CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO A HARD GAME
Dixie climbed the ladder to the loft and looked quickly toward the bed,but the little sister whom she sought was not there. Going to thecurtained-off corner, she quickly drew aside the cretonne, and there,sitting on the floor, holding fast to the old doll for comfort andcompanionship, was Carol.
There were no tears in the beautiful violet-blue eyes that were lifted,but there was an expression in them so hurt that Dixie knew that itwould be very hard for her little sister to forgive their unwelcomeguest. Too, when she recalled the spoiled girl's rudeness of a momentbefore, Dixie suddenly resolved that she would not ask Carol to putherself in a position to be again humiliated as she had been in herrecent experience in the Clayburn home.
"Dearie," she said, as she stooped and took the warm hand of the youngergirl, "please come out of that dark, smothery place. I've thought of aplan, and I want to talk about it to you. First of all, I want you to behappy 'cause this is your home, not Sylvia's."
Carol smiled up gratefully and came out willingly. "Oh, Dix," she said,"what shall we do? I don't want to go down-stairs and have to see thatmean-horrid girl. Won't you please send her away?"
Poor Dixie looked her despair, for, after all, she was very youngherself, and this problem seemed too difficult a one for her to solve.They owed so much to kind Mr. Clayburn, they just couldn't turn hislittle girl out of their home, but what could they do with her in it?
"I 'most don't know what to do," she confessed, turning toward Carol aface that quivered sensitively. "I was wondering if, maybe, you'd liketo go over to the Valley Ranch and visit. You know Sue's mother hasoften asked you to come. I didn't know but maybe you'd rather do thatthan stay here with Sylvia."
Carol pouted. "No, I don't want to leave my own home. If anybody's sentover to the Valley Ranch, I should think it ought to be Sylvia." Thetone in which this was said was so reproachful that the perplexed girlcould be brave no longer, and, throwing herself unexpectedly upon thebed, she sobbed as Carol had never heard her cry before. Feeling thatshe was in some way to blame, she ran to her side, exclaimingcontritely: "Oh, Dixie, Dixie! Please don't cry that way. I'll doanything you say. I won't care if Sylvia slaps me even--if only youwon't cry."
With a glow of happiness in her heart, the little mother of them all satup, and, catching the younger girl in her arms, she held her close. Itwas such a comfort to her to know that Carol loved her and was willingto do something that would be, oh, so hard, to prove her love.
To show that she had really meant the hastily-made promise, the youngergirl said, "Tell me what you want me to do, Dix, and I'll go right thisminute and do it."
Then Dixie, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding fast to thelittle sister she loved, told her, as she had told Ken, aboutGrandmother Piggins's game of pretend. "It'll be awfully hard to pretendeven to myself that I like Sylvia Clayburn," Carol said; "but I'll playthat game, Dix, I will, honest, if you want me to."
"Goodie, let's start right this very minute," the older girl exclaimed."Now, remember, we're to pretend that the horrid, rude things she willsay are pleasant things."
The younger girl sighed as she replied, "Well, I like hard games, butthis one will be the hardest that I ever played." Then, rising, she heldout her hand as she continued, "Come on, Dixie, I'm going down tobreakfast."
What a glad light there was in the plain, freckled face of the oldergirl, and, springing to her feet, she kissed her truly beautiful youngersister as she whispered: "Thank you, dearie, you have made me veryhappy. Now it won't be half so hard." Then they left the loft and wentdown the ladder together.
Carol, eager to please Dixie, upon reaching the kitchen at once lookedabout for the small visitor whom she was to treat just as though shereally liked her. She soon spied the little figure curled up in the bigrocker, and a feeling of real sympathy swept over the heart of Carol.
Sylvia was indeed to be pitied, for she did not have a big, bravebrother like Ken, nor a wonderful sister like Dixie, nor an adorableJimmy-Boy, and, although she did live in a much finer house, it was nota real home. But, more than all else, the pale, sickly, spoiled childwas to be pitied because she had such a vain, foolish mother.
Although Carol did not think these things out, she nevertheless did feelsorry for the little girl who was as unhappy because she had to visitthem as they were to have her, and she decided to make the ordeal easierfor Dixie by doing her part in the pretend-game.
The elder girl went at once to the stove to reheat the porridge for herown and Carol's breakfast, but the younger little maid skipped acrossthe room and said pleasantly: "Hello, Sylvia! You've come to visit us,haven't you? Did you bring your dollie?"
"No, I didn't!" was the sullen response. "You broke my best doll and I'mnever going to forgive you. Never! Never!"
Now this was untrue, for it had been Sylvia's own carelessness that hadbroken the doll, as she very well knew.
The injustice of it was almost more than Carol could bear, and hernatural inclination was to angrily retort and tell the unwelcome guestjust how "mean-horrid" she really was, but that wouldn't be playing thegame, and so, with a quick glance across at Dixie, who returned anencouraging smile, Carol silently repeated the formula which her bigsister had suggested before they had left the loft: "What would I do orsay if I _really_ loved Sylvia?" What, indeed? How would Sylvia receiveher advances? Would the spoiled little girl fly into a temper, or wouldshe be kind?
With a long breath, the small girl said, "I'm sorry, Sylvia, if youreally think that I broke your big doll. I wouldn't have done it, notfor anything."
Then, as Dixie was serving the porridge, Carol asked, "Won't you comeover to the table and have breakfast with us?"
"No, I won't," was the ungracious response. "I'm going to starve righthere in this very chair, and then I guess my father will be sorry bebrought me to this poor folks' cabin."
Dixie, hearing this cruel retort, glanced anxiously across at her littlesister, whose cheeks were burning, while her violet-blue eyes flashed.Would she be able to play the game after that, the big sister wondered.
Six months before the small girl would have informed Sylvia that she wasa descendant of James Haddington-Allen of Kentucky, who was"blue-blooded."
Before Carol could decide just how to reply, the sweet voice of hersister called her: "Come, dear, breakfast is ready! We'll keep theporridge warm, and Sylvia may have some nice rich cream and sugar on hershare when she feels real hungry."
Then the two little Martin girls seated themselves at the table, andCarol felt well repaid for the effort she had made when she felt Dixie'shand clasp hers just for a moment. Anger left her heart. What did itmatter what Sylvia said or thought since Ken and Dixie and Jimmykinsloved her?
When breakfast was over, the boys returned from feeding the"live-stock," and then all was hurry and scurry while the little mothergot them off to school. Their unwelcome guest had turned the big chairso that the high wooden back hid her from their view, but at the doorCarol paused to call, "Good-by, Sylvia." There was no response fromacross the room, but Dixie caught her little sister and kissed her,whispering gratefully: "Thank you, dear. You are such a help." Then thedoor closed, and Dixie was left alone with the rebellious guest.