CHAPTER XI--Who Stole the Brown Betty?
Out on the front veranda, in the twilight, sat Miss Martin surrounded bya little group of children. It was the quiet hour before bedtime when,by ones and twos and threes, the children came together for the talk orstory that made a pleasant ending to their day.
To-night, Louise and Minette were having a lesson in English. They wereperched like two little blackbirds on the arm of Miss Martin's chair,and Louise was repeating obediently, "Yez, Meez Mart, I lov' you, Jo,"while Minette's contribution was to pull her curls across her eyes andlaugh. Mary Ellen sat on the top step, engrossed in the braiding of ahorse-hair ring. Sammy and Tom, escorting little Roger, came round thehouse from the barn, and settled themselves at Miss Martin's feet.
"Tell us a story, please, Miss Martin," begged Josephine, twistingLouise's black curls as she spoke, "about when you were a little girl."
"Were you ever a little girl?" asked Gus, sitting up straight in hisamazement. "Did you ever have a father and a mother?"
Miss Martin laughed, but before she could answer this question there wasa sound of flying feet, and Lydia ran out into the midst of the peacefulscene.
"My slippers! My 'brown bettys'!" she gasped excitedly. "One is gone!Mary Ellen took it. I know she did! I can't find it, and Polly can'tfind it either."
Mary Ellen dropped her horse-hair ring, and stared at Lydia inastonishment.
"I never did!" said Mary Ellen in a burst. "I never touched them. Ididn't see her slippers." And her eyes flashed in righteous indignation.
"Yes, she did," interposed Roger, going over to Lydia and taking herhand. "Mary Ellen took Lydia's slippers."
"Oh, you--you--" cried Mary Ellen, making a dart at Roger as wordsfailed her in her wrath.
"Children, stop!" commanded bewildered Miss Martin. "Stop this minute,and tell me what all this trouble is about. What have you lost, Lydia,and why do you think Mary Ellen has taken it?"
"I didn't," muttered Mary Ellen defiantly. "I didn't."
"Be quiet, Mary Ellen," said Miss Martin again. "Tell, Lydia, what haveyou lost?"
"My slippers," said Lydia, her eyes filling with tears at the thought ofher lost treasure; "one of my 'brown bettys,' my bronze slippers. Theyare my best. Father packed them for me, and I saw them in my bag, andnow only one of them is upstairs with the rest of my clothes. I can'tfind the other, and Polly can't either."
"But why do you say that Mary Ellen has taken it?" asked Miss Martin,with a keen look at both little girls.
"She didn't like it because Luley and Lena were too dressed up to play,"answered Lydia, "so she wouldn't like my slippers either."
"But I don't think Mary Ellen would touch them, even if she didn'tapprove of them," said Miss Martin, hoping to find her way out of thetangle. "Did you touch Lydia's slippers, Mary Ellen?"
"No, ma'am," answered Mary Ellen virtuously, feeling public opinion turnher way.
Behind Miss Martin's back, her eyes fixed on Lydia, she noiselesslysaid:
"I'll never speak to you again as long as I live."
"I don't care," answered Lydia out loud.
"Don't care?" repeated Miss Martin, not understanding. "Of course youcare; we all do. Now, Roger, why did you say Mary Ellen took theslipper? Did you see her take it?"
"No, but Lydia said so," returned the little boy innocently. To a stanchfriend like Roger, whatever Lydia said must be so.
"Children, did any of you see or touch Lydia's slipper?" was the nextquestion. "No? Then, Sammy, go find out who unpacked Lydia's bag, andask her to come here."
Sammy returned with Kate, Nurse Norrie's niece.
"Sure I saw the slippers, Miss Martin," said Kate. "I put them both onthe window-sill with the doll baby, and then I saw that the screen hadfallen out of the window, and I ran down to tell Mat to put it in, and Inever thought of them from that moment to this."
"It must have fallen out of the window," said Miss Martin, "though Idon't exactly see how. We'll ask Mat to take a lantern and look for itin the grass."
Mat carefully searched in the grass, and round the roots of the bigtree, whose branches brushed against the very window-sill, and whichknew the answer to the puzzle if only they could tell. He swung hislantern over the piazza roof and window-ledges, too, but in vain. Thebronze slipper was not to be found, and Lydia and Mary Ellen went to bedside by side without even saying good-night.
Miss Martin hesitated whether to try to reconcile the little girls, butLydia still believed Mary Ellen responsible for her loss, and Mary Ellenwas hurt and angry at the undeserved suspicion.
"If I talk to them, no doubt they will say they are sorry, and that theyforgive one another," Miss Martin reflected wisely, "but they will sayit really to please me. They won't feel any different in their hearts. Iwill wait and see whether the mystery won't clear itself up to-morrow."
So, trusting in the morrow, Miss Martin put the thought out of her mindfor the time being, since no one but Lydia now believed Mary Ellen hadanything to do with the disappearance of the "brown betty," and Lydiawas forbidden to repeat her unwarranted accusation.
"Good news for you, Lydia," was Miss Martin's morning greeting. "Yourmother is better, and you are to go home this afternoon."
"Oh, goody!" said Lydia, smiling broadly as she sat up in bed. But thenext instant the smile was gone and a cloud had come in its place.
"Did you find my slipper?" she asked eagerly.
"We haven't looked for it again," answered Miss Martin cheerfully."After breakfast every one will turn to and hunt, and I feel sure weshall find it. We will do our best, anyway, won't we, Mary Ellen?" AndMiss Martin smiled into the downcast face.
"Yes, Miss Martin," returned Mary Ellen politely, but she continued tolace her boots without a glance in Lydia's direction. Plainly Mary Ellenstill felt herself to be an injured person. There was even an idea inshrewd Miss Martin's mind that Mary Ellen found not a little enjoymentin her martyrdom.
After breakfast every one started in a different direction, but searchand hunt as children, maids, and men did in every conceivable nook andcorner, there was no trace of the missing slipper, and at last they wereforced to give up the search, and admit that apparently it had simplyvanished from the face of the earth.
"But it must be somewhere," Miss Martin repeated. "It didn't walk awayby itself. I won't give up."
By dinner-time the fruitless search was over, and in the afternoon thechildren scattered to their play, Polly and Tom escorting Lydia andRoger in a tour of the vegetable garden, hoping thus to raise thedrooping spirits of their visitors.
Miss Martin missed Mary Ellen, and going in search of her, found her inher bedroom, leaning on the window-sill from which the bronze slipperhad taken its mysterious flight.
The little girl had nursed her sense of injury all day, and now hadstolen away from the other children to spend a lonely afternoon. She wasdeep in thought, but not so absorbed that she did not hear Miss Martinenter the room, although she continued to gaze out of the window.
"I guess if I died, Lydia would feel badly," she was thinking. "I wouldbe dressed all in white, with my hair in long curls, and I would holdone white rose in my hand. They would all come and look at me, and oh,how they would all cry! I guess Lydia would cry hardest of all. Perhaps,though, they wouldn't even let her in, she's been so mean to me." And atear was all ready to roll down Mary Ellen's cheek, when she felt a handon her shoulder.
"What do you see, sister Anne?" asked Miss Martin, gayly. "Are there anybirds' nests in the tree?" She apparently did not notice the abused lookMary Ellen turned upon her as she sat down in the window beside thechild.
"No, but there are two squirrels in the tree, big fellows. Here theycome." And Mary Ellen pointed to the two gray squirrels climbing inswift darts higher and higher up the old trunk. "Aren't they cute?" shewhispered, neglecting her own grievance for interest in the squirrels."Their hole is by that big branch. There goes one in now."
Mary Ellen and Miss Martin held their breat
h as the remaining squirrelpursued his way up the tree. When he reached the branch opposite theirwindow, to their delight he turned and crept toward them. Motionless,they watched him leap from the tip of the swaying bough to the broadwindow-sill, where he sat upright, peering sharply about with his brightlittle eyes.
And then in a flurry, with every appearance of haste, Mr. Squirreldeparted, for Mary Ellen had abruptly broken the spell. She had wavedher arms wildly, and had called out in a loud voice:
"Miss Martin, I believe they took Lydia's slipper."
Miss Martin stared at Mary Ellen for a moment.
"I believe they did, Mary Ellen," said she slowly. "I never heard ofsuch a thing before, but I do believe they did."
"The screen was out," went on Mary Ellen, "and they are great bigsquirrels, and the slippers are little. He came right up on thewindow-sill now; you saw him yourself, Miss Martin. Oh, how can we findout? Can't we find out?"
"Of course we can," said Miss Martin, as pleased as could be at thethought. "At least we can try. Come, Mary Ellen, won't it be a surpriseif those squirrels are the thieves?" And she ran downstairs with MaryEllen at her heels.
Five minutes later, when Mat placed the long ladder against the oldmaple and prepared to mount it, not a child was missing from the groupat the foot of the tree. The news had spread like wildfire, and longlegs and short legs had toiled desperately in those few moments for fearof missing some of the excitement.
All eyes were fixed on Mat as he paused on the ladder outside thesquirrels' hole, and slowly and impressively drew on his baseball glove.That had been his solution of the problem, when Miss Martin had fearedthat the squirrels would bite his hands.
In went the glove, and out it came with a chattering, scolding bunch offur that Mat deposited at arm's length upon a branch. Next came atrembling gray ball, also to be placed carefully out of the way, andthen, for the third time, Mat thrust in his hand and slowly drew out themissing "brown betty," scratched in places, filled with leaves, onebutton gone, but Lydia's lost bronze slipper nevertheless.
The children shrieked and hopped up and down in their excitement as Matdangled it in the air before their eyes. Lydia was smiling happily, buther face was not so bright as Mary Ellen's.
"Try to put the squirrels back in their hole, Mat," called Miss Martin;but with a flirt and a whisk the squirrels proved that they had otherplans, and were out of sight in a twinkling among the green leaves.
Slowly Mat descended to earth, and handed the slipper to Miss Martin,who, in turn, put it in Mary Ellen's hands.
"You, Mary Ellen, must have the pleasure of giving it to Lydia," saidshe, "because you are really the one who found the hiding-place."
Lydia received the slipper from her friend with a shy smile.
"Thank you, Mary Ellen," said she. "I'm sorry I thought you took it. Andnow that it's scratched, you won't mind my wearing them so much, willyou?"
And arm in arm, the girls moved off, both entirely satisfied with thishandsome apology.
"Look at them, whispering together out there," said Miss Martin, half anhour later, to Mr. Blake, as she told him the story of the slippers."They are the best of friends now."
"Wouldn't it be a good thing if Mary Ellen had a pair of those fancyslippers for herself?" asked Mr. Blake. "If you say so, I'll take herdown to the village now, and see what we can buy."
"Oh, that would be nice," answered Miss Martin, smiling at this goodfriend of her children. "She says she doesn't like them, but that isonly because she hasn't any, I think. And we mustn't let Mary Ellen betoo strong-minded. She is only nine years old, you know."
But Mary Ellen was not strong-minded in the least when she reached thevillage shoe shop. Indeed, she changed her mind three times before shefinally decided upon a gay little pair of patent leather slippers withsilver buckles.
"Now, what would you like, Roger?" asked kindly Mr. Blake of Lydia'sfaithful shadow, who had accompanied them as a matter of course.
"I'd like to go home with Lydia," answered Roger in all earnestness.
"I meant in the way of shoes," explained Mr. Blake. "Shiny rubbers, orhigh boots?"
But Roger selected a warm little pair of red felt slippers, in view,perhaps, of approaching winter weather.
The parting with Lydia was very hard. Roger wouldn't and couldn'tunderstand why he must be separated from his friend, though Miss Martinexplained it in the kindest and simplest way.
So Lydia, almost in tears herself, said good-bye, for Mr. Blake wouldnot let her slip away when Roger's back was turned.
"We mustn't deceive him," said he. "He must learn he is among friends hecan trust."
"I'll come and see you to-morrow," whispered Lydia, with a last warmhug. "I promise."
And with that bit of comfort, Lydia went home.
CHAPTER XII--Roger Comes Home
"Mother, how long was I away?" asked Lydia that night after supper.
The evenings grew cool now, and Mrs. Blake and Lydia were sittingindoors, while Mr. Blake walked up and down the gravel path, finishinghis cigar. Lydia, on the window-seat, watched the red spark moving toand fro, while Mrs. Blake, with cheeks as pale as her soft white shawl,sat in the lamplight with a book on her lap.
"You were away a day and a night, weren't you?" she answered. "Why? Didit seem long to you?"
"It didn't seem long while I was there, but now it seems as if I'd beenaway a thousand years," was the reply. "Did you miss me, Mother?"
"Indeed I did," replied Mrs. Blake, with a shake of the head. "We allmissed you, I'm sure."
"Yes," said Lydia, in a tone of satisfaction, "I asked everybody, andthey all said they missed me. Father, and Alexander, and Deborah, andFriend Morris when I took her a bunch of flowers before supper, and thepostman when I met him on the road. The postman said he thought I lookedolder, I'd been away so long. Do you, Mother?"
"No, I can't say that I do," said honest Mrs. Blake. "Perhaps he meanttaller. You do grow like a weed."
"No, he said older," insisted Lydia, twirling the curtain cord as shespoke. "It must have been a joke. The postman is a very joking man,Mother. Anyway, I like to be missed. I like everybody to miss me everyminute I'm away. I hope they miss me now at Robin Hill. Roger does, I'msure. Perhaps he is crying for me this very minute." And Lydia's eyesgrew pensive at the thought.
Mrs. Blake knew that Lydia was talking in the hope of putting off herbedtime. The little clock on the mantel had struck eight fully fiveminutes ago.
"Roger is probably sound asleep in bed this minute," she answeredsensibly. "It is after eight o'clock, Lydia."
"Yes, I know," answered the little girl, without moving, "but I thoughtI might be going to stay up a little longer, because it's the firstnight I came home."
Mrs. Blake only smiled at this hint, and opened her book.
Lydia was able now to make ready for bed by herself. When she was in hernightgown, she would call her mother, and Mrs. Blake would go upstairsto braid Lydia's curls into two little pigtails, hear her eveningprayers, and tuck her in bed with a good-night kiss. But this eveningLydia was putting off her bedtime as late as she could.
"I'll just go say good-night to Father, then," she murmured gently,slipping down from the window-seat. She meant to take at least fiveminutes doing this, but the telephone rang and spoiled her plan.
Mr. Blake answered it. "Hello," said his voice from the hall. "Yes, MissMartin. What's that? Roger? No, he isn't here. I'll come up and helpyou."
Mr. Blake stepped into the doorway, hat in hand.
"Miss Martin has telephoned that Roger has run away, and she thought hemight possibly have found his way here. The rascal slipped out of bed,and they are pretty sure that he is not anywhere in the house. I'm goingup to help her look for him. Perhaps I had better take Alexander withme, too," he added.
"Take me, Father, oh, take me!" cried Lydia, who had been listening withopen eyes and ears. "I can find Roger, I know I can. Oh, take me withyou!" And she rushed forward and clasped Mr. Blake abou
t the knees.
"Take you, little magnet," said Mr. Blake, laughing; "I think Mother hadbetter take you to bed." And he was gone, leaving Lydia so wide-awakeshe never wanted to go to bed again, she told her mother.
"You may wait until half-past eight," said indulgent Mrs. Blake, "ifthere is no news by that time you must go to bed. But after that, assoon as I hear anything, I will come and tell you, if you are awake."
Lydia stationed herself in the window to watch. It was not much funstaring out into the black night, but anything was better than going tobed. And any moment Father might come home with news of Roger. Oh, howshe wished the little clock would stop or Mother would fall asleep. Butnothing happened, and at half-past eight she started upstairs, draggingone foot slowly after the other.
Ten minutes later, Lydia was downstairs again in her nightgown, brushand comb in hand.
"I thought you would like to braid my hair down here to-night, Mother,"said she, placing the cricket at Mrs. Blake's feet, and seating herselfin view of the front door.
Mrs. Blake smiled at this new thoughtfulness. But she understood Lydia'sfeelings, and in her sympathy she brushed and braided as slowly as shecould. She herself wished Mr. Blake would return with news of themissing child. There were too many horses and automobiles, even atnight, to make the roads safe for a "Wee Willie Winkie" to
"Run through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, In his nightgown."
So they both were watching and listening when Mr. Blake's step soundedon the porch. Lydia twitched the braid from her mother's hands, and flewinto the hall.
In came Mr. Blake with the runaway in his arms. He placed him in Mrs.Blake's lap where, winking and blinking his dark eyes in the lamplight,in his dew-stained night-clothes, he lay looking about him like a littlewhite bird. He wore his new red felt slippers, now covered with dust,and he carried in his hand a tiny horse given him by one of the childrenat Robin Hill. He smiled when he saw his friend Lydia kneeling at hisfeet, and waved his red slippers at her in greeting. It was plain to beseen that he was well pleased with his evening's work.
"I found him marching down the road halfway between here and RobinHill," said Father, answering the question in Mrs. Blake's eyes."Alexander has gone on to tell Miss Martin. Well, young man, what haveyou to say for yourself?" he went on. "Running away seems to be yourspecialty. Do you mean to stay here with us for a while, or will you getme up in the middle of the night to bring you back from another tripdown the road?" And Mr. Blake smiled down at the contented little figurecuddled in Mrs. Blake's lap.
"You won't run away again, will you, Roger?" asked Lydia coaxingly. "Youwant to stay here with me, don't you?"
Roger nodded solemnly.
"Yes," said he, "I'll stay with you. I'll stay with you forever."
And then he sneezed one, two, three times.
"Mercy me!" said Mother. "Off to bed, both of you."
And, bundled in the white shawl, the triumphant Roger was borneupstairs, Lydia hopping alongside, delighted with this unexpected turnof affairs.
"Roger is visiting us, Mother says," explained Lydia the next morning,as she and Roger paid an early morning call upon Friend Deborah in herspotless kitchen, "but Roger says he has come to stay."
The little boy, his eyes fixed upon a bowl of peaches, nodded.
"I like it here," he said gravely. "I like Lydia. I like my new motherand father. I like peaches, too."
"You mustn't say that!" cried Lydia, scandalized. "It isn't polite. Youmustn't ask, ever."
"I didn't ask," returned Roger stoutly. "I only said I liked."
But Lydia sighed, as if she had all the cares of a large family upon hershoulders. Roger must be taught so many lessons in politeness, and histable manners needed constant attention.
"Just watch me, Roger," instructed Lydia. "Do just what I do."
But at last Roger tired of her corrections.
"You have more spots at your place than I have," he retorted betweenmouthfuls of mush. "And I didn't cry when I took my medicine, and youdid. And I wasn't put to bed yesterday like you." And with a flourish ofhis spoon, Roger placidly finished his supper, while the crestfallenLydia slipped away to console herself with Lucy Locket, who never"answered back."
"It is good for her, I suppose," said Mrs. Blake, who, with Mr. Blake,was an amused spectator of this scene. "I am afraid we were making herselfish. It isn't well for a child to grow up alone. And they love eachother dearly. Roger follows Lydia about like her shadow."
And so it was settled that Roger was to stay "forever" as he said.
"He's stopped visiting!" cried the delighted Lydia, flying over toFriend Morris with the news. "He's stopped visiting, and he's going tobe my brother. Isn't it nice?"
Friend Morris nodded.
"He setteth the solitary in families, little Friend Lydia," was herreply.
"Yes, Friend Morris," answered Lydia politely, though she didn'tunderstand in the least what Friend Morris meant. "And I think we areall going home soon. Father's 'masterpiece' is finished, and Miss Pussis so fat she can scarcely walk. It's high time we went home, Mothersays."
But before the last day came, Mr. Blake planned a farewell ride, a rideback in the country to see the famous waterfalls that people traveledfrom far and wide to view.
Friend Morris was invited, and Deborah and Alexander, and all RobinHill, too. So, early on a bright, crisp autumn afternoon they started,three carriage loads--in deference to Friend Morris, who did not likeautomobiles--full of happy, chattering children, and grown folks, happy,too, if in a quieter way.
Deborah drove one carriage, with Mrs. Blake, on the back seat, watchingover the safety of her special little flock. Alexander carefully droveFriend Morris, who had the quietest, best-behaved children placed in hercharge, reliable children like Mary Ellen and Tom, wise, spectacled Johnand stolid English Alfie. The more harum-scarum boys and girls rode withMiss Martin and Mr. Blake, who took good care that Gus was placed nextMiss Martin, and that Sammy sat beside him on the front seat.
"Are we going to see a real Indian woman, Mr. Blake?" asked Sammy,bouncing with excitement. "Lydia said you said so."
"She will be at the toll-gate where we hitch the horses," answered Mr.Blake. "At least, she has been there for years, and I suppose she ishere this summer, too. In fact, I think she lives near by all the yearround."
Sammy possessed his soul in such patience as he could summon, andstrained his eyes up the road for the interesting figure long before itwas possible for her to be in sight.
Yes, the Indian woman was standing at the toll-gate, but Sammy wasdistinctly disappointed when he saw her. Neither did she improve uponcloser inspection.
She was merely a swarthy-skinned, black-haired woman, dressed in achecked gingham dress and blue gingham apron, neither particularlyclean, and she answered to the name of Mrs. Jones. Fancy an Indian namedJones! Sammy could scarcely conceal his indignation, and stared at theunconscious Mrs. Jones with such resentment in his eye that Miss Martinhurried him swiftly through the toll-gate, and past the cabin whereIndian souvenirs were displayed for sale.
The party wandered along over the damp, mossy ground, and proceeded tosurvey the waterfalls, all of which were fortunately within easy walkingdistance.
"I choose High Falls," remarked little Tom, as they wended their wayback toward the gate. "It's so big and high, and dashes down so hard."
Most of the children had been greatly impressed by the huge, foamingcataract, that continually dashed its white length downward with a dull,booming roar. But Mary Ellen and Polly cast their vote for the delicateBridal Veil; while Lydia, echoed by Roger, thought Silver Thread Fallsthe most beautiful of all.
Near the gate were rough wooden tables and benches, and, once seated,Sammy thought somewhat better of Mrs. Jones when she served them withbirch beer or sarsaparilla in thick mugs with handles.
"Now," said Mr. Blake, when the mugs were empty, "each one must choosean Indian souvenir, in memory of the day."
Th
e delighted children crowded into the cabin, and critically surveyedthe display placed before them. There were little birchbark canoes, andwhisk-broom holders, also made of bark, beaded moccasins, strings ofwampum, and small beaded pocketbooks. There were charming littlepictures, not only of the Falls, but of Indian braves and maidens aswell, and though it took a long time, at last every one hadsatisfactorily made his or her selection.
"Why are you so good to my children?" Miss Martin asked Mr. Blake, as,watching the boys and girls chattering happily over their treasures,they stood by the toll-gate waiting for a straggler or so.
"Think how good you have been to me," answered Mr. Blake promptly."Didn't you give us Lydia? And without Lydia, we might never have hadRoger. No, I think I owe you a good many more parties before we areeven, Miss Martin."
"Look, Father!" cried Lydia, running up with Roger at her heels. "Ichose a pocketbook. Do you like it? And Roger took a canoe."
The Indian woman, with the proceeds of the party jingling pleasantly inher pocket, smiled upon the little pair before her.
"Good friends, eh?" she commented. "I see, they stay together always.Good friends!"
"No," said Lydia shyly. "We are not friends; he's my brother."
"But you are my friend, too," returned Roger stoutly. "Friend Morriscalls you that, and so do I."
On the drive home the children were tired and sleepy. They were contentto sit quietly, and more than one stole a cat-nap on the way.
The Robin Hill party was safely deposited at their door, and Lydia andMr. Blake drove slowly down the familiar road toward home. Mrs. Blakewith Roger asleep on her lap, Deborah holding the reins, rode swiftlypast them.
"Father," said Lydia, nestling close to him, "do you like the name thatFriend Morris and Roger call me? Would you want to be called FriendLydia?"
"I think it is a beautiful name," answered Mr. Blake, looking tenderlydown at the little face gazing up into his. "And no matter how long youlive, or wherever you go, I shall always hope that somebody in the worldwill call you little Friend Lydia."
The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS U. S. A.
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