CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE LITTLE RUNAWAY
The next morning Sylvia was unusually fretful, and little wonder, forshe had had two helpings of the rich, creamy dessert the night before,and would not eat the wholesome breakfast which was served to her inbed.
Carol was told to remain in her room that morning as a punishment forthe manner in which she had misbehaved the night before. This messagewas brought with her breakfast by Fanchon. To the surprise of the maid,the small girl was up and had on her own old dress that buttoned downthe front.
"Oh, I just wanted to put it on," the child said, when the kindly maidexpressed her surprise.
"Poor little colleen, I guess ye're homesick, and I wouldn't wonder atit if you are," was what Fanchon was thinking, but aloud she made nocomment, as the pale-blue eyes of her little mistress were watching herfrom the bed where she sat propped among downy pillows.
All the time that Carol sat at the low table eating her mush and milk,she, too, was wondering if she could be homesick. Almost unconsciouslyher eyes roamed over the creamy net curtains and rose-silk draperies, atthe bird's-eye maple furniture, and at the wide window-seat heaped withrosy cushions.
Then her thoughts wandered to the little loft bedroom which she andDixie always shared together. There was one small window, with aturkey-red curtain, a very old-fashioned chest of drawers, and in onecorner sat her doll, Peggotty Ann. Of course she was too old now to playwith dolls, for would she not be nine the very next month?
She glanced at the little brass bed in which she had slept. It wascovered with creamy net, lined with rose-colored silk. Spread over thefour-posted bed at home there was a many-colored piece-quilt that hergrandmother had made when she was a bride.
Somehow that loft-room seemed more homey after all. Fanchon had come totake the trays. She asked Carol if she wished to put on one of Sylvia'spretty morning-dresses.
"No thank you, not yet," the child replied. She walked over to thewindow and looked out. It was a gray, gloomy day. If she were lookingout of a window at home, she would probably see Ken digging aroundsomewhere in the garden and whistling. What a jolly whistler Ken was!
Just then Sylvia, unable to longer remain unnoticed, said fretfully,"Carol Martin, I was just falling asleep, and you made so much noise youwoke me right up, and my mother said I was to sleep all of this morningbecause I am sickly."
Carol felt that this was very unjust, for a little mouse could not havebeen more quiet. She sat down in a chair by the window, trying hard notto cry. Sylvia spoke again, "Well, as long as I can't sleep, you maybring me my best doll, and be sure you don't drop her."
Carol looked in the direction indicated and saw a beautiful French dollthat was nearly as big as she was. "Oh, what a beauty," she exclaimed.
Very carefully she lifted it and took it to the little girl in the bed.Then she turned away and was far across the room when a shrill screamfrom Sylvia was followed by a crash. Sylvia had let the doll slip fromthe bed.
"You did it, you horrid beggar-girl," she cried, "and now my beautifuldoll is broken."
The door burst open and Mrs. Clayburn appeared. She had hastily thrownon a velvet lounging-robe and her hair was down her back.
"Mother," Sylvia fairly screamed, "she made me drop my doll."
Again the just wrath of a Martin was in the heart of Carol. "You _know_you're fibbing!" she said almost scornfully. "I'm not going to stay hereanother moment. I'm not! I'm not! I'm going right home to-day wherefolks live who are honest, and who l-love me, and I'm not going to sayI'm grateful 'cause you brought me here. I'm not! I hate you. I justhate you both!"
Dashing to the closet before the astonished woman could realize what washappening, the girl snatched her best hat from a hook and ran from theroom.
The bell for Fanchon sounded through the halls. "Stop that child beforeshe gets out of this house. Then lock her up in the coal-room," was theimperatively given command.
"Yes, ma'am. Which way was she after goin', ma'am?" the maid lingered toinquire.
"How can I tell, stupid! She can't unlock the front door, so she isprobably there this minute, trying to get out."
Mrs. Clayburn was right. That was where the Irish maid found her, butinstead of taking her to the dark, windowless basement-room, Fanchonquickly unlocked the front door and set her free.
"Poor little darlint," the maid thought, as she glanced anxiously up thelong flight of stairs to be sure that she was unobserved, "it's me as iswishin' I had a log-cabin home in the mountains I could run away to."
Mrs. Clayburn, at an upper window, saw the small figure flying acrossthe lawn. She went at once to the telephone and called up the bank.
"Samuel, have that child caught and brought back here at once. She's gotto beg my pardon and be properly punished before she can leave thishouse."
But the banker was busy, and he failed to send any one to search for thelittle runaway, and so, though Mrs. Clayburn watched and waited, at noonthe culprit had not been returned to her. Several hours later herhusband called to say that he was going into the country on business andwould not be home to dinner.
"Poor little Carol," he thought as he started driving toward themountains, "she probably has tried to walk home, but her little legswill tire out long before she gets there, and no one living along theway except the Washoe Indians." Mr. Clayburn hastened the pace of hishorse as he thought of this. Meanwhile Carol, on leaving the home of thebanker, had slipped unobserved through side-streets until she came to ahighway on the outskirts, which she believed led in the direction of herlog-cabin home.
She had been to Genoa but once before, and that was when she was sixyears of age, and though she knew that she must follow one of theside-roads toward the mountains, she was not sure which one to take.
On and on she trudged. The houses were very far apart now, and at lastthere were none at all. The child looked very small indeed as shecrossed the desert-like stretch of sandy waste where only sagebrush anda few twisted trees were growing.
At last she reached a crossing, and to her joy, a sign-post informed herthat Woodford's was but six miles away over in the mountains. At leastit was a comfort to know that she was going in the right direction. Thepine trees grew bigger and denser and the road began to ascend.
The child's feet were very tired, and, at last, she was so weary thatshe felt that she just could not take another step, and so she sank downon a boulder to rest. How silent it was, save for the moaning of thegentle breezes in the pines. The only living thing that she saw was agreat wide-winged vulture that was swinging around overhead in circles.Never in her life had the child felt so alone in the world, but she wasnot afraid. The children of Pine Tree Martin had never learned fear.
"I must hurry on," she thought, as she again arose and trudged bravelyup the rough mountain road. With feet that would lag, however eager shemight be to go on, she slowly climbed, but, with five miles still ahead,the small girl realized that she could walk no farther. Sinking to theground, she curled up under a pine tree and began to sob softly.
Suddenly she sat up alert, listening. She had heard the pounding of ahorse's feet around the curve that she had just passed. Some one wascoming!
She hid behind the trunk of a tree that she might see without beingseen, and then watched and waited. Soon a horse and rider appeared.After one glance the small girl, with a glad cry, leaped out into theroad. It was Tom Piggins riding on a big dappled work-horse. He had beento Genoa on an errand for his father, and was returning to the ValleyRanch. Never before had Carol been so glad to see any one.
Running out into the road, she waved and shouted, "Tom! Tom! Please giveme a ride!"
"Why, Carry Martin, what you doin' here?" For once the small girl didnot resent being called by that much-hated name. The long, lank boycontinued: "Ken was over to our place last night, and he was sayin' ashow you'd been adopted by a rich banker. He said he was sort of glad ofit, you being so selfish and hard to live with, but Dixi
e, she's beensniffling 'round ever since you left, and the little kid keeps askin','Where's Carol? Jimmy wants Carol.'"
Upon hearing this, the small girl sobbed afresh.
"Oh, Tom," she cried, "I don't want to be adopted. Please, please takeme home."
The blunt boy was nevertheless kind, and so he helped the small girl upon the big horse in front of him, and, as they rode along, Carol toldthe whole story to sympathetic ears.
"Gee-crickets!" the boy exclaimed admiringly. "I'm certain glad you hadsome of your pa's spunk." Then he added hopefully, "Maybe you're goin'to change, and get to be more like Dixie. Ken'll like you heaps betterif you do."
Carol said nothing, but in her heart she resolved that she would try tobe so much like Dixie that folks wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
It was noon when Tom helped the little girl to the ground in Woodford'sCanyon, and, after having thanked him, she started walking slowly downthe trail toward the log cabin, for a dreadful thought had come to her.What if she wouldn't be welcome. What if Ken should say, "You left ourhome and now you can stay away."
The window nearest the trail was open, and Carol thought she would lookin before going to the door.