Mavis of Green Hill

  CHAPTER IV

  MIRACLES AND MISCHIEF

  August 21

  DIARY, I'M OUT OF DOORS!

  August 28

  Diary, you're not to scold. I know I've not honored you with so muchas an exclamation point since my very first out-of-doors entry. ButMr. John Denton has been and gone--and Wigglesworth is here to stay!Let me see how it all happened.

  Friday last, at exactly three, Sarah arrayed me as a lily of the fieldin a glorified turquoise and mauve negligee. There were evenmauve-and-gold pompomed slippers on my worthless feet, and my newlywashed hair was piled high and transfixed with my Mother'stortoise-shell Spanish comb. It was thus festively garbed that Fatherand Doctor Bill--by which name he shall henceforth be known, as someslight concession to his wizardry--settled me happily under myparticular trees, there to await Mr. Denton's arrival. Sarah, at myinsistence, smuggled a mirror into my hand and sleeve, and when Iheard the smooth purr of the Denton motor, far up the road, I took onelittle peek. For if I am not allowed to be just an atom vain, whatvirtue is there in charming color schemes and frothing chiffons?Certainly, the negligee is distractingly pretty, and I am proud ofFather's dress instinct. And something or other had brought thefaintest tinge of color to my cheeks, the shadow of a sparkle to myeyes. I was hoping that no one would detect me as I lay and admiredmyself. But the Doctor Bill person did, of course. He has eyes allover his head, that man! And promptly, he settled a lovely rainbowcushion behind my head, remarking very quietly,

  "Perhaps this will heighten the effect, Miss Carroll! Poor UncleJohn!"

  I could have killed him!

  As it was, Diary, although I almost blush to confess it, I--Well, ashis disgustingly capable hand slid past my cheek, I turned my head,ever so little, and, quite delicately, I _bit_! Not hard, but in anextremely ladylike manner. There was no occasion for his rudeexclamation, and the alarming brick-red which he proceeded to turn.Happily for us both, for I was torn between insincere apology andlaughter, Mr. Denton arrived, engrossing his nephew's attention and myown.

  As usual he was accompanied by half a dozen baskets of fruit and halfa library shelf of the latest, lightest books. Best of all, he broughthis own rotund self--and Wigglesworth!

  I was prepared for something by Richard Warren's letter, which hadcome to me Friday morning. But not for this delicious bunch ofblack-satin, French bull puppy. For Wigglesworth is the acme, theultimate perfection of dogdom. When, accompanied by gasps from allassembled, he leaped at me out of the chauffeur's restraining arms, Igave a perfectly healthy shriek, and clutched him, chiffonsnotwithstanding.

  "Where did you get him, Denton?" asked Father, vainly endeavoring topart us.

  "I didn't get him," answered Mr. Denton, smiling. "He was wished on meby an unknown admirer of Mavis."

  Father extricated Wigglesworth, and holding him firmly--he has beenwell named--read aloud, from the silver and leather collar whichadorned his fascinating neck, "Wigglesworth." Then, looking closer,added, "What's this? 'Property of H.R.H.'?"

  I am afraid I looked guilty. Dr. Denton whistled, and stepped nearerthe initials in question, or, shall I say, the questionable initials?

  I was annoyed to see in how friendly a spirit Wigglesworth receivedthe condescending medical hand upon his quivering ears.

  Father is anything but slow. And I have long since let him into thesecret of my romantic correspondence.

  "So that's it," he began. And heaven alone knows what he might haveadded had I not held up an imploring hand.

  Father, well-trained, subsided. But I didn't quite like the littlecrease between his brows. It was Mr. Denton, bless him, who saved thesituation.

  "Take me up to the house, Carroll," he said. "I have half an acre ofConnecticut soil on my person." And off they went, arm in arm, withMr. Denton casting a reassuring look at me over his shoulder.

  Alone with Dr. Bill and the frantic Wigglesworth, "Well," I said,"isn't he wonderful?"

  "Who?" asked the obtuse creature.

  I pointed to the puppy, chasing his tail with verve.

  "Very," he answered drily. "Do you realize, Miss Carroll, that youalmost sat up?"

  "When?" I shouted, very rudely, and quite disbelieving.

  "About five minutes ago, when the dog jumped into your hammock."

  "But," I insisted childishly, "I haven't been able to sit up all bymyself since...."

  "I know," he interrupted, "It's what you _have_ done, not what youhaven't, that is the point. Try again."

  Half crying from excitement, I tried. But it was no use, and I sankback, helpless and hysterical.

  "You see," I said sorrowfully.

  "Yes."

  He was looking at me out of those steel-blue eyes.

  "We're not going to give up," he said. "But now you must be taken backinto the house again. You're tired."

  And no amount of pleading or denial could bend his inflexible will.

  Wigglesworth came prancing into my room, just as the Doctor wasleaving.

  "You haven't said how adorable he is," I said, coaxing my new toy tothe bed.

  "Adorable!" he repeated, emphatically.

  But, Diary-dear, the Doctor wasn't looking at the _dog_!

  QUITE AT HOME August 30th

  Dear Poet:

  By now Mr. Denton has brought you my incoherent note of thanks for the benison of Wigglesworth. Every day I thank you more. He is the dearest little friend one could imagine or wish for. I have taught him to bark loudly when I say your name, and I hope to bring him to an appreciation of poetry, by selected readings! Next week, sometime, I am to have my promised lawn fete to introduce the countryside to the new member of our household. Even Sarah has succumbed. I heard her talking something suspiciously like baby-talk to him this morning, when she came in with my tray and observed Wiggles regarding her brightly and wagging all over, from his basket at the foot of my bed. And Father is a willing captive of his charms, even luring him from me on long, companionable walks. But I believe that he is jealous of you because he has never thought of getting me a dog. I have had birds and goldfish and even an Angora kitten which lived but to run away. But never since childhood a real live dog of my own. Mr. Denton must have worked some magic with Father that he has so inexplicably allowed me to accept so valuable a gift from--a stranger? But no, I cannot call you that!

  I regret to report that Wigglesworth has conceived an adoration for the doctor. The one of no consequence, I mean. I cannot understand it, but there seems to be a natural affinity between the two.

  Later, I must write you all the things, or, anyway, almost all, which Mr. Denton said about you. For of course we had a little session behind closed doors, and I asked the poor man questions until his grey head rang. Aren't you curious? But before I repeat to you what was, of course, told to me in strictest confidence, I must ask you _if those things are true_.

  Wigglesworth sends his love. He is beside my bed, this minute, on the floor, holding up one paw in greeting.

  Very gratefully yours, WIGGLESWORTH'S SLAVE

  GREEN HILL September 5

  Dear Diary, I'm sorry that I neglect you so. But you see, with friendscalling every day to behold me, royally at home out of doors, and witha week's preparation for my "Come one, come all" tea, which tookplace yesterday afternoon, and with almost daily letters from RichardWarren to answer--I've so many now that they make far too bulky a bookof you and so I have them tied up with ribbon, under my pillow--andwith Peter's recent heroic attempt to drink gasoline, andWigglesworth's brilliant development as a bloodhound--well, I have hadbut little time for you, Blue Book.

  Today, Father is out and Sarah busy below stairs. It is five o'clockof a golden September afternoon, and I am alone, and ready to recordthe events of the past week. Suppose we begin with Peter, who livesnext door, as you very well know, and who is an active and ambitiousand altogether charming seven-year old. It seems, Diary, that
Peterhas, during the summer, become hopelessly enamored of Jimmy Simpson,the ten-year old brother of Sammy, a feckless towhead, tanned as asaddle and twice as tough! From my windows, and more recently alsofrom the nearer vantage point of my hammock, I have observed theprogress of their friendship, dating from the early days of summerwhen Jimmy condescended to aid his older brother in the morningdelivery of the Simpson milk. Lately, Jimmy has been seen displayinghis ragged blue overalls about the lawn adjoining ours. I have heard,too, blood-curdling shrieks and dire groans which I take to portendthat Peter has more than once inveigled Jimmy into his own favoriteand histrionic pastime of "Injuns and Tigers." Once, Jimmy in his roleof scalper became slightly too realistic, and Peter, bursting throughthe hedge which separates the Goodrich property from ours, fled to mefor protection. With his curly head on my breast, I turned against theaggressor.

  "Jimmy Simpson," I cried indignantly, "aren't you ashamed to frightena boy younger than yourself? Don't you know that isn't manly?"

  Jimmy, engaging, brazen, and blue-eyed, stubbed one bare toe againstthe grass.

  "Honest, Miss Mavis," he defended himself firmly, "I didn't hurt himnone. He's a _baby_, he is!" he concluded, with a positively viciousglance at the back of Peter's head.

  "I'm not!" shouted the accused, rising up in honest wrath.

  "Y'are," repeated Jimmy. "Baby an' telltale."

  Here Peter, to my infinite delight, squared two small brown fists, anddisengaging himself from my restraining hands, advanced belligerentlyupon his idol.

  "You Jimmy," said Peter. "You take that back--quick!"

  I swear I saw a gleam of admiration in the Simpson eye.

  "Yes," I begged hastily, "do take it back, Jimmy."

  Jimmy shifted uneasily upon his capacious feet.

  "Well," he began uncertainly. And then a wholly friendly smileirradiated his freckled face. "I was only funning, Peter," he saidgenerously.

  I breathed again. Peter dropped his hands to his sides and saidhappily, "Got any cookies for us, Mavis?"

  I rang my silver bell for Sarah, and presently she appeared from thekitchen, greeted Jimmy in none too friendly accents, and disappearinginto her domain returned again with a heaped plate of crisp tancookies and three glasses of lemonade.

  "There," said Sarah, grudgingly, "you young limbs!"

  She looked at my two small friends as she spoke, but I am afraid sheincluded me in her remark.

  This incident served to show Jimmy the mettle of my seven year oldneighbor. It was by way of a delicate tribute to Peter that he wasasked, on the following day, to be one of six competitors in a footrace which, starting from his own gate, was to end at the cross roadssome five hundred yards distant. Just before the start he came overand exhibited himself to me, clad in vest and drawers, with sneakerson his little feet and a huge red 5 decorating his visibly inflatedchest.

  Solemnly, I shook his hand and wished him well. Then I lay back in myhammock to await the result of the race.

  Half an hour later, Peter, very red in the face, very hot, andmanfully trying to suppress his tears, appeared through the gap in thehedge, with Jimmy in close attendance.

  "He won!" said Peter, disconsolately, pointing a dusty forefinger athis companion.

  "But Pete came in second," hastily put in the victor, standing at thefoot of my swinging couch.

  "I--I wanted to win," announced Peter, the uncomforted. Then, seeingmy eyes fixed in affection and condolence on him, he gave one loudfrantic gulp and came into my arms.

  "But, Peter darling," I, said to the one small red ear I could see,"you must remember that you are only seven if you _are_ big for yourage, and all the other boys are much older, aren't they, Jimmy?" Iasked this with my most appealing look over Peter's bowed head towardthe Simpson scion.

  "Yes, Miss Mavis, ma'am," corroborated Jimmie loudly. "An' Pete, hedone awful good to come in second. Why, Josh Watkins was in the racetoo, and he's eleven an' a terrible swift runner."

  "You see?" I said to the Ear.

  Peter raised his head and thrust his grimy fists into his eyes.

  "It's all right," he said bravely, "only...."

  "Never mind, dear," I begged, "next time you'll come in first, won'the, Jimmy?"

  "Sure!" agreed Jimmy heartily. And Peter, content with the confidenceof his vanquisher, presently made off with him, saying earnestly, "ButJimmy, what makes you go so fast?"

  Two days later, swinging lazily between my trees and reading _TheLyric Hour_ to Wiggles, who listened attentively and with cocked,inquiring ears, I was horrified to see Mrs. Goodrich hurtle herselfthrough the hedge, followed by Loretta, her black cook, both of themwringing their hands--Loretta, I swear, almost as white as hermistress--and both demanding,

  "_Have_ you seen Peter?"

  "Why, no," I answered, "not today. Why?"

  Sarah, her sixth sense telling her that something was wrong, appearedsimultaneously at the foot of my hammock.

  "Oh, Mavis," said Peter's pretty mother, "he's lost! He's been gonetwo hours, and we've been everywhere!"

  Loretta, her apron over her kinky head, rocked to and fro.

  I looked at Sarah.

  "Have you seen him?" I asked, my heart standing very still.

  "No, Miss Mavis."

  Except for the sound of Loretta's noisy weeping, we were quite quiet.

  "_The Black Pond!_" said Mrs. Goodrich, in a whisper.

  "Don't!" said Sarah and I together.

  For the Black Pond, Diary, up the road, is a wicked sheet of water,depthless and sinister.

  I have never cursed my helplessness as I did then.

  "Perhaps Jimmy Simpson ..." I began. But Mrs. Goodrich interrupted me.

  "Loretta has been to the Simpsons', Mavis. Jimmy is off with Sammysomewhere. No one has seen or heard of Peter since this morning. Andwe have not seen him since luncheon."

  "Where's Father?" I asked, looking at Sarah.

  "Somewhere's with Doctor Denton," she answered. And as she did so, agay whistle reached me from the direction of our gate.

  "Perhaps that's Father now." I said hopefully. But it was only DoctorBill, hatless, coatless, swinging up the path and cutting across tous.

  "Miss Carroll," he said smiling, "your father asked me to tellyou ..." and then, "Why, what's the matter?"

  He looked from one to the other, and it was Sarah who answered.

  "It's Peter, Doctor. He's lost."

  "Lost! Nonsense. He couldn't get lost here. Every one in Green Hillknows the little chap. Where have you looked?" he asked Mrs. Goodrich.

  "Everywhere. And telephoned every house for miles. His father is intown, you know. Oh...." she broke off incoherently, "I can neverforgive myself--my baby--"

  The doctor's hand was on her, quieting, soothing.

  "Mustn't break down, Mrs. Goodrich. Suppose you sit here for a bitwith Miss Carroll and get your breath. We'll find the boy, won't we,Wiggles?" The dog jumped at the sound of his name in the belovedvoice, and began chasing his tail in an ecstasy of showing off.

  Dr. Denton beckoned Sarah, spoke to her in a low voice, and I heardher answer, "Yes sir," before she left the group and went toward thehouse, taking Loretta with her.

  "Who saw him last?" asked the doctor cheerfully, sitting down withWiggles on his knee.

  "Michel, our chauffeur. Peter was with him in the barn right afterlunch."

  "And where is Michel now?"

  "He went with several of the men on the place to search," said Mrs.Goodrich. "I think--they didn't tell me, but I think they mean to dragthe pond--" She went to pieces there. But it was only for a moment,for Sarah appeared again, with a glass of something. Dr. Benton tookit from her.

  "Drink this," he said quietly, his hand on Mrs. Goodrich's shoulder.

  Watching him, I suddenly knew that it would be all right; that Peterwas not really lost, but only mislaid; that we would all be spared acruel and terrible sorrow. He seemed to read my mind, for he nodded atme and said, smiling, "That's better, Miss Carro
ll."

  Sometimes I think that the man is really a magician.

  It was perhaps ten minutes later that Michel appeared through thehedge. Mrs. Goodrich, rather dangerously calm, I thought, got to herfeet.

  "Well?" she breathed.

  The chauffeur shook his head.

  "No trace, ma'am. The boys are still looking...."

  "The Black Pond...?" she asked, in a whisper, one hand at her throat.

  "They're down there now."

  "Ah!"

  She was at Dr. Denton's side now, her hands on his arm. "Please helpus." Her eyes sought his.

  "I'm going to do my best," he answered. "Michel, did Peter sayanything to you in the barn about going out to play?"

  The Irishman's face corrugated in an effort to remember.

  "No, doctor, sor. Not that I mind. He came out, the lad, to ask mewhat makes cars go fast."

  "What?"

  It was I who spoke. The foot race of two days before flashed suddenlyinto my mind, and the last thing I had heard Peter say, "But Jimmy,what makes you go so fast?"

  "What did you tell him?" I asked eagerly.

  "Well," Michel scratched his red head, "I told him the gasoline, MissMavis, just to keep him quiet."

  In a word I told the others about the race and Peter's disappointment."You don't suppose," I finished, hesitating, "that he tried to...."

  "Drink gasoline?" concluded Dr. Benton thoughtfully.

  We all looked at Michel.

  "Well," he said slowly, "seems to me that I did see him foolin' aroundthe tank. But I was busy, and when I looked up again, he was gone."

  "I seen him runnin'," interposed Loretta suddenly. "Runnin' downtoward the gate. I remember now!"

  "Gasoline!" said Peter's mother pitifully, "Would ... would it _kill_him, Doctor?"

  The doctor laughed outright.

  "Not by a long shot," he answered cheerfully. "And if he did take adrink of it, I'll wager it wasn't a very long drink. Now, Mrs.Goodrich, you and Loretta go home, and get some water heated, andfetch out a pot of mustard. I'm off with Wiggles to find the youngathlete."

  And that's all, Diary, except that they did find him. It was Wiggles,really, who discovered him in a deserted barn half a mile up the road,sleeping peacefully and smelling to high heaven of the gas. Home theybrought him, and it must go on record that though mustard and warmwater had no effect whatsoever upon that cast iron little stomach,every time Peter coughed Dr. Denton swears that the gasoline fumesnearly knocked him over!

  "Did you really drink it, sweetheart?" asked his mother just beforeshe tucked him in bed.

  "Course," answered Peter, wide-eyed. "Mike said it made the cars gofast, so I tried it. I didn't like it much," he confessed, "but golly,how I ran! I wish Jimmy could have seen me!"

  And on that, Peter fell asleep.

  Diary, I am nearly asleep too. Won't Sarah scold if she catches me! SoI will postpone till tomorrow my account of the Lawn Tea--and--theUtterly New Man imminent in our midst!

  Now, aren't you curious?