun. Do go. There's a darling. We'll be just as grown up as possible, and do anything you tell us. And you will not be afraid? Not in the least. We'll have bubbles, you know, and she can run awfully fast if we get ill and want a doctor, replied Dimple cheerfully. I hope no such effort will be needed on bubbles as part. You must not turn the house upside down, nor empty all the trunks and chests upon the floor of the attic. Now, Mama! exclaimed Dimple reproachfully. Why do you remind us of that? Mrs. Dollos laughed at the bow-begone tone. That you may remember not to do it again, she replied. Then she added, Well, I'll think about it a little longer. I promise to let Mrs. Hardy know this afternoon. Now run along and let me think. You will tell us as soon as you make up your mind, said Dimple, as she left the room with Florence. Yes, yes, don't keep me any longer from my think. Don't you hope she will go? asked Florence. I think it would be lots of fun to have the house all to ourselves for a whole day. What shall we do, Dimple? Oh, there will be lots to do, replied Dimple, importantly. There will be the beds to make, and the house to put in order, and dinner to get. Oh, Florence, what shall we have for dinner? What should you like? I don't know, exactly. Baked custards are nice. Yes, scented Dimple doubtfully. But I'm afraid we couldn't manage to make them just right. They seem sort of hard. And you don't like huckleberry pudding. Then let's have apple cobbler. We both like that. Yes, and it is easy. At least I think it is. Just crusts on the apples. Well, we'll have that. I do wish Mama would hurry up and tell us. The two established themselves on the lowest step as near as possible to the library where Mrs. Dulles was sitting. Don't make such a noise, said Dimple as Florence, to while away the time began to sing. You will keep Mama from thinking. Just let's whisper. So for a half hour or more a little whispering sound went on, interspersed by a stiff-willed laughter. Then, at the noise of Mrs. Dulles's hand upon the doorknob, the two girls sprang to their feet. Hurry up, Mama, tell us! cried Dimple as the door opened. When you give me the chance, replied Mrs. Dulles, smiling. I am going. Does that please you? Oh, oh! cried the two, dancing up and down. How flattering you are, said Mrs. Dulles, laughing. I never had pleasure so fully shown for such a cause, so you will be delighted to get rid of me. Now, Mama, now aunty, came in chorus. It isn't at all that, but it will be such fun, and we are going to make an apple-cobbler for dinner. Are you? Who said so? Why, may and we? asked Dimple, somewhat taken aback. Who will make it? Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvie do it often, and I know exactly how. Dude, do let us, Mama. It seemed too bad to dampen their ardour, and Mrs. Dulles rather dubiously consented, but charged them not to eat undercooked dough, or raw apples. Everyone was up be-times the next morning. Sylvie had set everything in readiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs. Dulles was to leave on the nine o'clock train. I shall be back by eight o'clock, she told the children. Don't set the house afire, and don't make yourselves ill. Now, don't worry over us, said Dimple loftily. We shall do finely. But she did feel a little sinking of heart, as her Mama's form was lost to view, and the two girls turned from the gate. I wish Rock were not going with them, remarked Dimple. It would be nice to have him here. I don't think it would, replied Florence. We'd have to entertain him, and maybe he doesn't like apple-cobbler. That is true, returned Dimple, her spirits rising at the suggestion of some active employment. Now let us go and make the beds, while Bubbles does the dishes. And they set to work, with much chattering, to follow out this duty. There now it looks as neat as possible, pronounced Dimple, as she closed the shutters to keep out the glaring sun. Just hang up the towel that has fallen down, Florence, and then we'll go downstairs and shut up the rest of the house. By that time Bubbles will be through her work, and we can all play till it's time to get dinner. Bubbles had just emptied her dishpan, and was about to score the knives when they entered the kitchen. Hurry up Bubbles, said Dimple, so we can all go out and play. We want to take care of Celestine and Rubina while we go out shopping. Mama said we might use the pieces in this, holding out a calico bag. That is, we are just going to roll them up, and have them for dry goods. The dry goods shop is to be at the end of the porch, where the bench is. We have cut out a great big newspaper man to sell the goods. We'll have to pin him against the railing, Florence, or he won't stand up. He is so limp. Isn't he fine and tall? His name is Mr. Star, because we cut him out of the evening star. Their play proved to be so very interesting, that it was after twelve o'clock before the little housekeepers remembered that they had a dinner to prepare, and that the making and baking of their apple pie would take some time. Then it appeared that Bubbles, in her haste to join the play, had forgotten the fire, which was nearly out. Never mind, we'll put in some wood, concluded Dimple cheerfully. I've seen Sylvie do it lots of times, to hurry up the oven, run Bubbles and get some wood, then you can pair the apples, while I'll make the crust. That may pale the apples, suggested Florence. It is such fun to put them on that little thing, and turn the crank, while the skin comes off so easily. Well, you do that, agreed Dimple, and Bubbles can set the table. Why doesn't this apple go right, said Florence? It bubbles around so, and there it has gone bouncing off to the other side of the kitchen. How provoking! It is a sort of skewed jolt one, pronounced Dimple. I can never do anything with those on the parer. Pick out the ones that are perfectly round and smooth, and they'll go all right. I wonder how much shortening I ought to put in. Does it look like enough to you? Florence viewed the pan critically. I don't know, she replied doubtfully. I don't believe I know much about it. It looks like a pretty big lump. I'll call it enough, decided Dimple. There, it is ready to roll out. Somehow it doesn't roll very easily. Let me try, offered Florence, who, having finished pairing the apples, was watching her cousin. It is not easy, she said, after banging away with the rolling pin. Maybe Bubbles can do it. Her arms are stronger. And after this third effort, some sort of crust was ready, with which to line the pan. It seems pretty thick, Dimple declared, looking at it with a dissatisfied eye. But it is the best we can do. Oh, it will taste all right, encouraged Florence. Now for the apples. What else, Dimple? Sugar, and little bits of butter, and what else? Oh yes, a little sprinkling of flour. Now the top goes on, and it can go into the oven. I wonder how long it will take to bake. It is one o'clock, and I am beginning to get hungry. The oven isn't very hot, she presently pronounced. Put some more wood in, Bubbles. Oh, what is the matter, Florence? As an exclamation made her turn in her cousin's direction. I have burned my hand, said Florence, trying hard not to cry. I wanted to look at the fire, and when I lifted the lid, the steam from the kettle came just where I put my hand. I didn't know steam could burn so. It is worse than anything else, informed Dimple. It is too bad, I'll get something to put on it, to take the burn out. Carson's mighty good, suggested Bubbles. Yes, and so is flour. And linseed oil is good, that will be the best. And the bottle being brought, the wounded hand was bound up, and Florence retired from action, and sat on the staff watching the others, while she nursed her hurt. Let me see, went on Dimple, bursting about. We have chicken, and bread, and butter, and sliced tomatoes, and milk, and a cobbler. It is doing Florence. It is beginning to brown. I wished with hurry up, Florence said. I'm hungry, and oh, how my hand hurts! Isn't it any better? A little, but it doesn't feel a bit good. It is too bad, said Dimple, sympathetically, coming over and putting a flowery hand on her cousins. I smell the pie, she exclaimed, jumping up. It must be burning. And she ran to the oven. Is it burned? asked Florence anxiously. No, only just a wiener bit caught. I'll take it out. Doesn't it look good? Florence gave an admiring assent, and they proceeded to take their meal, but alas, when the pie was cut, a mess of sticky dough and raw apple was disclosed to the disappointment of the mole. We'll have to put it back and eat it after a while, said Florence. It will taste just as good, then. Yes, and we can eat cake for dessert. And the pie was again placed in the oven. Not long after, a wrapping was heard at the side porch. Who in the world can that be around there? exclaimed Dimple. Go and see, bubbles. Bubbles looked out cautiously, for it was not the usual place for anyone to make an appearance. Presently she came back with big eyes, and a somewhat scared expression. To man, Dimple, she said in an excited whisper, with a great big head and long hair and something on his back. Florence and Dimple looked at each other. Let's peep and see, whispered a letter, as the wrapping which had seized began again. They peep timidly through the shutters. He looks queer, said Dimple. Maybe he's crazy. Oh! cried Florence, with a stifled scream. Maybe he's an escaped lunatic. Dimple, let's lock all the doors and hide. And the two ran into the kitchen, bearing and locking the door, and then raced upstairs as fast as they could, with bubbles close following at their heels. Florence buried her face in the pillows, and covered up her head with the bed-clothes. Bubbles crawled under the bed, then, as the wrapping continued louder than before, interspersed with calls of, Hey there! Hey there! Dimple, feeling very brave, opened the window and cried out, Go away! Then she shut down the window with a slam, and sprang into the middle of the room with very red cheeks and a beating heart. After a little time all was quiet, and the three timidly went downstairs to find a pie baked to such a crisp browness that did barely escape being cold black. It was set aside to cool, and after a short parlay the children set out to reconnoitre, armed with such weapons as they thought most useful. Bubbles carried an axe, Florence a bottle of ammonia, which she meant to throw in the face of the intruder to take his breath away, she declared, and Dimple bore a long rope and a pair of large scissors. She intended, she said, to snip at the man if she came near her, and, when he was overpowered by Florence's ammonia, to bind him hand and foot with the rope. But after a long and thorough search no one was found about the premises, and they all returned to the house to eat the cobbler which by this time was cool. It doesn't taste like silvis, said Dimple. I believe I forgot to put any salt in the crust, and where it isn't hard it is tough. There, I didn't put any water in it, of course there is scarcely any juice. I was going to have some for Mama, but I don't think I shall. We'll give it away to the first person we can. She continued to Florence. This happened to be an organ-grider, who made his appearance at the gate. Bubbles was dispatched with the message that they hadn't any money, but there was some pie and the organ-grider departed, whether grateful or not they did not learn. It seems to me it has been a pretty long day, said Dimple, as the afternoon wore on. Five o'clock, three hours before we can possibly expect Mama. I should think she would get dreadfully tired of housekeeping, she continued, remembering her discouraging pie. I don't feel as if I wanted any supper, do you, Florence? Not now, replied Florence, but your Mama will want some. Oh, well, Bubbles can attend to it, decided Dimple. I'm tired of seeing dishes and dabs. What shall we do next, Florence? We haven't cleared up the porch yet. Mr. Starr is out there, and all the pieces. Sure enough, well, we'll get those put away, and then we can dress. I wonder what became of the crazy man. Why do you remind me of him? said Florence, plaintitably. I had almost forgotten, and now I shall dream of him. I don't believe he was crazy, said Dimple. I suppose he had something to sell. I thought so at the time, but I began to get scared and couldn't stop. Roll up, Mr. Starr, Florence. We may want him again. There I have the bag and all the rest of the things. You bring Mr. Starr and the dolls. Just there came a, hello, from around the corner of the house. The children gave a suppressed scream, which changed into a hearty laugh when Rock appeared, and with words tumbling over each other, they began to give a breathless recital of the day's experiences, which amused Rock, basely. But how did you happen to be here? the girls remembered at last to ask. We thought you had gone to the city. No, I didn't go after all. Mr. Brisk was going off in the country, and my mom gave me my choice of places, so I thought I'd not enjoy shopping very much, and I decided to go with Mr. Brisk's. We got back about half an hour ago, and I came over to see if you wouldn't go back to the house with me. I want to show you something I found. What is it? Wait till you see. I'm afraid we oughtn't to leave the house, said Dimple. Can't you lock it up? We won't be gone long, and I'll come back and stay with you till your mother comes, then I can walk home with my mother, for she'll stop here first. That will be very nice, but I don't believe we dare lock it up. Let Bubbles stay. But Bubbles' eyes nearly popped out of her head at this suggestion, and finally, after many plans, Rock went over to the house of the man, whom Mr. Dulles employed to take care of the garden at Stable, and he promised to stay on the place to give Bubbles countenance till the others should return. I've got a job over there anyhow, he said, though I mostly leaves about this time, but I can do what I have to do as well now, as in the morning. Therefore the children felt perfectly safe in leaving Bubbles. Rock led the way to Mr. Brisk's work-house. What I have to show you is in here, he said. The girls followed him somewhat timidly, but were reassured when Rock drew out the box of shamans where, culled up, they saw a cat and three little bits of kittens. Oh, how cunning! cried Dimple, getting down on her knees. You little, twozy, woozy, deary things. Aren't they soft? Oh, if you might have them. There are three just one apiece. Rock, don't you believe we might have them? We'll go and ask, said Rock, and they ran pal-mal into the house. What is the matter? said Mr. Brisk, starting up less something were wrong. We are only going to ask Mrs. Brisk if we may have the kittens, they cried breathlessly. Mrs. Brisk was standing in the hall and heard their story. Well, well, well, she said, if old Topple hasn't another lot of kittens, have them. To be sure, you may, and welcome when they are big enough to take from their mother. The girls clapped their hands delightfully and went back to the little blind things, who, with their tight-shed eyes, were mewing and nosing against each other. Now let's choose, said Rock, after they had taken them out on the grass where it was lighter. Two black and one black and white. If you girls like the black ones best, I'll take the other, or if either of you like that best, I'll take one of the black ones. So, after much talking, Dimple chose a black one and Florence the black and white, while Rock expressed himself delighted with the other black one, as really what he liked the best. I shall name mine Jet, said he. And my I'll name Onyx, and I'll call it Nixie, for short, said Dimple. And mine shall be Marble, said Florence. So that question being decided they loved them, like birds in their nests, said Dimple, and started for home, for it was growing late. We couldn't carry the kittens home to-night, anyhow, said Florence. But I do hope we can see them often, and that I can take mine home. She did take it home, and it grew to be a big cat, though before she went the children often loved to see Rock coming in, with the three little things in the basket, bringing them over for a visit. He did this several times, taking them back to their mother, until one day they came to stay. Although time dragged, eight o'clock did come at last, and the hour brought Mrs. Dulles. And you are really glad to have me back again, she said, with an arm around each little girl, though you were so glad to have me go. And how did the pie turn out? It wasn't good, admitted Dimple candidly. So we give it to an organ grinder. What charitable generous children, to be sure, love Mrs. Dulles. By the way, Dimple, I forgot to tell you that possibly the paper-hanger might be here. He was to come one day this week to paper the upper-hole. Dimple looked at Florence, and Florence looked at Dimple. We thought he was a crazy man, presently said the letter, in a shame-fist's way. Crazy? Why, what do you mean? He came to see the side-door, explained Dimple. Those were rolls of paper on his back, Florence, and we got frightened and wouldn't let him in. You silly little geese! I see I must not leave you again. But everything else was all right, Florence informed her. Only I burned my hand a little. I had almost forgotten it, Dimple. Then you don't want me to go away altogether, said Mrs. Dulles. No, indeed, said they both, in the most emphatic manner. You dearest loveliest, continued Dimple, it is too delicious to see you again. And I didn't dream about the crazy man after all, said Florence, the next morning. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 A Drift During this time Mr. Atkinson was not forgotten, and the two little girls spent many a happy morning in his beautiful garden, for even the small house which Mr. Dulles had built for Dimple, was not proof against the attractions Mr. Atkinson's place had to offer. They were careful not to venture beyond bounds, and kept in the walks and on the porches. But one hot day they went there down to where a fence marked the limits of the place in that direction. Then came a steep bank, sloping down to Big Run, which, a little further on, emptied into the river. It was a wild, romantic spot, and full of charm, for the two little girls, whose fences pictured all sorts of possible things. The hollows, in the shraggy willows bending over the steam, might be the hiding-paces for nymphs and fairies. Yonder soft sword, dotted with butter-cups and daisies, might be the favourite spot for a midnight revel. Among those rocks queer little gnomes might live. Florence was especially stuck with it all. She had never been quite so near to such a picturesque spot, and now nothing would do, but that they should climb the fence and explore further. There isn't a soul anywhere to be seen, said Florence, and it will be perfectly safe. Suppose we should meet a fierce dog, Dimple, a little more cautious, suggested. Oh no, we are not likely to at all. Dogs are not going to such a place as that, at least, I don't think so. It would be perfectly fine to go out on one of those willow trees, and hang our feet over the water. Suppose we should slip and fall in. Oh, we'll be careful. Besides, the branches of the trees hang so far over the stream, that we couldn't fall very far, anyhow, and it is very shallow there. We'll only get a wetting, and it's such a hot day, I shouldn't mind if we did. If we should sit there very quietly, we might see fairies. Do you believe there are fairies, really? Why, yes, I'm not sure. There may be, you know. Wouldn't it be funny to see a tiny little being, in a red cloak, or a spun silver robe, come out from the hollow of the tree, and say, Maiden, your wish shall be granted. What wish? Any wish we happen to be making at the time. Come on, Dimple, I'm just crazy to go. And Florence put her foot on the fence, and was soon over, Dimple following. It was not easy, as it seemed, to get out on the trees, and they decided not to attempt it, but thought they would wander along the brink of the stream, and in doing this they discovered all sorts of wonderful things, in what Florence called a fairy-dell, most grown rocks from which sprung tiny bell-shaped flowers, a circle of weeping toads-tools, which indeed seemed fit for the Alphen folk, a wild grapevine with a most delightfully arranged swing on which the two girls teetered, away in great joy. Shining pebbles, bits of rose-coloured quartz, a forest of plummy ferns, and all such like things, over which the city-child exclaimed and marveled. At last they were obliged to cross a little bridge, for the bank became higher and higher on that side, and a little further walking showed them the river. Oh! Florence exclaimed, isn't this fine? I wish we could go out rowing. See those girls over there, by that funny flat sort of boat. They are going to get on it. Come, let us go down and watch them. They clamber down and were soon on the brink of the river. Two or three girls much older than Dimple and Florence were pulling a small flat barge up on the sands. One of the girls recognized Dimple. Hello, Eleanor! she cried. Where did you come from? Don't you want to get on with us? Oh, do let us! whispered Florence. Are you going out there on the river? asked Dimple. No, we are only going to get on this flat boat, and sit here where we can get the breeze, and maybe we will fish. We brought some tackle along with us. Come, give me your hand. There, you are landed. Come, little girl, there is plenty of room. She held out her hand to Florence, who eagerly accepted the invitation, and was soon by her cousin's side. Isn't it nice? said Dimple. Fine, Florence responded heartily, as she sat down in the bottom of the boat. It's rather sunny, though, Dimple remarked. Oh, you mustn't mind that. We are going to fish. Don't you want to try your luck? Dimple looked rather disgustedly at the can of angle-worms, and decided that she would look on. What are you going to do, Libby? Dimple's acquaintance inquired of one of the other girls. I'm going to try to get the boat out, where it will float. It's such fun to have it bob up and down, replied the girl addressed. She had a long pole, and was pushing the boat off from the shore. It was fastened to the stake, so it could only career around a little, and Dimple's friend Callie Spear assured the little girls that it was perfectly secure, and so they gave themselves up to their enjoyment. Both Florence and Dimple felt very proud of being invited to join this company of all the girls, and while the latter amused themselves by fishing, the two little ones set afloat small chips, freighted with the daisies they had gathered, and wondered how far they could go before they should upset. Wouldn't it be funny if they sailed all the way to the ocean, and were seen by the people, on one of the big steamers? They would wonder how in the world the daisy people got out so far. Florence said this as she was watching a chip rapidly drifting down stream. Suddenly she became aware that the shore was further away than she supposed, and she cried, Oh, how wide the water is! See how far it is to the shore. The other girls looked up, startled, and to their dismay discovered that their boat had slipped its moorings, and was fast drifting down the river, nearer and nearer to the current, of midstream. They looked at each other with scared faces, but they did not want to alarm the little girls, and so Callie said with a forced laugh, Oh, that's all right, we were getting easily enough. Someone will see us from the shore, or a boat will come along that can tow us in. It's rather fun to have a little adventure. However, she eagerly scanned the shore and the water, but no help seemed to be near, and the boat was drifting on and on. Dimpa realized that they were moving further and further away from home, as she saw the objects on the shore grow smaller and smaller. The big tears began to gather in her eyes. Don't cry, dear, said Callie, soaringly. We'll get home all right. But suppose we shouldn't. Suppose we should drift on and on down to where the steamboats come up, and we should keep going till it got dark, and nobody should see us, and we should get run into and drowned. Oh, dear, I want my mama and my papa. Florence took alarm at this, and, putting her head in Dimpa's lap, began to cry. The other girls were scarcely less frightened, for they knew there was a danger in their reaching their rapids, and them being worried around between the rocks, when they would be very likely to upset, even in a boat like the one in which they were. They managed, however, to show less fear, in their endeavour to calm the younger children. Why we'll get home long before we reach the steamboats? said Emma Bedford cheerfully. Haven't you seen the river in the fascet? And don't you know how it carries all sorts of things along? Haystacks, and sheds, and even houses with people in them. I've seen, and they are always rescued. Libby Jackson was looking over the side of the boat. It is very shallow here. We could almost walk ashore, she said. We are right over the old fort, said Collie. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and began to tear off the skirt of her frock. As soon as she was freed from it, she began to wave it frantically. I see someone on the shore, she exclaimed excitedly. All shout as loud as you can, girls. And across the water rang the shrill cry of, Help! Help! Help! The man riding along the shore caught sight of the flapping skirt, of hats waving frantically, and a cry of help became faintly to his ears. He stopped his horse and looked around. Them gulls is adrift, he said to himself. Whatever possessed them, I don't know, but I reckon I'll have to see if I can stop them. He rode to the water's edge and looked across. We are right at the fort, he remarked, as if his horse could understand what he said. It won't hurt you to go out, he continued. It's a hot day, and you can get cooled off good. And the girls in the boat were rejoiced to see the horse headed toward them. Oh, how lucky that we are at the fort, said Collie. Otherwise the man might not venture. See Eleanor, see Florence, he can't tow a sin. Hold up that bit of rope, girls, while I put on my skirt. The man was not long in coming alongside. What happened, ye? he asked. A lot of gulls like you ain't no business getting into such a fix. Where did ye start from anyhow? How long ye been drifting? They told him how the trouble had occurred, and he replied with, I reckon ye'd better not try that again. You are a matter of five miles from home. And the boat don't belong to ye, ye say. How do ye expect to get back? And how are you going to manage about the boat? Do ye know whose it is? No, but we can find out, said Collie. What do you think would be the best way to get it home again? Isn't it a dreadful fix to be in? Can you suggest any way to help us? I might take it off for ye to-morrow, maybe, but ye'll have to pay for it. How much would ye charge us? Let me see. A couple of dollars. The gulls looked at each other and held a whispered consultation, which resulted in Collie's agreeing to the amount, each girl promising to put in her share. The boat was easily towed to the shore, but here it was wet and slippery, and it required considerable agility to get ashore without slipping in the soft mud. Every one accomplished it safely by dimple, whose foot slipped, and over she went full length into the mire. A sorry sight she was indeed, when she was picked up, plastered from head to foot, face, hands, and hair full of the soft ooze. But after she had been scrapped off, Collie concluded that it would be better to let the sun dry her well, before attempting to get rid of the rest. About this job, said the man. It was something, ain't it? It's considerable out of my way traveling to the middle of the river. Besides, I got to look out for the boat, that nobody don't steal it. How much do you expect? asked Collie meekly. This was getting more and more serious. A couple of dollars ain't much, when ye consider, there's five of ye, and if I hadn't stopped ye, ye'd be going yet. My name is Bill Hart, and any one will tell you I'm safe. Ye needn't be afraid, but I'll bring back the boat. Well, if you will come to my house, you shall have your money, said Collie. Do you know where Mr. Harley Spear lives? The big white house, left side the main street. Yes, I know. You his gull. I'm his daughter. All right, I reckon ye can get home now, can't ye? It's a straight road along the river. I must be getting on. I'll fetch the boat back to tomorrow. The girls saw him disappear, and stood a most subdued little group. Dimple felt herself to be in a very unhappy plight, and dreaded meeting any one. How should she get home through the time without being seen? She looked very miserable and will be gone, as she thought of all this. Well, girls, we'll have to be up and doing, said Collie. We have five mile walk before us, and it's pretty hot day, so we'll have to take it slowly. You'll have plenty of time to get dried off before we get there, Elnor, so don't look so unhappy, you poor little midget. Think how dreadful it is for me, who got you into this scrape. I can never forgive myself for it. I'll tell you what let's do, said Libby. Let Elnor take off her frock, and we'll wash it out in the river, and dry it as we go along. We're not likely to meet any one, and it's so hot she will not take cold going without it. We can hold it out between us as we walk along, so it will dry before we get home, and it will be clean at least. Dimple was so grateful for this suggestion, that she could have hugged Libby, but she did not know her very well, and only expressed her thanks very fervently. At the first opportunity the frock was washed out, and really looked much better. I wish I could do my stockings too, said Dimple. But I couldn't go barefoot. Mama wouldn't like me too, although I'd like to. So this part of her dress had to remain as it was, and the girls took up their line of march again. I am so thirsty I don't know what to do, said Callie. If I don't have a drink I'll drop by the way. I hate to think of drinking that warm river water. Besides, it isn't so easy to get it. There's a spring somewhere further along, said Emma Bedford. If we can manage to exist till we reach it, we can rest there. We shall be half-starved too, by the time we get home. If we only had something to eat, we could sit down by the spring till it grew cooler, and we'd have a sort of picnic. Oh girls, we left all our fishing tackle in the boat. I never once thought of it. No rye. No rye. Perhaps Bill what's his name will bring it back, when he comes with the boat. We have made a pretty expensive trip of it, as it is without losing our fishing tackle. Think what that four dollars would buy, such a lot of ice cream and soda water, said Callie. Don't mention such things where we are consumed at thirst and are so warm, said Emma. We may have to pay for the use of the boat, too, said Libby. I suppose we are out at least a dollar apiece, and maybe more. It will take all my pain money for a month. No more soda water for a while, unless someone treats me. I suppose we ought to be thankful to get home at all, dimple spoke up. Yes, when you consider it in that light, we are led off cheaply enough, Callie replied. Oh dear, where is that spring? Just beyond that turn, Emma told her. And they are toiled on till they reach the spot, where the cold water bubbled out from a bubbly hollow under an old tree. We must cool off before we drink, Libby warmed them. We'll bathe our face and hands and sit there for a while. We are so overheated, we ought not to drink right away. It's very hard not to, said Callie. But I suppose you are right. I am as hungry as I am thirsty, Libby remarked. If we only had some biscuit apiece, it would be something. They had refreshed themselves with the cool spring water, and were idly sitting under a tree, when dimple sprang off crying. I see something, and she scrambled up the bank to a leech beyond. Girls, girls, here are lots of Huckleberries, she called. Are you sure? Certain sure. I wish you'd see, come up. They all clambered up to the spot to find that she spoke truly. There was a patch of Huckleberry bushes, full of fruit. They set to work with a will and bore their feast down to the spring, near which they seeded themselves on a fallen log. Did you ever taste anything so good? said Emma. I never care much for Huckleberries at home, but I shall never despise them again. Being refreshed they took up their journey again. Very and warm they had length reached home, glad indeed to see the familiar streets, shady and quiet. I am going to see you safely in your mother's hand, coldly assured dimple, for it was my fault that you got into trouble. I had no business to tempt you. But you only meant it out of kindness, replied dimple appreciatively. I think you were very good at to want us, and it would have been all right if the boat had not floated off that way. But we did float off, and I want to explain matters to your mother. I'll give you the dollar I have in my bank, said dimple. No, wait till we found out about the other man, the one who owns the boat. When he understands that we didn't mean any harm, and that it was an accident, perhaps he won't charge for the boat, and I will only have to pay eighty cents apiece. I don't want to take any money off yours, if I can help it. Oh, but you must! I'm sure Emma will say so. Well, we'll see. Just look how nicely your frock has dried. It doesn't look bad at all. A little limp, maybe, but it's better than muddy. I hope your mama isn't very much worried. I don't believe it is so late after all. And although it seemed to dimple that she had been days away from home, she was surprised to find that it was only about four o'clock, when hot and hungry they arrived at home. Callie made her excuses and apologies as contrarily as possible, and Mrs. Dulles was so relieved to find that nothing worse had happened, that she said very little in the way of reproof to the two runaways. You must never go down to the river again, my children, she said. That is, unless papa or I, or some trustworthy person is with you, I should have forbidden you to go this time, but you have never ventured there before. I know, mama, replied Imple, but it was so easy getting there from Mr. Atkinson's place, that we were there before we knew it. Was it the done thing, mama? Not exactly. I suppose you hardly realized that you were doing wrong, since there were all the girls with you, and it was more of an accident than actual wrongdoing. I think we shall have to keep you at home a year after, for it seems very easy for little folks to get into trouble, when they are away from their mothers. You have your own garden and your own little house to play in, so I think we must set the bounds there, and only allow you to go outside our premises by special invitation. Not even to Mr. Atkinson's? No, I think not, dear. It is savor for you at home. Mama has been greatly worried and distressed, and I am sure you do not want her to pass through such an action's time again. For it is for mama's sakes, dear, as well as your own, that she keeps you close to her. Suppose you had fallen overboard? She drew the child nearer to her, while her eyes grew moist at the thought. Dear, dear mama, I'll never go away again without your leave. I don't want to make you unhappy, mama. I do love you. I know you do, darling, but the little girls sometimes forget that it is more by the doing than by the saying that their mothers are made aware of their love. You know, papa always tells you that if you really love your parents, you will do the things that please them. Otherwise, no matter how much you say I love you, it doesn't mean anything. Dimple looked very sober, and Florence, too, listened to all this with a very great face. It has really been a very trying day for the two little cousins. And now that they were safe, they realized how uncomfortable it had been. Therefore, from that time, there never was a question of their going outside the gate without permission. And Mr. Atkinson's place was no longer visited, unless by his express invitation on Saturday afternoons. I feel as if I had been sort of ungrateful, said Dimple, the next day after their rescue. I just love my home, Florence, and somehow I don't feel a bit bad about not going to Mr. Atkinson's. I believe I know exactly how the little birdies feel when they get back to the nest, after they had been trying to fly. I hope I shall not go so far away again, until I am much older. And the two returned contentedly to their old playground, only too glad to feel the security of familiar sights and sounds. CHAPTER IX. DOWNTOWN. Don't you want to go downtown for me, girls? said Mrs. Dollos one pleasant morning. I can't send bubbles very well. Oh, yes! said Dimple. What are we to get? Several things, replied her mother. Go and get ready, and I will tell you. May we take Celestine and Rubina? asked Florence. I don't think I would, for you will have packages, and they will be in the way. Don't let's take them anyhow, Florence, said Dimple. I was thinking this morning, that their frogs are too thick for summer, so they ran off to get ready. Now, said Mrs. Dollos as they came back. I want you to go to Fink's and get me four yards of trimming like this sample. If they haven't exactly like it, the nearest will do. Then I want you to get me four lemons. You may go to old Mrs. Wills for those. And if she has any fresh eggs you may get a dozen, and—oh, yes! a bottle of vanilla extract. Now don't be too long, for I shall want to use some of the things this morning. They promised and went off without delay. It was a pleasant July morning, and they started gaily down the street, which was shaded by trees and boarded on each side by pretty cottages, with gardens in front. There is Mrs. Brown, said Dimple. Let's cross over, Florence. She will be sure to stop us if we don't. Who is Mrs. Brown? asked Florence. Oh, she's a woman, returned Dimple. I suppose she's very nice, but she's so solemn, and is always telling me that she hopes I will grow up to be a comfort to my mother and not a care and burden, and she always says it, as if there wasn't the least doubt, but that I would be a care and a burden, and I don't like her. Do you know Mama and Mrs. Hardy have been friends for over twenty years, and Mama is Rox's godmother? How do you know? Mama told me. I asked her how she came to know Rox's mother, and she said she used to know her when she was a little girl like me, and when they were young ladies they were great friends. Then Mama was married and came here, and Rox's mother was married and went to California. When her husband died she came back to Baltimore to live. Here's things. We have to go in here. This was the largest dry goods shop in the town, and the clerk's all-new Dimple. What can we do for you this morning, Miss Dulles? Said one of them, leaning over the counter. Mama wants four yards of this trimming, said Dimple, holding out her sample. The man took it, tore it over to examine both sides, and took down a box. Four yards, did you say? Yes, said Dimple. He measured it off, saying, Don't you want some cards? We have some justin with a lot of goods. I would rather have a box, said Dimple, for I have a new doll, and I wanted to put her sashes in. You don't object to having both, do you? said he. Suppose I put the cards in the box. How would that do? Oh, that would be very nice, said Dimple. You are very kind. As he went off she turned to Florence and said in a low tone, I didn't like to ask him for two boxes, but I will give you the cards. No matter, said Florence, I don't care very much for the box. However, when the man returned he had two boxes, with four pretty cards in each. Thank you so much, said the girls, highly pleased. He's a real nice man, said Florence, when they were in the street. I didn't believe he would think of me. Yes, I think he is nice, said Dimple. Besides, he has known me ever since I was a baby. He mightn't be so nice to a stranger. They next came to a little low brown building with one window. As they went in at the door, a small bell overtinkled and a boy said, In a minute. While they waited they looked about the shop, which was quite a curiosity to Florence. In the window were jars of candy, red and white, gingerbread horses, shoe strings, oranges, lemons, and dolls strung along in a line, the largest in the middle, and the smallest at each end. Besides these, there were tops, whistles, writing paper, pencil, scrap pictures, and variety of other things, all jumbled up together. Inside, the glass case and the shelves were full, and from the ceiling hung rolls of cotton and tissue paper, toy wagons, jumping jacks and hoops. What a funny place, whispered Florence, but just then a funnier old woman came in. Her face looked like a withered apple, it was so wrinkled and rosy. Her eyes were bright, and her grey hair was scumbled back under a high white cap. As she came behind the counter, Florence saw that one of her hands was very much scarred, and the fingers bent. She wondered what had happened to it. Well, little dolless girl, it's you, is it? And how is my pretty with her dimples and curls? The little dolless girl, said the old woman. Mama wants four lemons, Mrs. Wills, said Dimple. Four lemons, four, four, said the old woman, going to a box and taking them out. And she wants to know if you have any fresh eggs. Fresh eggs? Fresh eggs? How many? I'll see. A dozen if you have them. Well, we'll have to go and find them little girls. Who's the other little girl? My cousin, said Dimple. A dolless? No, her name is Florence Graham. Graham Graham, a dolless and a Graham. Come you two then, and we'll see if we can find any eggs. They followed Mrs. Wills through the back room in the yard. The room they passed through was very clean, and held a stove with a little tin kettle on it, a bed with a patchwork quilt, a shining little table, and several chairs with flowers painted on them. The yard was quite a curiosity, and seemed to be given up entirely to pigeons and chickens, who made a great fuss flying up on the old woman's shoulder and pecking at her, while an old duck wettled solemnly after, giving a quack once in a while, to let them know she was there. Mrs. Wills took them to the hen-house, and told them where to look for the eggs. As Dimple had been there before, she knew where to look, and they soon made up the dozen. The old duck followed them in the house, and was wettling after them into the shop, but Mrs. Wills, with a shoe, shoe, drove her out. Now, dull as girl, now graham girl, said Mrs. Wills. Does the mother need anything else today? There was something else, said Dimple, but I can't think what. Can you, Florence? There were four things, I know, says Florence, but I don't remember the fourth. A. Apples. B. Brooms. C. Crackers. D. Dustpands. Went on Mrs. Wills rapidly, and then paused. No, not any of those, said Dimple. E. Extract. Said Mrs. Wills. Yes, that's it. You have guessed Mrs. Wills. Vanilla, please. E. Extract. E. Extract. Said the old woman, as she hunted in a dark corner. And C. Coconut cakes. Red or white, she asked, opening the case. White, said Dimple. But Mrs. Wills, tut tut, don't you say it, don't you say it, or I'll take back my eggs. She said, as she hunted each of the children a cake. Thank you, Mrs. Wills, when I'm grown up I'll make you a great big cake and send it to you, said Dimple. That pleased the old woman mightily, and she nodded goodbye to them, saying, lemons, eggs, and extract, over and over to herself. What a ridiculous old woman, said Florence. Is she crazy? No, said Dimple, but she is queer. She is good, though, and Mama always buys everything from her that she can, and she feels so bad if I don't take the things she offers me that I have to accept them. What is the matter with her hand? She burnt it trying to save her child from burning. Did she save it? No, and that is what makes her so queer. She has never been the same since. My, how warm it is getting, said Florence. I am glad we had broad-brimmed hats. Let's hurry home. There is your Mrs. Brown again. Oh, dear, said Dimple, let us turn off the street. It is just as near to go home this way. And so they turned the corner and reached home before Mrs. Brown knew which way they had gone. Suppose we watched Sylvie make cake, said Dimple, when they had delivered their packages. She always lets me watch her, and then we can scrape the bowel. Don't you like to? I never do at home, said Florence. I cook is so cross and Mama does not like me to go into the kitchen. My Mama doesn't care. She lets me go whenever I please, and sometimes I help bubbles clean knives and do such things, so she can get through and play with me sooner. Sylvie, we are coming to watch you make cake, maybe. I'm not caring, said Sylvie. Keep ground on the other side of the table. See her break the eggs, said Florence. Could you do it, Dimple? I'd be sure to get the yolks all mixed with the whites, and she just turns one half into the other as easily. I'd be afraid to try, said Dimple, but when I am a little bigger, I mean to make a cake myself. I believe I could now if I had someone to tell me. I wouldn't try just yet, said Sylvie, briskly beating the whites of the eggs to a froth. Could you, Sylvie, when you were a little girl? asked Florence. Laws, no. I was not as big as I am now, and then I made a poor fist at it, said Sylvie, laughing at the recollection. What was the matter? asked Dimple. Too much butter and sugar, and not enough flour. It shows up beautifully at first, and then down it went. When I took it out of the oven, it was like a taffy. I felt plum-bad, I tell you, but I did butter next time. So, saying she turned her cake into the pans, and giving each of the children a spoon, they didn't take the bowl between them out on the steps, and lick to their hearts' content. You aren't going to make another cake right away, are you, Sylvie? asked Dimple, looking up from her bowl. And—oh, Florence, see all those turnovers. Are you really going to make another cake, Sylvie? Yes, Miss, some serval of them. What for? Yeomar Don told me to, replied Sylvie, with a smile. I'm going to ask her about it. I know she doesn't intend we shall eat them all. Perhaps there is going to be a church supper, or a strawberry festival, or something. Come on, Florence, let's go and see about it. And throwing down their spoons, they went to hunt up Mrs. Dallas. They found her in the dining-room, making salad dressing, and upon the table there was a newly-boiled ham, and a quantity of chopped chicken. There now, Mama is doing something about eating, too, exclaimed Dimple. I'd just like to know what it is all for. Won't you tell us, Mama? Are you going to have a tea or anything like that? Not exactly like that, but we are going on picnic. Oh, oh, a picnic! Tell us, Mama, who is going? Are we children to go? Yes, you children, Mrs. Hardy and Rock, the Spears, the Niels, and the Jacksons. Mr. Atkinson, too, I think. Which Jacksons? Mr. David Jackson's family. Mr. Atkinson is not sure of being here, but he hopes to be able to get off. Oh, good! Tell us some more, Mama. We are going to start early tomorrow afternoon, if it is pleasant. We will take supper with us. We are going up the river to the island, and have our meal there. Fine, fine, oh Florence, you have never been to the island, and it is just lovely there. I think you are very good to let us go, Mama, after running away in the boat. Who ever heard of anyone running away in a boat? Laugh, Mrs. Dulles. Now be good children, and keep out of the way, for Sylvie and I have a lot to do. We'll be good as possible, Mama, but just one more question. Are you going to take bubbles? I hadn't thought of it. Oh, do please! She had been a lot of help, and she had simply jumped out of her skin if she thought she would be allowed to go. Then we'd better let her stay in her skin. She would be very uncomfortable without it, even in this warm weather. Please, Mama. Mrs. Dulles considered for a moment, then said, Well, yes, up on the whole, I think it would be rather a good plan, but she must not neglect her work today, if she gets through all that she has to do by the time we start. She may go, but not otherwise. She will have extra work today, because Sylvie is more than usually busy. May we help her a little bit? We could clean the knives and shell the peas. I think that would be very kind of you, if you did. And may we tell her, if you like? The two little girls ran off to where Bubbles was watching out dish towels by the kitchen door. Bubbles, Bubbles, you are going on picnic! cried Dimple. Bubbles dropped the dish towel where she was dousing up and down in the water. Mame is Dimple? Me? Who says so? Mama, there is to be a picnic to-morrow, and you are to go along with us. Aren't you glad? I reckon I is. All them cakes and pies and good eatings, and I guine have some, for they get smashed up and soft, and guine I wait, the ladies and gentlemen's. Aint it fine? She gave a twist to her towel, and shook it out with a snap. Then she was overtaken by a sudden fear. You ain't to fool in me, is you? No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a thing. But Mama says you mustn't dwell all day. So hurry up and get those towels done. Sylvie is going to be awfully busy, so you will have to help her, but we are going to clean the knives for you and shell the peas. Bring them down to the little house. We are going down there. We might set the table, too, Florence. Thank you, ma'am. Miss Dimple, thank you, Miss Florence. Bubbles' face was beaming, and her slim black legs went scuttling into the house with more than their usual agility. I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence, said Dimple. Then he can help us to shell the peas, so we can have some time to play. Rock will want to talk over the picnic, and he will want to see how the garden is coming on. I think the pumpkin wine is coming up. I can't tell whether it is that or a weed, but Rock will know. Rock always thinks of such nice plays. I hope he will come, return Florence, and indeed they had hardly established themselves on the porch of the little house before the boy's cheery whistle was heard, and the three children, after faithfully fulfilling the promise to Bubbles to relieve her some of her tests, determined to invent a new play. I'll tell you what we'll do, said Rock. We'll dig a cave over here, and we'll pretend the company of bandits live in it, and they will capture one of your dolls, then we'll go to the rescue. Who will be the bandits? Why, let me see. We'll take sticks of wood, little branches with two prongs, like this. They make the legs, you see, and then we'll stick on something ground for the heads, turnips or onions, or something like that. There aren't any turnips this time of year, return Dimple, and onions smell so strong. We can get potatoes, though, and they have eyes, so I should think they would make very good heads. Rock loved. So they will. I'll go and see if my mom will let me have how many? Oh, half a dozen or so. Dimple started for the house, then suddenly remembered that she had promised not to bother her mother, and she stood still for a moment, but the idea of the bandits was too alluring, and so she proceeded to the house, putting her head timidly in at the dining-room door, where her mother was still busy. Mama, said Dimple, our potato is very expensive. No, not worry. What a funny question. Did you come all the way in here to ask that? No, mama, not exactly. But do they cost too much for you to give us half a dozen for our bandits? For your bandits? What do you mean? Why, we are going to have a lovely play, rock-made it up, and we can't have any bandits unless we have heads for them, and I said potatoes would do, because they have eyes. Maybe you have half a dozen. Mrs. Dulles smiled. Yes, but you must not ask Sylvie or Bubbles to get them for you. I'll get them, if you will tell me where they are. They are down in the cellar. Please, Dimple, don't bother me again. Try to play without coming up after things all the time. Yes, mama, Dimple replied, very meekly. I wouldn't have come this time if it had been for anything but the bandits. Mrs. Dulles let her go, and then called her back, for she had seen a little wistful look in the child's face when her mother spoke shortly. Come, kiss me, dear, she said. I want you to know that you are quite welcome to the potatoes. They will make very inexpensive and harmless playthings, and I hope your bandits will turn out just as you want them to. Dimple gave a grateful hug. You may stop in the kitchen and get a turnover apiece for you three children. Tell Sylvie I said you might. Oh, mama, how dear you are! And a happy little face disappeared. The six potato-headed bandits proved most venturesome creatures, and kept their captives safe from her wood-piece rescuers, till she was redeemed by the payment for a hundred pieces of gold represented by Buttercup petals, and the morning passed so quickly that the children could scarcely believe it, when bubbles came, as they had told her to do, to tell them it was time to set the dinner table. Shall I fill up the cave? Rock asked. Oh no, we might want to use it again. Dimple decided. That was such a lovely exciting play rock. Then we would better cover up the cave. Someone might step in it and get hurt. After hunting around, an old, better tin pen was found, which was laid over the entrance, but alas it was not proof against bubbles as unfairly like tread, for she stepped in on that very evening, and down she went, but as luck had it she did nothing worse than scratch her toes upon a very rough body of the bandits' chief. Although it be it confessed, he fared worse by the encounter than she did, for he had both legs broke beyond hope of saving. The next morning he was carefully carried away to the hospital, and devoted in nursed by one of Dimple's dolls, but he never recovered, though he lingered for several days. His funeral was quite a magnificent affair, and he was buried with proper ceremonies, under the very tree upon which he originally grew. I should be so dreadfully disappointed, shouldn't you, Dimple? Yes, I am afraid so, returned Dimple, despondently, watching the smoke rising from a distant chimney. Then more cheerfully. See, Florence, I don't believe it will rain, for that smoke is going straight up. You know that is a sign it is going to clear. Maybe it is only misty and not cloudy. This is proof to be, for as the day advanced the sun came out and it was as beautiful an afternoon as one could wish to see. Therefore very gaily they started forth to meet the rest of the party down at the river's brink. Oh, there's Mr. Atkinson, cried Dimple, catching sight of this gentleman's pleasant face. I am so glad he could come. I wonder if he sees us. I hope he can go in his boat, don't you, Florence? Yes, indeed I do. He sees us, he's waving his head. The two little girls ran forward, and to their satisfaction were helped into Mr. Atkinson's boat, with Mr. and Mrs. Dulles and Bubbles as fellow passengers, Bubbles grinning from ear to ear and looking where his friccant span in a clean pink calico frock and a white apron. A string of blue beads adorned her neck, she had added it as a finishing touch to her toilet. The boats pushed off and, after an hour's rowing, the party of picnickers landed at a pretty little island in the river. It was covered with trees and underbrush, but not so densely as to prevent their finding a space big enough for a camping ground where they could build a fire and spread their supper. Most of the party preferred to go out on the river to fish, for some fine black bass could be code there. Dimple, however, preferred to stay behind with Mrs. Dulles and one or two of the other ladies, even though Mr. Atkinson said he would bait her hook for her, and would lend her his finest line and reel. I feel so sorry for the little poor earthworms, first and for the fish afterward, that I don't believe I should enjoy, Dimple said seriously. But you can eat a piece of bass after it is cooked, can't you? Mr. Atkinson returned, smiling. Yes, if I don't see him caught. Your little girl reminds me of those very tenderhearted children, who, when they saw a picture of the Christian martyrs, were overcome with pity, not for the martyrs, no indeed, but because there was one poor, dear lion that hadn't any martyr to eat. Mr. Atkinson said to Mr. Dulles. That was a little extreme, I admit, returned Mr. Dulles, laughing. But we do try to cultivate a human spirit in our little daughter, and you may be sure she will never wear a stuffed bird in her hat when she grows older. Mr. Atkinson nodded in approval. I'm glad of that, he returned. And I must say I think useless sport is wicked, but when one wants fish for food, I think he may be excused for catching. And so, Dimple, it resolves itself into your going without the fish or the fishing, does it? Dimple nodded. She didn't exactly understand, but she supposed he meant that if she wanted to fish for supper, she'd better remain where she could not see them call. Florence, however, had less compunction, and consented to go out in the boat, though she wasn't sure whether or not she should want to catch any fish. But Rock, like most boys, was very eager for the sport, and hoped he would be able to catch the first fish, and also wanted it to be the biggest caught. May bubbles and I go anywhere on the island that we want, Dimple asked her mother, after they had watched the boat start off. Mrs. Dallas, with Mrs. Hardy's help, was putting up a hammock between two of the big trees. I think it will be perfectly safe, she replied after a moment's thought. The island isn't very big, and you will not go too near the water edge, will you? I can see you from here. I suppose in whatever direction you go. I will keep away from the water, Mama, although I should dearly like to paddle about. You can take off your shoes and stockings and paddle right here on this bit of shore when you come back from your exploring trip. I can watch you then, and shall feel perfectly easy about you. Where are the lunch baskets, Mama? Over there behind a tree. What is that covered up with that grey blanket? It's something Mr. Atkinson brought. I didn't see it in our boat. May I peep at it? No, dear. I think I wouldn't. It isn't just a thing to indulge one's curiosity about such matters. Mr. Atkinson's has ended up here, and as he meant it as a sort of a little secret for you children, it will be polite to try to find it out. So Dimple, with her little maid, walked away not, however, without several backward looks at the grey blanket. There was not very much to see on the island, after all, for it was a small place, and the most interesting discovery they made was a pile of big rocks at the upper end of the narrow strip of land. Here they established themselves to watch the boats and fishers. I think rock has caught a fish, exclaimed Dimple, when they had been watching for some time. Sea-bubbles, he's hauling in his line as fast as he can. There goes the reel again. Oh, I hope if he must catch them, that he will catch big ones. See that lovely red flower growing down there between the rocks. I wish he would get it for me, bubbles, and then we will go back to where mama is. I am as hungry as I don't know what, and I want to ask mama for a turnover or a biscuit or something. Get me the flower-bubbles, and I'll watch to see if rock really did catch a fish. Bubbles promptly obeyed, but she had just stopped to pick the flower when she heard a piercing shriek from Dimple. Mrs. Dulles heard it too, and came running in the greatest alarm to find, when she reached the spot, Dimple almost paralyzed with fright, continuing her screams, while bubbles dancing about, getting more and more excited every minute, was valiantly hurling pieces of rock at a large black snake. Here come another, she cried, at the stone when flying through the air. Take that, hit you, didn't it? Skiing Mr. Dimple out on her senses, will you? You great ugly black skitter! And rock after rock came with such force and precision, that the unfortunate snake in a few minutes was dead as do-nail, as bubbles expressed it. Dimple clunked to her mother, trembling with fright, even after the snake was killed. Is it dead, really dead? Oh, bubbles! she quarrelled. What would I have done if you hadn't been so brave? Bubbles laughed. That won't no snake try poison you, she said. It couldn't hurt you. All it could do was to race you. Don't talk about it, said Dimple, shattering. Do let us leave it and go back. But bubbles was too proud of her performance to allow it to be set offside, so she picked up the snake and started to carry it back on a forked stick. On the way, however, she too fell into a fright at sight of an innocent little hand-terrapin travelling along with his house on his back. Don't touch it, don't, Miss Dimple, she cried in terror. They has the evilest eyes, I wouldn't take one for nothing. But you aren't afraid of snakes, replied Dimple, and these little terrapins are much more harmless. Nevertheless, bubbles had in some way acquired a superstition about rare terrapin from Sylvie, who, like most colored people, stood in terror of the innocent creatures. But when the boats returned, the big snake hanging over the limb of a tree was triumphally displayed and attested to Bubbles' courage so that she was made very proud by the praise she received for having killed it, Dimple generously refraining from saying anything about the terrapin. Although a rock did not catch the first fish, he caught the biggest one and was quite proud of it. There was a fire built, and the fish, nicely cleaned, were cooked over the coals. Florence thought all this delightful. She never had enjoyed such an experience, and watched the proceedings with the greatest pleasure. Everyone was ready to enjoy the supper when it was prepared, saying that fish never tasted so good, and that the coffee, made in a very ordinary, thin, coffee pot, could not be improved. Dimple whispered to Florence that there was a secret under the great blanket, and that she half suspected what it was, but she didn't intend to look. Even a delighted giggle from Bubbles did not cause her to turn her head, but when that small-hand maiden, who was bustling about waiting on everyone, offered her a saucer of ice-cream, Dimple exclaimed. I guessed it! I guessed it to myself. Guess what! said Mr. Atkinson at her side. Guess that it was an ice-cream freezer under the blanket, returned Dimple. Oh-ho! So you've been trying to find out, have you? No, I didn't try. I only hoped, replied Dimple gravely. At which Mr. Atkinson laughed heartily, just why Dimple was puzzled to discover. When the supper was over and the baskets repacked, they played all manner of games till a great round moon rose over the river, and then they rode home, singing as they floated along in the silvery moonlight. Florence and Dimple sat side by side in a sort of waking dream, and Bubbles dreamed too, as was very evident when the boat landed, for she was sound asleep, and had to be cold and shaken before she knew where she was. When she blundered along behind the others, still so sleepy that she forgot to take off her precious blue beads when she went to bed, and in the night the string broke. Consequently, when she awoke in the morning, she found the beads straggling over the floor and strewing the sheets. Didn't we have a good time? said Florence, looking out on the moonlight, as she stood at the window in Dimple's room. Yes, was Dimple's reply. All but the snake. I don't like snakes. But the next evening it was evident that Bubbles still bore the subject of snakes in her mind. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had gone out. Dimple, Florence and Bubbles were sitting on the floor by one of the front windows. The air was full of the scent of the hullensuckle, and the Katy-Dits were contradicting each other in the trees. What quarrelsome things they are, says Florence. Do you suppose they will ever find out whether Katy did or not? I'd like to know what she did anyhow. Or what she didn't, said Dimple. Bubbles, are you asleep? giving her a shake. Thinking, said Bubbles, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes. Then what are you rubbing your eyes for? Cos it's dark. I can't see good. return Bubbles. I declare, Dimple said. I never know what to do with myself when mama goes out. It seems to me she is very intimate with Mrs. Hardy. Florence, suppose you tell a story. Oh, I can't, replied Florence. I never could. I never know what to tell about. You tell. I don't know any except Cinderella and Seven Swans and those. Bubbles will have to do it. Go on Bubbles. You've got to tell us a story. Laws, Miss Dimple. Giggled Bubbles. You needed laws. You know you can. For you've often told to me. Now begin right away. It will keep you awake if it doesn't do anything else. Well, said Bubbles. Smoothing down her apron. One said there was a bumbley bee, and a snake, and a bird. What kind of a bird? Interrupted Florence. Er, er, a bluebird, said Bubbles. All right, go on. The snake wanted for it to get the bluebird, and the bumbley bee was a flying, and a buzzing, so it made such a distraction the snake couldn't get fixed for to charm the bird know-how. Just you quit you fooling, said the snake. I know fooling, said the bumbley bee. What's got you anyhow? I ain't had no breakfast, said the snake. Well, go along and get it. I'm not a hindering. Yes, you is, said the snake. I can't do nothing for you buzzing. Then the bumbley bee flown off, but he didn't go very far. He wanted to see what the snake was up to. He kinder suspicioned it wasn't up to no good, so he just watched the snake, and by and by she seen the bluebird come up as paired as anything, and he sat down on the limb of a tree. Here Bubbles stopped to take breath, and then went on. Well, he seen the snake crawling along the grass, a crawling, a crawling, as crafty till it got right in front of the bluebird, and the bluebird he just sat and looked, and didn't move, or say nothing. Hmm, hmm, says Mr. Bumbley Bee. It's time I was a moving. So he made for the snake and given him one sting on the head, and he just rolled up his eyes and curled up until the grass, and the bluebird said, I'm much obliged of you, Mr. Bumbley Bee. I'm glad to perform your acquaintance. I was just about as nigh choned as a bird could be. Don't say no more about it, said Mr. Bumbley Bee, and off he flown. I didn't know bumblebees could sting, said Florence. Lo now, don't they? said Bubbles. Maybe they doesn't. It might have been a was, was a sting, I know. Come to think of it, it was a was. Is it all of it? asked Bumble. I don't think it is a very long story. Lo's, Miss Bumble, you didn't reckon that it was all, said Bubbles, loftily. I laid out to tell more, soon as my tongue gets rested. Rest it then, and go on, said Bumble, settling back against the chair, with her hands behind her head. Well, said Bubbles, going on with her story. The was was flown off, and the bluebird he flown off, and after a while the bluebird he met the squirrel. How thee, says he? How thee, says the squirrel? How's all to your house? Tollable, thank you, said the bluebird. If you see a was come along. Lo's, Miss Bumble, I can't get along without it is being a bumbley, said she, stopping short. Well, have it a bumbley, then, said Dimple. You don't care, do you, Florence? No, said Florence. Have it a bumbley, if you want two Bubbles. Well, says the bluebird, if you see a bumbley be, don't you let nobody take his honey from him. For he's a particular friend of mine. He was sorter shame to let on to the squirrel how now charmed he was. I promise, cross my heart, said the squirrel, and Mr. Bluebird flown off. After a while up flown Miss Bumbley, and smack behind him comes a little boy laying out to get his honey. Mr. Bumbley he flown along and went to hide his self in a big flower. That's just what the boy wanted. Now I've got you, says he, but he was too forward, for the squirrel climbed down the tree and popped into the boy's head just as he was going to take off his head to catch Mr. Bumbley, and Mr. Bumbley he flown off, and Mr. Squirrel he laughed, and Mr. Boy got mad, and made tracks for home, and that's all. The girls laughed, and hearing Sylvie call her, Bubbles went out. Isn't she funny, said Florence? I never could have made of a story like that, could you, Dimple? No, said Dimple. She tells me the funniest ones sometimes, so mixed up, and I laugh till I can scarcely speak, and she sings the most absurd songs. She gets the words all twisted, she has no idea what they mean. Oh Florence, I do believe there is a bat in the hole. I hope to goodness it won't come in here. Florence screamed, and hit her head under the piano, while Dimple took refuge in the same place, and called loudly for Bubbles, who came running in when Sylvie after her. What's the matter? Where are you? they cried. Oh, a bat, a bat! tricked Florence, as a creature came swooping in from the hole, beating its wings against the wall. Sylvie armed with a broom and Bubbles with a duster, soon put an end to the poor bat, and the girls came out from their pride in place. I suppose it is silly to be afraid of them, but they nearly frighten me to death, said Dimple. So they do me, Florence said, and spiders, too. It makes cold children down my back to think of one. Let's go to bat, Dimple. We can undress anyhow, and sit in our nightgowns and talk if we want to. This Dimple agreed to, and they went upstairs to their rooms to find on the burrow two little white paper packages addressed to Miss Florence Graham and Miss Alenor Dulles. Papa did it, said Dimple. It is just like him. Let's see what is inside. No, we'll guess. I say chocolates. I say burnt almonds. No, marshmallows, said Florence, giving her package a little squeeze. Marshmallows and chocolates, exclaimed Florence, as she untied a little pink string and peeped in. So are mine, said Dimple. I don't think we had better eat them all to-night, do you? Suppose we count them and take out some for tomorrow. One, two, three, twelve chocolates and sixteen marshmallows. How many have you? Certain chocolates and fifteen marshmallows, announced Florence. Well, we'll eat six of them, and put the rest away. So they were carefully counted out, and the packages retired. Now we will undress and sit here in our nightgowns, till we've eaten our candy, said Florence. Dear me, said Dimple, as the last one disappeared. I wish we had said seven of them. Suppose we do say seven. Well, suppose we do. And the packages were again untied and again put up. They had hardly finished when Miss Dulles came in with a telegram in her hand. Not in bed yet? said she. No, Mama, we have been eating candy. Did you see Papa put it on the burrow? said Dimple. Yes, and I have a piece of news for you. Your Uncle Heath will be here tomorrow. Uncle Heath? I am so glad. Is the telegram from him? Yes, it just came, and he will be here to breakfast. How long will he stop? Not very long. Now jump into bed and be ready to get up before he reaches here. Is your Uncle Heath your Papa's brother? asked Florence, when they were in bed. Yes, oh Florence, he's so nice. Is he younger old? Not so very old, about forty, I think. He is two years older than Papa, but he looks older. He has grey hair, a little bit grey, not very, and he looks like Papa, only he has blue eyes. I wonder why he is coming, used Dimple. Now I think of it. I heard Papa say yesterday, I am so glad for dear old Heath. I wonder why. Don't grown folks know lots of things, Florence, and we have to just guess and wonder till they choose to tell us. Never mind, I am going to sleep, and I shall ask him myself tomorrow. Just think, Florence, he is in the cars now, and they are steaming along, coming nearer and nearer, why we lie still here and sleep. Good night, and she turned over and was soon fast asleep.