Another year with Denise and Ned Toodles

[Illustration:

_Frontispiece--Denise._

“Denise Raised Her Head And Listened For The Second Call.”

_See page 15_ ]

Another Year

With

Denise and Ned Toodles

By

Gabrielle E. Jackson

_With Illustrations_

Philadelphia Henry Altemus Company

By The Same Author

Caps And Capers

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$1.00 each

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Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus

Contents

Chapter I Page

What The Wood-Thrush Told 13

Chapter II

“Mabie Lilly Taintit” 23

Chapter III

An Old Friend And A New One 35

Chapter IV

Hart 48

Chapter V

King Royal Distinguishes Himself 61

Chapter VI

The Sunset Hour 71

Chapter VII

“Oh, We’LL Sail The Ocean Blue!” 85

Chapter VIII

Pokey And A Circus 99

Chapter IX

The Earth Opens And Pokey Is Swallowed Up 113

Chapter X

Troubles Never Come Singly 124

Chapter XI

A Timely Rescue 136

Chapter XII

Joy Turns Pokey Daft 150

Chapter XIII

Mischief 160

Chapter XIV

Aunt Miranda Comes To Town 174

Chapter XV

Aunt Miranda And Ned Have A Little Altercation 187

Chapter XVI

Aunt Miranda Interviews Nero’S Owner 200

Chapter XVII

Ned Disgraces Himself, But Makes Amends 214

Chapter XVIII

A Birthday Frolic And What Came Of It 227

Chapter XIX

Denise To The Rescue 240

Chapter XX

A Coasting Episode 254

Chapter XXI

Another Christmas Day Draws Near 269

Chapter XXII

Christmas For All The Pets 280

Illustrations

Page

“Denise raised her head and listened for the second call” _Frontispiece_

“‘Why not call it the _River Kelpie_?’” Facing p. 94

“The man bent down to avoid the branches” “ 150

“They had many things to talk over” “ 230

What The Wood-Thrush Told

Another Year With Denise And Ned Toodles

Chapter I

What The Wood-Thrush Told

Denise sat all alone in her phaeton, her elbows resting upon her knees, and her chin propped upon her hands. The soft brown curls fell all about her face, and the brown eyes, which matched the curls in color, looked dreamily off toward the glassy river. The linen carriage-robe had slipped from her knees and one end trailed out upon the fresh green grass upon which the phaeton stood, for she had driven out of the main road into a little by-way leading up the mountain, her favorite spot for a “good quiet think,” and she and Ned Toodles were reveling in the beauty of that early spring day. The atmosphere was so balmy, so filled with the thousand promises of spring, the sun so warm and comforting, without the oppressive heat that would come later in the season, and all nature so entrancing in the exquisitely soft green of her new spring attire, that it was no wonder that the sensitive, imaginative child of eleven should be transported into a fairy-like reverie, or the little pony, which had now been her constant companion for more than eighteen months, should, so far as an animal can sympathize with a human being’s moods, enter into sympathy with Denise’s. He stood perfectly still, his head turned slightly toward the river upon which Denise’s eyes rested, his head slightly drooping, and the usually wide-awake eyes partly closed, as though he, too, had nearly slipped away into the land of dreams. One ear, however, was turned backward toward the occupant of the phaeton, as though he had placed an anchor in the land of reality in which his beloved little mistress dwelt most of the time.

To the right of the phaeton stretched the great woodland, with its silence, broken only by the wind whispering through the trees, and its bird-calls. It was a dreamy, beautiful world which Denise and her pet were dwelling in just there and then, and a fitting surrounding for a child whose life had been filled with sunshine, and whose nature reflected it, as well as for the little pony, who ever since he had become hers, eighteen months before, had not known the meaning of a harsh word or unkindness.

Presently from out the woodland came the incomparable call of the wood-thrush, rising from its soft, tender note to the clear joyous call which told to all the world that life was, oh, so sweet! Denise raised her head from her hands and listened for the second call which she knew would follow. It came, and this time a little nearer, as though the bird were searching the woods for its mate. Then back went the answering call, but not from the bird’s mate. Raising her head, Denise puckered up the soft red lips, and clear and sweet from between them came the

[Music]

Then she listened for the answer. It came, and so did the bird, peering cautiously from a leafy covert, flying nearer and nearer the still figures at the roadside, hopping questioningly from bough to bough, as though asking, “Where is she?”

Denise smiled, but made no sound, and the little bird, deciding that those odd-looking creatures so near by were harmless, opened his tiny beak, and clear and sweet at her very side gave his entrancing call again.

The moment it ceased Denise repeated hers, and for a few moments a very bewildered little bird flitted about the phaeton, calling and hearing the answering call without seeing the lady bird whom he felt sure must be near at hand. It was altogether too tantalizing, and the mystery must be solved if possible, so, gathering courage from his intense curiosity, down he flew from his leafy branch and alighted upon the wheel of the phaeton, to give a still louder and more peremptory call. It was of no use, for even though his lady-love politely answered from between Denise’s lips, she refused to appear, and with an indignant flourish of his brown tail, off flew her suitor to seek a lady-love less disdainful.

As he disappeared into the wood a merry laugh rippled after him, which must have caused a surprised flutter from his wings, and, giving one bound, Denise sprang over the wheels and landed upon the grass beside Ned. The move was a sudden one, but Ned was used to moves of all sorts, so, giving a soft little whinny of welcome, he aroused himself from his dreams, took a step or two nearer, and poked his head under Denise’s arm. She dropped upon the soft grass, saying:--

“Ned Toodles, it’s springtime, springtime, springtime! I am so glad, aren’t you?” And cuddling both arms about the warm head which was thrust into her lap as she sat there, she buried her face in the silky forelock and “snuggled” as hard as she could. Ned responded by a succession of subdued whinnies, as though saying, “More delighted than I can express, for spring means green grass, long walks with you, and no bother with blankets!”

“Now, Ned, listen,” continued Denise, for these conversations were by no means uncommon; they were held daily. “Spring means warm weather, warm weather means vacation, vacation means Pokey! What do you think of that? Vacation doesn’t mean much to us, does it? It’s a sort of vacation all the time with Miss Meredith, for she seems to know just when I have done enough, and doing any more would make my brain all sort of muddled up, and it’s just fun to study with some one who makes you see every solitary thing you learn, till you couldn’t _help_ knowing it unless you were as stupid as--as, well that funny person who called upon mamma the other day and who said to me, ‘So this is the examplry child I have heard so much about. Dear me, I think I shall have to ask your mamma to let you come and visit my children for a while; they are simply irrepressible, and perhaps your shining example will serve as a beacon to their benighted minds.’”

“Ned, it was just awful! Really, it was! That funny woman was so very much dressed up, and was so very, very polite, but she used such queer words. I did not dare look at mamma for fear I should laugh, and then what would she have thought of this ‘examplry’ child I am sure I don’t know. Mamma said, ‘We do not consider Denise a model child by any means, Mrs. Smithers; she is no more than any child may be if the parents will take the trouble to study their children’s characters and learn the wisest manner of government. “One man’s meat is another man’s poison,” you know, and I think the rule will apply to children pretty well, too, don’t you?’ And then mamma smiled that odd little smile of hers that just means _so_ much. You sort of _feel_ its meaning way down inside you, and even if you could not _tell_ in words just what she means you know it all the same. Then she said to me, ‘Mrs. Smithers will excuse you now, Sweetheart,’ and gave me the little love-nod which means, ‘I see you don’t understand what it is all about, but we will talk it over together when twilight comes and we have our cuddle in the big armchair in the library.’ Ned Toodles, that armchair is just the very nicest place in the whole wide world, do you know that?”

Ned evidently agreed perfectly, for he answered, “Hoo-hoo-hoo!” and Denise continued:--

“But, oh, dear, I’m just miles away from where I started! What was I telling you? Oh, yes, I remember. Vacation and Pokey. You see, Ned Toodles, Pokey is smart, very smart, indeed, and some day she is going to be famous, because she told me so. She is going to study hard and get to be a teacher, and buy a dear little house and furnish it all just as pretty as can be, and have her mother live with her and never wish for a single thing that she cannot give to her right off! Isn’t that just splendid? But to do that she must study hard while she is a little girl, and that is what she is doing now, oh, _so_ hard! And she gets all tired out and fidgety, and sort of criss-cross, because she doesn’t know what ails her, but mamma says it is because the brain is trying to grow too fast for the body, and Pokey can’t keep up to it, so just as soon as vacation comes Pokey will come out here, and--_then_!”

This thought was too tremendous to be dealt with in a sitting position, and, springing up, Denise cried:--

“Let’s go home just as fast as ever we can, Ned, for I’ve a sort of feeling that something fine is going to happen,” and she scrambled into the phaeton, and was soon spinning down the road toward home--the very road down which she and her beloved Pokey had scurried the previous summer in their vain attempt to escape from Colonel Franklin when their taffy candy had led them into disgrace. Her thoughts were still busy with her little friend as she hurried along, but she could not look into the future to see that friend’s dream a reality beyond her most sanguine hopes nor behold her grown to dignified womanhood and presiding as superintendent of one of the largest schools in the city which had always been her home.

Chapter II

“Mabie Lilly Taintit”

Ned Toodles trotted along the road that beautiful afternoon, and Denise’s joyous mood found a vent in a charming little song which kept time with Ned’s footfalls and to which he occasionally gave a sort of staccato accent, by breaking into a frisky jump. “Sing-Song Polly” rang out over the fields, the song growing gayer and wilder at every bar, till suddenly a second voice took up the theme in a long-drawn, doleful wail, that brought Denise’s warble to an abrupt ending. Ned heard it, too, and gave a little start to one side, for the wail seemed to proceed from the very ground beneath them, and was decidedly uncanny. Denise drew rein quickly, and stopped to listen for further signs of distress. They came very promptly, and a second later she was stooping over a forlorn figure which the low bushes at the roadside nearly concealed.

A little ditch divided the adjacent fields from the road, and at this season of the year the ditch was very apt to be filled with water and inhabited by a flourishing family of tadpoles. Seated upon the ground at the further side of the ditch, her feet firmly embedded in its mud, from which she was vainly striving to withdraw them, was a small child, probably six years of age. She wore a little pink and white checked gingham, which was splashed with mud from top to bottom; her hands were the color of a little darky’s, and her hair, which perhaps had not been in perfect order upon setting out, was now a hopeless snarl and firmly caught in the overhanging branches of the bushes at her back.

Altogether she was in a sorry plight, for she was held fast by head and feet, and, unless some good Samaritan appeared upon the scene to release her, in a fair way to remain a prisoner for some time to come. But she certainly had no intention of submitting meekly to the predicament in which she found herself, if lusty shouts and yells could compass her release.

“My good gracious!” exclaimed Denise, “how in this world did you ever get in there, and stuck tight fast in the mud?”

“I wanted the littule fat fises! I wanted the littule fat fises! I want to get out! I want to get out!” screamed the child, tugging with might and main to free her feet, and thereby only adding to the trouble above.

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” cried Denise. “I must get your hair free before you can move.” But the youngster was beyond all reasoning with, and, turning to Denise, shrieked at the top of her lungs: “Take that old tree away! Take it away, I say!”

“Why don’t you ask me to take the whole woods away, you little goose!” exclaimed Denise with some asperity. “I _can’t_ take the tree away, and if you don’t keep still long enough to let me loosen your hair from the branches, I shall never in the world get you free. Be still!” and she gave the screaming youngster a little shake. It was not much of a shake, but it had the desired effect, and was doubtless the sort of persuasion to which she was accustomed. As a rule Denise was wonderfully gentle with little folk, but here was a situation which needed prompt action, and this small imp seemed determined to frustrate every move she made to help her.

Denise began to unwind the tangled hair, and was just upon the point of releasing the whole mop, when, “Oh! Oh! Ohuu! They’re all tummin’ after me! Oh-h! Ou-u! Ou-u!” and up bounced the youngster, as four or five tadpoles, emboldened by the silence which had prevailed while Denise was absorbed in her task, came swimming toward her, only to vanish at the howl which greeted them. In a twinkling Denise’s labors were undone. Up bobbed the head into the branches, only to be jerked back again by the imprisoned feet, and the hair, caught more firmly than ever, drew down with it a slender branch which gave a stinging lash across the child’s face.

If she had howled before, she outdid herself now when the pain added to her miseries, and Denise was literally at her wit’s end. To ever untangle that hair now was out of the question, and what in the world was to be done? Every moment was adding to the mischief, and the child was becoming nearly frantic. Stepping to one side, Denise drew from her pocket the little knife she always carried, and, opening the largest blade, stepped carefully back to the struggling child. Watching her chance, she grasped her firmly with one arm, and, despite her struggles, held her fast while she cut the hair from the bush. Once that end was freed, she flung the knife out into the road, and set about pulling the other end from the mud. The first jerk produced no effect, but the second resulted in a prolonged “s-k-e-r-S-w-A-P,” and up flew one foot without a shoe, the other foot with so much mud upon it that it looked like nothing in this world but a lump of wet peat, while heels-over-head went Denise and her charge into the bushes behind them. Denise was too frightened to care whether she was hurt or not, but, scrambling to her feet, turned to see what had befallen Miss Pink-Gingham. The howl had been scared out of her, and she was making for the road as fast as her legs would carry her. Once upon _terra firma_ she stood still to wait for her rescuer, sobbing meanwhile in a subdued sort of fashion.

By this time it may easily be imagined what sort of condition Denise was in, but, feeling that it could not possibly be any worse, she clawed down into the mud till she found the missing shoe and drew it out in triumph. As upon one other memorable occasion, the linen duster now served as a towel, and a moment later Denise had scoured off her hands and was turning her attention to the little blackamoor in the road. At sight of the forlorn little figure Denise’s heart melted, but to offer condolence, excepting in the form of words, until some of mother earth had been removed, was obviously impossible. So she rubbed and scraped as she poured forth words of consolation, and ere long had the child as much restored to her normal color as was possible and seated beside her in the phaeton. Then came the question of where to take her, for, although pretty well acquainted with every one in that town, this face was a strange one, and where its owner belonged she did not know.

“Now tell me your name and where you live,” said Denise, soothingly, but, as though the mention of home recalled her recent harrowing experiences, the child began to sob again, and Denise was in despair.

“Oh, please stop crying, and tell me where to take you. See. I will drive you in the carriage wherever you tell me, and Ned Toodles will go ever so fast if you will only let him know where _to_ go.”

“Mabie Lilly--oh!--Taint! Taint--it!” sobbed the child.

“Maybe Lilly--what? Isn’t Lilly your name? Then what is it?” pleaded Denise.

“Oh, Taint-it! Taint-it!” was all she could hear.

“_What_ isn’t it? Lilly? Isn’t Lilly your name?” demanded Denise, inwardly thinking that no name could have been a greater misnomer under existing conditions.

“Yes; yes, Mabie Lilly--boo, hoo. Taint-it! Taint-it!”

“Oh, _dear_ me, what _shall_ I do with her,” wailed Denise, then, thinking to find out the child’s address if she could not learn her name, she asked, “Where do you live?” Tell me that, and I’ll take you straight there.

“In Noo York! In Noo York!” was the climax of a reply.

“Oh, I’ll take you there by the very next train, of course,” cried Denise; “or, perhaps, I’d better turn around and drive there to save time. Where in the world _does_ she belong, I wonder. I’ve never seen her before, but I suppose I might sit here till to-morrow and never find out from her. Go on, Ned, and we’ll see what we can find out from the first person we meet,” for pity, combined with despair of learning who the child was, was a sore tax upon nerves and patience, and, gathering up her reins, she started for the town, the youngster beside her keeping up an incessant sob of “Taint-it; Taint it! Oh, Ma-bie Lilly; Ma-bie Lilly--Taint-it! Taint-it!”

Ned spun along over the road, till at last they came to the section of the town dotted all along the roadside with pretty homes. They were about a quarter of a mile from Denise’s when she spied a man hurrying toward them, gesticulating, and evidently holding an animated conversation with _himself_. Denise could not help laughing at the figure he cut, for wrath, strong and potent, was written in every gesture. Just at that moment the child saw him also, and, jumping up in the carriage, cried at the top of her lungs: “Oh, Michael! Michael! Here I is! Here I is!” By this time they were nearly up to him, and, stopping short in the road, the man froze to his last gesture and stared at them open-mouthed. Then, shaking his fist at the youngster, he came a step nearer, saying:

“An’ is it yersilf I see a-sittin’ up there in yer illigince, an’ me runnin’ me legs arf me ter search the town fer ye, ye schmall bit av a divil, that has run away twinty times within the past tin days! Faith I’ve a mind ter shake the head arf ye fer the thrubble ye’ve put upon me! An’ yer mither a-screechin’ an’ a-screamin’ that ye’re drownded entirely in the river beyant, an’ fer gettin’ out half the town ter search it fer ye! Arrah, now! Come out av that, an’ let me--Ah! what shall I do wid ye at all, I dunno!” and, reaching over the wheel, the irate Irishman lifted the child out with not the gentlest hand, she protesting and screaming that she wanted to “wide home with the nice young lady dat fised her out of the brook.”

“An’ will ye look at the young lady, ye young limb o’ Satan! See the sthate ye’ve been after puttin’ hersilf an’ her kerrege in! Ah! Miss Denise, an’ it’s a shame, so it is, the dhirt that’s from hid ter ind av yer little wagon.”

“Never mind the mud, Michael. I don’t care about that, for John will soon brush it all out. But who on earth is that child? I thought I knew everybody in Springdale, but I have never seen her before. I thought I should never get her home, because I could not get her to say a single thing when I asked her name, but that maybe it was Lilly, and then she always added, oh, taint it, taint it, till I knew less than before she began to tell it.”

Over Michael’s broad face a smile began to spread itself, till it well-nigh reached from ear to ear, and then, becoming aware of his rudeness, he put his hand over his mouth to suppress the guffaw that _would_ come.

“Oh! Oho! Oho!” cried Michael, spasmodically, his face puckered up as though he were going to sneeze. “Is that what she towld ye? Will I iver hear the bate o’ that! Faith, tis no wonder ye couldn’t make head or tail av it. Shure, she is master’s sister’s choild what is a-visitin’ him fer the last tin days, an’ runnin’ arf iviry blessed one av those tin, wid me chasin’ after her till me legs is worn out. ’Tis Taintit her name is, Mabel Lilly Taintit. Her mother is Mr. Wilson’s sister.”

“Well, it is no wonder I didn’t understand,” cried Denise, as she joined in the laugh, and then turned Ned’s head toward home, as Michael lifted up his charge and turned toward theirs, asserting as he departed that “afther this it’s tied up ye’ll be fer sertain.”

Chapter III

An Old Friend And A New One

It was the twentieth of April! Tan’s birthday! At least, Denise considered it his birthday, for upon that date, when she was a wee lassie of four, Tan had been given to her, although he certainly had not come into the world upon the same day, for Tan was “no kid” when she got him. That he was more than seven and one-half years she knew, and a friend of her father’s who was well up in animal lore, said that Tan was not far from fourteen years of age, to judge from the rings upon his horns, which were almost as distinct as those seen upon the Rocky Mountain sheep which Tan resembled both in size and color. So Tan was growing old for a goat, and during the past winter had suffered somewhat from rheumatism. The Veterinary who came to see him did all that he could to afford him relief, but said that Tan would probably not live through another winter. Denise had been greatly troubled at this, but, like all “mothers,” only loved old Tan more dearly in his affliction, and cared for him more tenderly. But as spring drew near Tan improved steadily, and when the warm days came and he could go out in his field to crop the fresh, sweet grass, it seemed just the tonic he required, and he grew quite gay and frisky. He still followed Denise whenever he could do so, but in some of their long rambles, or after a particularly hard climb, often grew tired and stopped stock-still in the road to pant.

Ned, Sailor, and Beauty Buttons were not able to understand, although Sailor, himself, was not very young.

Directly lessons were ended and luncheon eaten, Denise flew out to the “Bird’s Nest,” for the pretty little playhouse and stable for her pets combined was still as dear to her as upon the day she had received the key to it from papa’s hand, and most of her time was spent in it. Running into the part which held the carriages for Ned and Tan, she took down Tan’s harness, which had not been put on him for many a long day, wheeled out the little carriage, and then went to the door to whistle for Tan. Ned Toodles stood in his day-stall, which permitted him to see through the bars all that was taking place, and looked upon the unusual preparations with a sort of “Well, I wonder what you are up to now?” look. He stood perfectly still except for an occasional whisk of his tail, very much as a person might, without really being aware of it, hastily brush away a stray lock of hair which tickled him.

Out upon the grass in front of the “Bird’s Nest,” Denise rolled the little old-fashioned carriage, and then turned to greet Tan, who, at the first sight of these familiar objects, felt his poor old bones filled with new life, and his loving old heart beat for joy, for these meant that he was again to draw the little carriage and, as he supposed, his beloved little mistress. With a prolonged baa-aa-a-a--a, he came trotting toward her as fast as the stiff legs permitted, and rubbed his head against her sleeve by way of telling her how pleased he was.

“Now, Tanny-boy,” said Denise, “this is your birthday. At least, _I_ call it your birthday, because you came to live with me on the twentieth of April just seven years ago. Haven’t we had good times all these years? You haven’t been harnessed for ever so long, and I don’t know whether you ought to be now, to tell the truth, for you don’t seem very strong, but I am not going to take you out of the grounds, and this is to make you feel that you _aren’t_ so very old after all,” and Denise stroked the faithful old pet, who responded in every way he knew how; licking her hands, rubbing against her, and making a soft little snuffling sound.

It was only a moment’s work to her practiced hands to adjust the harness, and Tan was a proud goat as he waited for her to get into the carriage. But she had no intention of doing so. Such a load as her plump little self was not to be thought of, so, bidding him stand perfectly still, she ran back into the playhouse and a moment later reappeared with a little pink flannelette blanket, bound all around the edges with black braid, and a piece of broad pink ribbon.

“Here, Beauty Buttons,” she called to the tiny black-and-tan terrier which was enjoying a sun-bath in the playhouse dining-room, “come and ride in Tan’s wagon, for I’m too heavy,” and down trotted the small dog, to be dressed in the blanket she had made for this festive occasion and adorned with the bow to match. He knew well enough what was expected, and hopped into the carriage. Denise put the reins over his neck and there he sat, a brave little groom, while Denise went up to Tan’s head and took hold of the bridle. Poor old Tan! All aches and pains were forgotten, and he stepped off in his bravest style.

“Now we will go over there under the apple-trees, and I’ll dress you all up,” said Denise, and off they went, and presently were standing beneath the blossom-laden trees, so filled with their beautiful bloom that they looked exactly like huge bouquets. The boughs hung low, and before long Tan had nearly disappeared under his decorations, for sprigs of apple-blossoms were stuck in every part of the harness that they could be stuck in, the carriage and Beauty also coming in for their share. When all was finished Denise led Tan to the rear porch and gave a “bob-white” call. It was almost instantly answered by a bob-white from within, and her mother’s face appeared at an upper window.

“What is this, Sweetheart? A flower fête?” asked Mrs. Lombard, smiling at the posy bank under her window.

“Isn’t it pretty,” cried Denise, “and did you ever see such lovely blossoms. Tan seems so much better, and I guess he will be all right now that warm weather has come again, don’t you?”

“I would not wonder a bit,” was the comforting reply, for somehow this mother rarely made any other sort, and had a knack of putting the simplest things in a new and happy light.

“Have you got a letter?” asked Denise, noticing that her mother held an envelope in her hand.

“Yes, dear; it is a letter from Mrs. Murray, saying that they will be back in their old home this week, and that we may expect to see the house open any day. I am so pleased to hear such good news, for it has seemed very lonely to have our nearest neighbor’s house shut up all these years. I wonder if you can remember the children at all? The eldest was only six months your senior, and a dear little lad.”

“I am afraid I can’t,” said Denise, wagging her head solemnly, as though she were found wanting in something.

“Well, keep your weather eye open,” said Mrs. Lombard, laughing, “and when you see some one whom you don’t know, just say to yourself, ‘that is an old friend.’”

“I will,” answered Denise, joining in the laugh, and turning to lead Tan and her passenger back under the trees. The apple-trees grew near to the fence which divided Mr. Lombard’s property from his neighbor’s, and that particular corner of the grounds was always a favorite one of Denise’s. Up in one tree was her “cubby,” beneath two others swung her hammock, and upon the velvety grass beneath them she spent many a happy hour reading, while Ned Toodles, Tan, Sailor, Beauty Buttons, and the kittens stood, sat, or stretched themselves about her. A hedge of currant-bushes grew along the fence, concealing all that took place within or beyond.

Denise had led Tan to a particularly inviting spot and took him from the shafts, although she did not remove the harness and its decorations. Beauty had hopped out of the carriage, and was now sprawled out like a big frog. Seating herself in one of the rustic benches beneath the trees, she drew Tan toward her and began to scratch the little spot between his horns; a spot which seemed to be in a perpetual state of itching, as his head would fall lower and lower the longer she scratched there. As she rubbed she talked to Tan, rambling on in the odd way she had of sharing all her thoughts with her pets, safe confidants, who never betrayed her secrets, and who loved the voice for the voice’s sake. Presently a loud, impatient whinney caused her to look over toward the playhouse.

“Do you hear that?” she demanded. “I do believe that Ned is jealous for the first time in his life,” and she answered the whinney by giving a peculiar piping whistle.

A stamping and a clatter was the result, and presently John’s voice was heard shouting: “Hi! you young scamp! Don’t you dare thry that thrick on me agin. It’s takin’ out yer own bar fastenings ye’ll be, is it? Don’t ye dare! There,” as the sound of dropping bars told that Ned was free, “gt-t-t out beyant to Miss Denise, and cut no more capers,” and with a rattle and clatter out rushed Ned to come tearing over the grass toward Denise. His abrupt exit so startled the kittens, who were basking in the sunshine just outside the door, that they bounced up like two rubber balls and tore along ahead of him with both tails stuck straight up in the air like bottle-brushes, and did not stop their flight until they were safe in the branches above Denise’s head.

As though to rebuke such unseemly haste, Sailor rose majestically from his favorite corner of the piazza, and, descending the steps, came slowly across the lawn, waving his plumy tail like a flag of truce and looking with dignified contempt upon such mad antics as Ned was just then giving way to, for having been confined in his stall all the morning while Denise was occupied with her lessons, and then having had insult added to injury by receiving from her only a few words when she ran out to get Tan, his outraged spirit had to find some sort of vent, and this up-end, down-end, tip-end, top-end sort of performance with which he was now favoring his audience was evidently the proper sort of demonstration under the circumstances, and for a little time it would have been hard to tell which end of him rested upon _terra firma_. As a fitting ending to his performance, he rushed around and around two or three times, evidently regarding Denise’s laughter which pealed out as wild applause, and then, coming toward her with a rush, bumped against old Tan and nearly upset him, as he pushed him aside to put _his_ saucy nose where Tan’s had been.

It was all done so quickly that Denise hardly realized what had happened till she was startled by a hearty, boyish laugh from the other side of the hedge, and, turning quickly, saw a lad of about twelve looking over it and laughing as hard as he could. Giving Ned a shake by his little silky ears, Denise pushed him from her and hopped up from the bench, saying: “Isn’t he the craziest thing you ever saw? I guess you are the person I am to see and not know a bit, but to call an old friend,” and with this bewildering announcement she went over to the fence to speak to the still amused boy.

Hastily reaching in the pocket of his immaculate little overcoat, the boy drew from it a small card-case, and, taking from it a card, handed it to Denise with a truly Chesterfieldian air as he raised his cap and waited for her to read the name.

Although a carefully-bred child, Denise had not had much experience in conventionalities, and did not go about with a card-case in her pocket. So it never occurred to her to throw any formality into her reply, and her next words banished forever any misgivings the boy was entertaining of the outcome of this act. “Will she be stiff and prim?” had been his inward doubt while coming back to the home so long untenanted by his parents, and learning that their next-door neighbor had an only daughter blessed with more good things than usually falls to the lot of one child. He had been at school abroad, and “manners polite” had been as breakfast, dinner, and supper to him for three long years, till very little of the genuine boy appeared upon the surface, however much it seethed and bubbled beneath. True to his training, the card had been produced when occasion called for it, but the sigh of relief which came at Denise’s next words told that a mighty burden had been lifted from his boyish soul:

“Oh, how perfectly splendid! You are Hart Murray, mamma’s old friend’s son. Come straight over the fence and let me show you all my pets, and we’ll talk, talk, talk, till we can’t think of another word to say!”

Chapter IV

Hart

No second invitation was needed, and with one of the marvelous “neck-or-nothing” bounds which only boys can make, Hart rested one hand upon the fence and the next instant stood beside the surprised girl.

“How under the sun did you do it!” she exclaimed, for never having had any boy companions excepting her cousins from the city, Denise hardly knew what to expect from boys.

“That didn’t amount to much,” answered the boy, modestly, as he followed Denise over the lawn, and a moment later was surrounded by her inquisitive family. Ned promptly struck an attitude, and sniffed from afar in long, audible breaths. Tan presented arms, so to speak, by trying to rear upon his hind legs as of old, and make believe butt the newcomer. Sailor walked right up to him and put his paw into his hand, and Beauty, not to be outdone in politeness, instantly began to do his tricks for their guest’s benefit. He lay down at his feet, rolled over first one way and then the other so quickly that one wondered if he had some sort of a patent spring inside him; then sat upon his hind legs to “beg” and “sneeze” three times in rapid succession. Overhead the kittens kept up a sort of accompaniment to the other’s performances by running rapidly up and down the limbs and meowing incessantly.

“I say! What a lot of them!” exclaimed the boy, “and aren’t they dandies?”

“Yes, I think that they _are_ a pretty nice family. Tan is all dressed up because it is his birthday.”

“Not really? That’s a joke, for it’s mine, too. I’m twelve years old to-day, and that is the reason I came out here. A sort of birthday treat, don’t you see.”

“How funny,” cried Denise, “but isn’t it splendid, too! Let’s leave the children down here to enjoy themselves while you and I get up into the tree and have a fine talk. See the seats up there? It’s a fine place for a powwow.”

“What do you mean by the children?” asked Hart, glancing about for several infants, but failing to see them.

Denise laughed. “Oh, that is only my way of speaking of the pets. There are such a lot of them that they need as much care as children, so I call them so.”

Hart glanced up into the blossom-laden tree, and without another word began to scramble into its fragrant depths, Denise following as nimbly as a squirrel. Seating themselves upon bits of board which had been nailed in the branches, they at once availed themselves of that blessed privilege of childhood, and asked questions by the dozen.

“When did you come out?” was Denise’s first question.

“Just before luncheon with Mrs. Dean, the housekeeper. Father and mother won’t be out until to-morrow. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to see the place so much, and--” Hart paused abruptly, for he had been about to add “you,” when he bethought himself of his manners.

“And what?” asked Denise.

“Why, you see, I hadn’t seen the place since I was just a little kid only five years old, and mother said that she had always lived here when she was a girl, and that your mother was her school-friend. And then she told me about your pets, and--and--well, she said that she hoped you and I would grow to be good friends, too, don’t you see,” and the handsome blue eyes smiled in the friendliest way. Hart was a handsome boy, tall and well formed for a boy of twelve, with a firm mouth, fine teeth, and the most winning smile imaginable. Little brownie Denise was an exact opposite, for his hair was a mass of golden waves and hers as dark as a seal’s.

“Why, of course we’ll be friends. We are already, and it is just too splendid for anything to think that you live so near, and we can be together all the time,” for it never occurred to Denise that there might be people in this world ready to criticise a boy and girl friendship, and the silly nonsense of “little beaus” and “little sweethearts” had, happily, never even entered her head. It was just good comradeship with all her boy friends. True, she had never had any close ones, although she knew nearly all the children in Springdale, and was always glad to welcome them to her home. But the greater part of her life was passed with her pets, and they filled it very full, indeed. But here was a friend close at hand with whom she might talk, drive, or cut any prank, and the experience was novel.

As they sat chattering, a musical bob-white whistle sounded almost beneath their feet, and Mrs. Lombard’s face peered through the boughs.

“Who ever heard of a quail and a golden pheasant up a tree!” she said merrily. “That boy up there is Hart Murray, I know, for he has stolen his mother’s eyes and golden hair, and come out here to masquerade. Come straight down here and let me shake hands with you.”

It would have been hard to resist the cordial welcome of Mrs. Lombard’s voice, and a second later Hart’s slender hand lay in hers, and she was smiling into his face as only Mrs. Lombard could smile. “I thought I heard a wonderous piping in the old apple-tree,” she said, “and came out to learn what manner of bird had taken possession. I have found a _rara avis_, sure enough, and shall try to induce it to spend a good part of its time in my grounds.”

“I don’t believe it will need much coaxing,” was the laughing reply.

“Oh, we have laid all sorts of splendid plans already,” cried Denise, “and were just going over to see the rabbits when you piped up. Come with us, Moddie,” and slipping her arm about her mother’s waist, Denise led the way to the rabbits’ quarters in one end of Tan’s field. Resting her hand upon the shoulder of the tall boy walking beside her, Mrs. Lombard asked: “And what are the plans for good times?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Father says that he will give me a pony and a boat. Denise and I can have jolly rides, and I’ll take her rowing if you’ll let her go; will you?” he asked eagerly.

“Dear me, who will guarantee her safe return?” asked Mrs. Lombard.

“Oh, I’ll take first-rate care of her, if you’ll only let her come; please say yes,” and he placed his hand upon her shoulder.

He was probably unconscious of the act, but that was exactly the influence Mrs. Lombard always exercised over young people; they were at once drawn toward her, and soon lost all sense of the presence of a “grown-up.”

They had now reached the rabbit-house, and were surrounded by black, white, gray, and brown wiggling noses--dozens and dozens of of them. Hart was delighted, and when Mrs. Lombard asked, “Wouldn’t you like to have a pair for your own?” accepted her offer with a frank, boyish, “You’d better believe I would.” So a fine pair, one black and one white one, was selected, and within the hour had taken up their abode in the hothouse in their neighbor’s grounds, there to live until their new owner could build a house for them.

That was the beginning of a boy and girl friendship which lasted many years, and was not broken till years after when Hart, grown to splendid, talented manhood, slipped into “the great beyond,” and left many a sad heart behind.

Ned Toodles had always displayed a very marked aversion for any one wearing trousers, and it was funny enough to watch his attitude toward Hart. At first he submitted to his caresses with the air of, “Well, good breeding compels me to show no aversion, but remember, you are only accepted on probation.” But Hart was too manly a little chap to torment an animal, and before long Ned grew very fond of him, although Hart had never yet attempted to ride him.

One afternoon, when Denise and Hart were playing “livery stable,” and, as usual, having a royal good time, with Ned upon constant call, Sailor harnessed to a small express wagon, and Beauty Buttons to the doll’s carriage, for “pony orders for children,” the proprietor of the stable received an order for a saddle-horse to be sent to a customer as quickly as possible.

Obviously, Ned was the only animal in that stable who was saddle-broken. Tan was standing in line, lest he feel neglected, but “let’s make believe that he is just a boarding horse, which some lady keeps in the stable, and that we can’t use him for anything.”

“Yes, and sometimes we must take him out and walk him around for exercise,” answered Hart.

Z-z-z--z-ing! rang an imaginary telephone-bell, or, at least, a call-bell, for this all happened long before the days of telephones.

“Thomas, there goes the order-bell,” called the proprietor, Mr. Andrews.

“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Thomas, running to the little window to receive an imaginary order from without. “It’s from Mr. Casey, and he wants a saddle-horse sent up right off.”

“Does he ask for a _side_ or man’s saddle,” asked the proprietor, filled with inward misgivings should the order prove to be a demand for the latter.

Thomas turned to the window to ask the invisible messenger which was wanted, and stated that Mr. Casey wished to ride himself. Here was a coil, but that proprietor was not to be baffled by the fact that the stable boasted no man’s saddle, or that the only saddle horse would be very liable to make things pretty lively for the first masculine creature attempting to mount him. With an air of added importance she said:

“Very good! Very good! I shall have to get the new saddle from the harness-room,” and went to the pretty little closet containing all Ned’s belongings. Taking from it her own beautiful little saddle with its castor seat and immaculate saddle-cloth, she hastily rigged up a stirrup upon the right side, unscrewed the pummels, and, heigh, presto! there was your man’s saddle fine as a fiddle.

Ned was then taken from his stall, and the saddle adjusted. So far so good. That move was not an unusual one, and his little mistress had superintended the operation. No doubt she was going to ride him, even though she had rigged up that queer dangling thing upon the right side of the saddle.

“Thomas, it is only a short way to Mr. Casey’s, and I think that you’d better lead King Royal. He is pretty fresh, and it will be safer.”

“Very good, sir,” answered the obedient Thomas, secretly resolving to get upon that noble animal’s back once he was out of sight of the stable. Just then another order was delivered: this time for a pony-phaeton. “As this order must be filled without delay, I shall take Tiny Tim over to Mrs. Murray’s myself, for perhaps she will not want the young lady to drive herself,” said Mr. Andrews. “When you get back you’d better take Gold Auster out for a little exercise; Miss Ward does not like him to get stiffened up.”

King Royal was led out of the stable by the submissive Thomas, and Mr. Andrews, making believe seat himself in the doll’s carriage, said “Get up” to Tiny Tim. King Royal looked back as Thomas led him away, as though trying to reason out in his horse mind why the one he loved best did not come, too. But that person was filled with other concerns, and Thomas was saying “Come on, now, Mr. Casey will be wantin’ you” in very excellent imitation of John’s voice. A moment later, Tiny Tim had passed into Mr. Murray’s grounds, and King Royal was marching off down the road which led to Mr. Casey’s beautiful home on the river bank.

Arrived at the entrance gate, Thomas held a conversation with Mr. Casey, and a wonderful transformation instantly took place, for Thomas vanished, and “Mr. Casey” prepared to mount the noble animal sent to him by Mr. Andrews. What happened next will need a chapter all to itself.

Chapter V

King Royal Distinguishes Himself

Although Hart had been with Denise and her pets daily for the past three weeks, up to this time he had never undertaken to mount Ned. He had ridden in the carriage by the hour, and often driven him, but for some reason had never thought of getting upon his back. Denise had never revealed Ned’s peculiarities regarding boys, excepting to say that he did not like _some_ boys, feeling, perhaps, that she might arouse distrust of her pet in her friend. But here was a crisis, and well enough she knew that there would be, as she mentally termed it, “a high old time” when Hart tried to get on Ned’s back, as she felt sure he meant to do when “Mr. Casey” sent in the order for a saddle-horse. However, Ned was not vicious, and the worst outcome of the venture would be a spill, which neither Hart nor she minded in the least. Now Ned’s usual procedure, when submitted to the indignity of a boyish burden, was to stand perfectly still until he had his victim safe upon his back, looking, meanwhile, the very picture of innocence and meekness, a sort of “what a good boy am I” expression. So when Hart gathered up the reins in the most scientific manner, for he had ridden all his life, and was a skillful little horseman, Ned wagged one ear wisely and “prepared for action.”

Hart placed his foot in the stirrups, adjusting the makeshift one to his satisfaction. “Now, old fellow, let’s show our paces!” he said, and Ned took him at his word. First a sedate walk, smooth and easy as a rocking-chair, but gradually growing more rapid. Charming! The walk is changed into a trot. Quite the Park gait. Now a gentle lope. _Could_ anything be more perfect than that gait? His rider becomes more than ever assured that the animal he is bestriding is the most perfectly broken one he has ever ridden. All this time one wise eye is cocked knowingly backward to watch the boy upon his back, and note with great satisfaction that his confidence in his mount is momentarily increasing. Then! Off like a mad thing, tail up in the air, head down, and Tam o’Shanter’s imps in hot pursuit till about three blocks are told off. HALT! Down goes the head, up go the hind legs, and it is a skilled rider, indeed, who sticks on at the point of the game.

But this time Master Ned had reckoned without his host, for his host “didn’t spill worth a cent,” as that host himself asserted. Then came a tussle, and up and down the road tore that crazy little beast, bent upon dislodging Hart or dying in the attempt. Meanwhile “Mr. Andrews” had returned from giving the “Misses Murray” their outing, and was standing at the gate screaming with laughter. Hart’s hat had long since sailed into a neighboring field, and most of his attire looked as though he had dressed himself in the dark. But he was still on Ned’s back, and, so far as that bad little scamp’s efforts were concerned, liable to stay there for some time.

“Ned Toodles, how _can_ you be so bad!” cried Denise, forgetful for the time being, that it was the royal antics of a royal king she was witnessing. Ned stopped short at that sound, and took time to consider the situation. Fatal moment! Fatal, at least, for Hart, for into that wise little horse noddle flashed an idea, and without a second’s hesitation was acted upon. With a wild, triumphant neigh, he wheeled short around, made a rush for an open gate at the end of the grounds, pelted through it like a monstrous cannon-ball, and a second later was in Buttercup’s cow-yard. Now Buttercup was the dearest cow in the world, and her eyes were beautiful to behold, and her coat like satin. But her barnyard--well, they are very nice places for--_cows_. Into this yard came Ned like a tornado, scaring poor Buttercup out of her wits, for, although upon the friendliest of terms, she had never before received a visit from him.

“So you _won’t_ get off my back!” said Ned’s face and attitude, as plainly as words could have said it. “We’ll see!” and down he went flat upon his side. What happened next would better be left untold. Alas, for the pretty castor saddle! When Denise arrived upon the scene Ned was still resting from his labors, Hart stood staring at the peacefully reposing animal with a decidedly crestfallen air, and John had arrived upon the scene to “drop a casual word” regarding affairs in general.

Ned had never been whipped, but he came pretty near being that time, and did not forget his sound scolding, for after that an armistice was declared, and Hart was permitted to ride all he wished, Ned evidently feeling that he had earned a right to do so.

Not long after this Hart’s pony was given to him, and, although somewhat larger than Ned Toodles, as warm a friendship was formed by the two little horses as existed between their master and mistress. “Pinto,” as Hart’s pony was named on account of his peculiar marking, was a dear little beastie, although he never attained to the degree of intelligence that Ned displayed as the years went on. But that, no doubt, was due to the fact that he had not been so closely associated with a human being as Ned had been ever since he became Denise’s and as Mr. Lombard suspected he had been during much of his former life, although nothing for a long time was known of it, and it was not until this eventful summer that they learned his history.

Hart and Denise, mounted upon Ned and Pinto, ranged the country far and wide, and it was a far corner indeed that they did not find their way into sooner or later. Those spring months, with all their bud and bloom, were halcyon days for the children, for Hart literally lived at Mrs. Lombard’s house till Mrs. Murray said to her: “Emilie Lombard, when do you intend to send in my son’s board-bill? This is simply dreadful. He is hardly out of bed in the morning before he is making some excuse to come over here.”

“Let him come all he wants to. It is good for Denise to have such a sturdy playmate, for she has never had any real crony but Pokey, and she is such a gentle little soul that I’m afraid Denise will think more of her own way than some one else’s.”

“Well, you have no idea what it means to me to have that boy so happily associated,” exclaimed Mrs. Murray. “He has been abroad at school so long that I hardly know him myself, and isn’t in the least like our true, every-day American boys. And Denise is just the jolly little chum for him to have.”

“It all seems too delightful to be true,” said Mrs. Lombard, “and to have you for my neighbor after all these years of separation makes me feel like a young girl again.”

“You have never been anything else,” replied Mrs. Murray, “for you have stayed young with Denise, and that is the secret of your beautiful attitude toward each other.”

“Perhaps so,” replied Mrs. Lombard, a happy smile creeping about her lips as thoughts of the sunny little daughter and their mutual love put into her eyes the lovely “mother” light that never comes till that precious name becomes ours.

“Well, you must not let him remain to dinner every night, at all events,” added Mrs. Murray. “Send him home in time to dine with his father, or I do not know what will happen.”

“Very well, home he goes at the stroke of five, to remove all traces of the afternoon’s siege before Mr. Murray’s arrival at six.”

“Yes, do; it will be a real kindness, for my time is so occupied with the other children that I fear I have let Hart paddle his own canoe more than I should have done. But they are all so small that they need me more. Good-bye, and run in when you can. I am always disengaged between five and six.”

“And I am always engaged at that hour,” answered Mrs. Lombard with an odd smile, which made Mrs. Murray ask: “Afternoon tea, and a quiet little gossip with your best friends?”

“The gossip with my best friend, but not the tea,” answered Mrs. Lombard. “That is Denise’s hour with me, and I try never to let anything interfere with it.”

“What? Do you give up all that time to the child never mind what is going on? I should think it would be impossible at times!”

“There, of course, arise circumstances which make it impossible once in a while, but they are rare, and she is always ready to accept my explanations and apology,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with the gentlest expression.

“Explanations and apologies to one’s child!” cried Mrs. Murray in dismay. “You don’t mean to say that you carry things to that extent with her! I should think that she would be so conceited that you would never in the world be able to do a thing with her.”

A slight flush overspread Mrs. Lombard’s sweet face as she answered, “Could I hope to have her wholly courteous to me or to others if she found me wanting in courtesy to her?”

Chapter VI

The Sunset Hour

The library windows stood open, and the soft little June winds played “peep” with the lace curtains, swaying them in and out, and letting the rose-laden air slip into the room. Outside the setting sun cast long slanting rays upon the lawn and foliage, lighting the world as it can only light it just before it slips away behind the hills to carry the promise of a new day to other lands. Within the library all was wonderfully peaceful and quiet. It was a very attractive room, pervaded with the home atmosphere that only a much-used, well-loved room can possess. A sort of individuality of each member of the family, as though even in their absence they left there something which could not fail to recall their presence. In the bay-window stood a monstrous leather-covered armchair. A motherly-fatherly sort of chair that said: “Come, snuggle within my inviting depths and tell me all your secrets, and whether they be joyful or sad, I’ll prove a comfort to you.”

It was five o’clock. As the cuckoo clock announced the fact to all who cared to know it, a stately pad, pad, pad, came stalking across the piazza, and a second later Sailor’s great head pushed aside the curtains and he looked into the room. That no one was visible did not seem to deter him in the least, for walking over to the fur rug which lay upon the floor beside the couch, he stretched himself at length upon it, and lay there with his head raised in a listening attitude. Pat, pat, pat, came the sound of small hurrying feet through the hall, and in ran Beauty Buttons with a “woof, woof,” by way of salutation. He, too, evidently expected others to follow, for, after settling himself comfortably between Sailor’s great front paws, he listened with ears erect.

But he must, indeed, have possessed acute hearing to have detected the footfalls of the next arrivals, for not until they had crossed the piazza, and slipped beneath the curtains, did they make the least sound. Then a warbly little “r-r-r-r-rwow” told that Hero wished to say “good-evening,” and Leander, who was never far away from his lady-love, echoed her greeting in deeper tones. Advancing toward the dogs with tails held straight up in the air, they rubbed against Sailor’s long hair and then sought the places they preferred in the library. Hero was soon perched upon the top of the big chair in the window, and Leander blinked at her from the luxurious billows of a bright red sofa-pillow which lay upon the couch near at hand. The two cats were so exactly alike that it would have been impossible to tell one from the other had not Denise tied a red ribbon upon Leander and a blue one upon Hero, which contrasted finely with their maltese coats.

Apparently the stage was now properly set for the “stars,” and a moment later Mrs. Lombard came into the room and took her seat in the big chair, stopping on her way to stroke the dogs and Leander.

As she sat down Hero welcomed her with a soft little warbly sound she reserved for those she loved, and, arching her back, rubbed her silky coat against Mrs. Lombard’s face.

“Dear old pussykins, are you glad that ‘cosy hour’ has come?” she asked the cat, as she stroked her. And Hero gave another little throaty meow, which no doubt meant that it was a very happy one for them all.

“Good-night! Come over early in the morning and we’ll get ready to launch it,” cried a happy voice at the foot of the piazza steps, and the next moment Denise’s merry face peered through the curtains.

“Oh, there you all are! Waiting for me, as usual. Oh, me, the days aren’t half long enough, are they, Moddie? Hart and I have so many plans for each one that we could never carry them all out if we lived to be a hundred. But, Moddie,” she added, as she slipped into the big chair, whose proportions were amply large for the accommodation of these two, and, placing her arm about her mother’s waist, snuggled her head upon the shoulder that had never failed her, “I am so glad you got it all so nicely settled about Hart going home at five o’clock. Of course, I couldn’t say a word, but I did so miss our cosy hour. Somehow, the day doesn’t seem finished without it, for every day is sure to have just _one_ little kink come into it somewhere, and I don’t know how to get it out. But when we have our talk at the end of it, the kink flies away, and--it’s just my precious Moddie who sends it!” and Denise flung her other arm about her mother to hug her as hard as she could. There was a wonderfully tender light in Mrs. Lombard’s eyes as she held her impulsive little daughter close to her side, and answered:

“This is a sort of weather bureau, where we prophesy fair weather instead of foul, and try to set about providing it.”

“Yes, that is it, I guess,” answered Denise, falling back to her original position, and holding one of her mother’s hands in her own warm ones. “You see, now that the vacation has come, and I have the whole day in which to think of just nobody but Denise Lombard, I am afraid that I think about her and her good times entirely too much, and if I didn’t come in here once in a while I should grow just too selfish to live. Hart is lovely, and we _do_ have splendid times, but he likes to do things his way, and I like to do them mine, and--well, if it wasn’t for a little Moddie who lives in a big armchair, I’m afraid that sometimes I’d be, yes--I’m very much afraid I’d be sort of mean. And then that ‘wise fairy’ which ever so long ago you told me lived way down in your heart, and helped you know what was best for me, pops out and flies to my shoulder, and whispers in my ear: ‘There is a little Moddie who lives in the armchair, and by and by you will have to talk with her, and tell her every little thing that has happened to-day, and if some of them are not pleasant to tell, then you will feel ashamed of yourself, and she--well she won’t _say_ a single word, but her _eyes_ will look sorry, and then you will feel just like a nasty little worm--all crawly and wriggly.’ Isn’t it funny, Moddie, that I sort of see _you_ when such things happen? It doesn’t make any difference how far away you are. What makes it so?”

“I presume it is the same influence as that which frequently causes us to think exactly the same thoughts at the same moment--our great love and sympathy for each other, dear. Our lives are so closely identified that joy or sorrow, pleasure or pain, seem to be mutually shared.”

Denise thought a moment before replying, for, although but eleven and a half years of age, she had a thoughtful little head upon her shoulders, and liked to reason out her mother’s words, and see them in her own peculiar light. Presently she said:

“That is funny when you come to think of it, isn’t it? But I know it is true, too, because it so often happens so, and only yesterday, when I was out on the lawn with Ned I was thinking about that pink gingham dress that I used to wear last summer, and wondering if it would be too small for me this year, and just at that moment you whistled ‘Bob White,’ and when I answered you called me to come up and try it on. Wasn’t that odd? I didn’t know that you were even thinking about getting the dress out.”

“That is but one of many similar instances, Sweetheart. But apropos of those much shrivelled-up gowns, or is it that their owner has expanded?” asked Mrs. Lombard as she looked into Denise’s upturned face and smiled. “Will you be good enough to drive me over to Mary Murphy’s to-morrow morning, for I think that the little Murphys will fit into those garments to perfection.”

“Why, I promised Hart--” began Denise, and then stopped short and colored slightly.

“What did you promise him, dear?” asked Mrs. Lombard gently.

“Why, you see,” said Denise, somewhat embarrassed, “his new rowboat will be sent out this evening, and he wants me to christen it when it is launched, and I told him I would. Of course, I did not know that you wanted me to drive you up to the village, or I would not have promised.”

“Certainly you could not have known it, and now we must see what can be done to smooth out these little kinks that have been saucy enough to obtrude themselves upon us and upset our plans.”

“I know _you_ can do it,” cried Denise. “There is only one Moddie like this one, and ‘I got her!’”

“There is only one such madcap of a daughter,” laughed Mrs. Lombard. “But now to continue. I particularly wish to have you go with me to-morrow, for there is a new little daughter at Mary’s house, and I think that there are many things which we may be able to do for her. She was a very faithful nurse to you during the first five years of your life, and it gives her great pleasure to have you visit her and do these little things yourself, for she is very proud of her nursling. So much for my reasons concerning Mary. Now for Hart. It is only a step over there, I know, but I think it would be more courteous if you were to sit down and write a little note to him explaining the situation. This may seem a trifle formal to you both when you are such jolly chums, but it is one of those little acts which, even though they seem uncalled for, serve to help you both. It shows Hart that you know what it is proper to do under the circumstances, and that even though you are both children, you do not wish to be found wanting in politeness to each other, and he will respect you all the more for doing this. John may take your note to him. On the other hand, it helps my girl to learn how to write a graceful note, and to excuse herself properly when she finds it impossible to keep an engagement. There! What do you think of all those ‘reasons why’?”

Denise did not reply for a moment or two, nor did Mrs. Lombard break the silence. The cuckoo opened his little door in the top of the clock and gave one toot, as though trying to break the silence. Way down in Denise’s heart lingered a strong desire to go with Hart in the morning, Mary Murphy and new babies, nevertheless, and notwithstanding. But eleven and a half years of the firmest, gentlest training led by this wise mother to do the right thing simply because it _was_ right, and not because she had been ordered to do so by those who possessed the right and power to so order, had not been in vain, and this little girl had grown to regard the right way as the only one, and the wrong one as a reflection upon herself. It was often hard to give up, for the days were wonderfully happy ones. Presently she asked:

“When may I tell him that I will christen it?”

“The following morning, dear, if agreeable to him,” replied Mrs. Lombard without further comment, for the heart beside her was as plainly revealed to her as though glass instead of flesh covered it, and she well knew that a struggle was going on, not only to do what she wished, but to do it cheerfully and without regret--the true beauty of the doing.

“I’ll write it this minute,” cried Denise, springing so suddenly from the chair that Hero lost her balance upon the top and tumbled upon the floor. “Oh, dear! Isn’t that exactly like me? I’ve upset Hero and scared her nearly out of her wits besides. Poor pussy,” she said, as she picked the cat up and comforted her. “Your missie is a madcap, do you know that?” and then a merry laugh came to dispel the haze that had gathered, and the sun shone forth again. The note was written, and a wise woman had tact enough to say that it was charmingly done, and that she was delighted to see how prettily her little daughter could write, and how well she was able to express herself. Only a few words of praise, but they were dropped when most needed, and served as a wonderful balm to a slightly ruffled spirit. None of us are _born_ saints, and we _all_ like to have our own way. Mrs. Lombard did not add just then that she was much troubled at the thought of Denise going upon the river with Hart, or that she feared she must forbid it. It was not the moment for doing so, and would have seriously marred the beautiful harmony of the hour. Nevertheless, she had decided that she could not let her go until she had learned more of Hart’s seamanship and tested it herself. But that would all adjust itself later.

Just as the letter was finished the whistle of the incoming train told that Mr. Lombard would be with them presently, and by the time both had reached the entrance to the grounds, with two dogs and two cats as body-guard, Sunshine and Flash came spinning along the road and neighed aloud as Denise called out, “Oh, papa L., papa L.! here we are!” for these horses did not dread their driver, and loved the voices they knew so well. Mr. Lombard stepped from the carriage at the gate, and, slipping an arm about his wife and sunny little daughter, walked with them toward the house, the dogs and cats crowding about him and claiming the notice which they never claimed in vain. The peace of all the world lay upon that home.

Chapter VII

“Oh, We’LL Sail The Ocean Blue!”

“We will stop at the market, dear, and lay in a supply of goodies for Mary,” said Mrs. Lombard, as she took her seat in the phaeton beside Denise, the following morning.

“‘Allee rightie,’ as John Chinaman said to me the other day when I stopped for papa’s laundry work. Good-by, Hinky-Dinky, we’ll come back before long, and I am going to bring you a surprise,” she called out to Hart, who had just crawled through the opening in the hedge. “Moddie says she has thought of a splendid plan, and you’ll be glad we waited till to-morrow to launch the boat. There, it’s lucky Miss Meredith didn’t hear _that_ sentence! She would ask me when I’d landed,” and Denise’s laugh rang out upon the balmy June air.

“The old thing didn’t come anyway, Snipenfrizzle,” called Hart, as the carriage rolled out of the grounds. “It won’t be out till to-night, papa says. There was something wanting for the rudder. Tralla!” and he waved his hat and disappeared within the “Bird’s Nest,” there to lose himself in one of the numerous books which the book-shelves held, for Denise’s library was an extensive one, and she was as fond of boys’ stories as she was of girls’.

After purchasing a generous supply of good things for Mary, they drove to the little cottage in which she lived and reared her numerous progeny. There were six all told, and Patsy, of dirty-face fame, was the eldest. But Patsy had improved somewhat of late. Possibly the possession of a wash-bowl and its accessories for his very own exclusive use had incited a desire to live up to such elegancies, for Mrs. Lombard had made it her duty to send him one directly Denise had related to her the conversation held with the incorrigible Patsy during the previous summer.

At all events Patsy was the proud owner of “a foin bowel an’ pitcher, all blue on wan soide, an’ white on ’tither,” and sallied forth each morning shining and radiant.

“Ah, Miss Denise, darlint, an’ have ye come to see me ba-b-y!” said Mary when Denise’s smiling face peeped through the doorway.

“Yes, here we are, Mary, and have brought along the expressman, too. See him? He wears dresses,” she cried, as she placed upon a chair the parcel she was carrying. Mrs. Lombard followed close behind with a basket of provisions, and a moment later Mary’s eyes were gladdened by the sight of a very substantial supply of eatables.

“Now, Blossom,” said Mrs. Lombard, “while I take a few stitches for Mary and this new baby, I want you to play ‘Polly’ and put the kettle on. We will get dinner started, Mary, and when Patrick arrives he can eat it and clean house.”

“Ah, the poor childe mustn’t be doing such work for the likes of me,” protested Mary. “Sure, she don’t know nothin’ of this worrk.”

“Don’t I, though!” cried Denise, giving an emphatic nod. “What do you think I have had all my ‘Bird’s Nest’ cooking lessons for, I’d like to know? What shall I do, Moddie? You sit still and talk to Mary while I play cook. What fun!”

“Make some tea, dearie, and put the beef over for the broth. Then put on that piece of corned beef for Patrick’s dinner. My sweetheart knows what to do,” said Mrs. Lombard, stopping to give Denise one of the little love-pats that meant so much, and then, taking her seat beside Mary, she began to sew upon some garments for the new baby.

“May I have this big apron, Mary?” asked Denise, taking up a huge gingham one which lay upon a chair and enveloping herself in it till she nearly vanished from sight. “Now for it,” she added, rolling back her sleeves, and seizing the poker. “Moddie says that it’s no use to try to cook with a poor fire, so you see how well I remember my lessons, Mary,” and the little poker rattled at a great rate. Then, catching up the kettle, she ran to the sink to fill it with fresh water.

“Where shall I find the saucepan, Mary?”

“Jist beyant in that little cupboard, darlint. Faith, did iver I see the loikes of the child. Sure, ma’am, ’tis a housekaper she is alriddy.”

“She cannot begin too soon, Mary. It is all play now, but there may come a time when she will be very glad to have learned it all in this pleasant manner.”

Meantime the preparations went on. The chopped beef was put back upon the stove to simmer in the cold water till all the rich juices were extracted. Patrick’s big piece of corned beef was put into a big pot and placed beside it, some potatoes were carefully washed and peeled and left in cold water until needed. And all this time Denise was humming away like a big bumblebee. And all this was the result of the little playhouse training which this mother, whom the neighbors sometimes termed “overindulgent,” had carried on in the guise of play, till this little girl, now in her twelfth year, had become a capable, helpful little body, able to do her share of the world’s work should occasion ever arise for it. And years later, when the dear mother was no more, and Denise, grown to womanhood, was forced to meet the vicissitudes of life, her thoughts often went back to those happy days and the precious mother, who taught so wisely and well that, as though the mother eyes were capable of looking into the future and there seeing all that lay in store for this cherished little daughter, she was fitted when the necessity arose for it to meet the duties which lay upon every hand.

“Tea is all ready,” announced Denise, as she brought to her mother and Mary fragrant, steaming cups. True, the cups were not of “egg-shell” china, but the tea was properly made, and everything was clean as wax, for, notwithstanding her six children and hard work, Mary was a neat woman, and everything in her house testified thereto. Twelve o’clock had struck upon the town clock before all was completed, and Denise had just set the potatoes on to boil when Patrick came home and the children came rushing in from school.

“Now we will leave you to your many nurses,” said Mrs. Lombard, as she arose from her chair.

“Don’t you let my potatoes burn, Patrick,” said Denise, wagging an admonishing finger at him.

“Indade no, that I will not,” said Patrick, positively. “They’ll be the foines’ taties that iver was at all, Miss Denise.”

Upon the way home Denise spied some circus posters, and was at once filled with a desire to see the circus, for anything in which horses were introduced was bliss unalloyed for her.

“They will be here on the seventh!” she cried. “The very day that _Pokey_ will come! Oh, Moddie, how splendid! We can go, can’t we? Papa will surely take us.”

“I wouldn’t wonder,” answered Mrs. Lombard, with the expression which Denise knew to mean “yes.”

For the next few days Denise could hardly think of anything else, and no suspicion of the startling events which would take place ere that circus, which proved to be a circus in more senses than one, and its proprietor, passed out of her life, ever entered her head.

Hart was waiting for them at the turn of the road, and Pinto and Ned exchanged greetings with joyous neighs. He cantered along beside them, his tongue and Denise’s keeping time to the ponies’ clattering feet.

That evening the new boat was delivered at Mr. Murray’s house. It was a fairy-like little craft, built of cedar and shining with its fresh varnish. Of course, Denise was upon the scene when it was taken from the long express-wagon, and nearly as eager as Hart to see it in the water.

Without letting the children suspect it, Mrs. Lombard had made a fine silk flag and embroidered thereupon Hart’s monogram. Then, to make the launching like a “really truly one,” she bought a tiny bottle of cider, warranted to smash and sizzle in the most approved style.

While they were at breakfast the next morning Hart’s face peeped in at the window, for boyish patience was stretched to the snapping-point.

“I’ve only two more bites of beefsteak to eat, and then I’ll come,” said Denise, when Mrs. Lombard added, “Come in here, laddie, and help us eat some of this fruit,” for she had no notion of letting the children out of her sight until she could follow behind.

“What do you think of those bouncers?” asked Mr. Lombard, holding up a big bunch of bright scarlet cherries. “Ah, ah! Tell your father that my cherry-tree has beaten his this year. Put some of these beauties in a little basket, Mary, and give them to Master Hart to take over to his mother with my compliments. One must be generous to one’s neighbors when one has fine cherries to show off,” laughed Mr. Lombard.

By the time Hart had eaten his fill, and the basket was ready to be carried to Mrs. Murray, Mr. Lombard had left for town, and his wife was ready to be present at the launching.

“What is the boat to be named?” she asked, as she followed the children down to the river, with Ned, Tan, and the two dogs trotting along with them, for Denise rarely stirred without her family surrounding her.

“Why, do you know that we haven’t been able to decide yet,” said Hart, rather dismayed at the thought.

“He wants to call it ‘Denise,’” said the owner of that name, “but I don’t think that it will mean much for the boat, do you?”

[Illustration:

_Denise._

“‘Why Not Call It The _River Kelpie_?’”]

“He pays you a very pretty compliment,” answered Mrs. Lombard.

“Yes, I know that, but it seems to me a boat ought to have a name that sort of means something about water, and sailing, and all that.”

“Why not call it the _River Kelpie_? That means something.”

“There! you have just hit it! That’s splendid. She is as light as a fairy, and those things are water-fairies, aren’t they?”

“Yes, little water-sprites who come to the surface and do all sorts of graceful, fascinating things.”

“Then that’s what she is going to be called. What a shame that we haven’t got a real simon-pure bottle to smash on her bow,” he added regretfully.

“How will this answer for a substitute?” asked Mrs. Lombard, as she drew from the little bag she was carrying a miniature champagne bottle, gayly decked with blue ribbons.

“Oh! I say! Aren’t you just a trump!” cried Hart, surprised into genuine boyish praise. “That’s a regular jim dandy, and Denise can smash it to smithereens. Quick, let’s get her launched!”

The little boat lay high and dry upon the rocks, and a moment later Hart and Denise had carried it to the water’s edge, for it was as light as a feather, and they could easily handle it. To put it into the water stern foremost, letting the bow rest upon sand until the ceremony of christening it was ended, took but a few seconds, and, grasping the little bottle by its ribbon-decked neck, Denise bent over the bow saying: “I christen thee the Water Kelpie!” As the last word left her lips, SMASH went the bottle, and a vigorous push from Hart sent the boat into the water, he singing at the top of his lungs: “Oh, we’ll sail the ocean blue,” and Mrs. Lombard joining in with a will.

After the children had somewhat subsided from the Indian war-dance which followed the launching, Mrs. Lombard said:

“And may I have the honor of presenting to the captain of this beautiful craft the private signal, which I hope will add to its attractions and wave to his glory as long as the vessel rides the waves?”

The shrieks of delight which greeted the pretty flag when she unrolled it from its wrappings left her no doubt of its reception. It was mounted upon a slender cedar staff, which fitted exactly the little socket in the stern, and Mrs. Lombard never hinted that a note sent to Mr. Murray when Denise had sent hers to Hart had been the cause of the delay in the delivery of this little craft until the socket could be placed in the stern all ready to receive the flagstaff, whose dimensions she had given to Mr. Murray.

Of course, the Captain was duty bound to invite the donor of this splendid flag to accompany him upon his trial trip, and taking her seat in the stern, with Beauty Buttons beside her, Denise up in the bow, and the Captain “amidships,” off they glided upon the calm river. Sailor, Ned, and Tan were minded to follow, but Denise called out, “Take them home, Sailor, that’s a dear dog,” and Sailor, proud of his responsibilities, waved his tail in farewell and set about doing her bidding.

More than an hour was spent upon the river, and when they came ashore Mrs. Lombard felt entirely reassured, for Hart handled his oars like an “old salt,” having rowed a great deal while at school.

“Thank you very much for a delightful morning,” she said to him. “I shall make but one proviso regarding water expeditions, and that is this: Please ask my consent before going, and then I shall never feel anxiety.”

“We will! Of course, we will,” cried the children in chorus.

Chapter VIII

Pokey And A Circus

As she had waited just one year before, gayly decked in blue ribbons in honor of the occasion, Denise was now waiting again for Pokey to arrive.

This time Ned was not arrayed in ribbons, but in tiny American flags stuck in every part of his harness that they could be stuck and fastened all over the carriage, for it was the seventh of July, and the glorious Fourth had been a gala-day, celebrated with roaring crackers by day and splendid fireworks after dark. Ned had, as usual, been prinked out for so great an occasion, his decorations being appropriate to the day celebrated.

Usually Pokey arrived for her summer visit before the Fourth, but a slight illness, the result of too much study and difficult examinations, all too taxing for her young body and brain when the thermometer stood at ninety, had caused a collapse, and for several days poor Pokey lay upon her bed with her heart playing a wild tattoo, and her brain working like a runaway engine. Had she not had the prospect of her visit before her, it is probable that she would have lain upon that bed several days longer, for the very thought of exerting herself brought added weariness. But up the Hudson River there waited a lovely little white bed, a pretty room to be shared with some one she loved dearly, and, blessed thought, sunshine, green grass, great spreading trees that whispered all manner of secrets to this dreaming little body, and a welcome which left nothing to be desired. So Pokey made haste to get better and start upon her two hours’ journey, but it was a pale, thin little Pokey that stepped from the train into Denise’s outstretched arms.

She was somewhat taller, and that made her seem even more slender, but it was the same Pokey, and Ned Toodles greeted her with a cordial neigh.

“And what do you think!” cried Denise, when they were spinning along home, Ned occasionally joining in their conversation with a sociable whinney, “a circus is here, and papa is going to take us all to see it. It is going to parade through the town at eleven, and as soon as we have seen mamma and grandma we’ll drive up to the village and see it. It won’t, of course, come down this way. I left Ned all dressed up on that account. Won’t it be great fun!”

“You don’t suppose Ned will try to do any of _his_ tricks when he sees the other ponies, do you?” asked Pokey, for a year’s acquaintance with Ned had not served to overcome her misgivings of that animal’s wild pranks.

“Of course not! Why should he? Besides he couldn’t while in harness,” replied Denise, blissfully ignorant even yet of that little scamp’s resources or determination to carry his point once he set about doing so. Ned was never ugly or vicious, but well Denise knew that a good bit of firmness was required upon her part when she wished to get him past the little store where chocolate creams were sold, and that it was always far wiser to choose another road if time pressed. But she was too loyal to her pet to betray his little weaknesses.

“Moddie! Moddie! grandma! Here we come, bag and baggage, only that is coming along behind escorted by John!” she cried, as she rushed into the hall with weary little Pokey following her as fast as she could.

“My dear little girl, how delighted we are to have you with us again!” said Mrs. Lombard, as she gathered Pokey into her arms, and dear old grandma stroked the tired head which nestled upon Mrs. Lombard’s shoulder as though it had found a very peaceful haven.

“Take her right out to the dining-room, dearie, and have Mary fetch her a glass of cool milk and some little biscuits,” cried grandma, filled with solicitude for the little girl.

“Yes, indeed,” added Mrs. Lombard, “we must not lose a moment in setting about finding some roses for these white cheeks.”

“There! Now you look quite refreshed, and when you have had a drive with Ned, and seen this great parade that is filling all Denise’s thoughts, I am sure you will be ready for, oh, _such_ a luncheon!”

On their way to the village they were overtaken by Hart mounted upon Pinto. Knowing that Pokey was about to arrive, he had kept at a safe distance till he could “size her up,” as he put it, for his intercourse with girls had been decidedly limited, and he had no notion of plunging into an intimacy with one whom he had never seen before. The hedge was a safe covert for observing all that took place in Denise’s grounds, and from that vantage-point he had “sized up” to his entire satisfaction.

“Guess she ain’t much like Denise,” was his mental comment. “But if Denise likes her so much she must be all right.”

As he drew up beside the phaeton he was greeted by Denise, who said: “Pokey, this is my friend Hart Murray, and this is Elizabeth Delano, Hart, only we don’t call her by her name once in a blue moon. She is our very own Pokey, and _he’s_ Hinkey-Dinkey,” giving a laughing Nod toward Hart.

“Yes, and _she’s_ Snipenfrizzle!” was the prompt retort.

“Well, I guess we all know each other now,” laughed Denise, and before another word could be spoken the sound of a band playing in the village, just beyond, caused all to exclaim, “Oh, they’ve started! They’ve started!” and to hurry forward as though one brain urged them all. But upon Ned the effect of that band was certainly odd. It was playing “Marching through Georgia,” and one might have supposed it to be his favorite air, for he began to prance and dance in perfect time to it.

“Do look at him! Do look at him!” cried Denise; “I believe he knows that march.”

“Oh, let’s get out,” begged timid Pokey. “He acts as though he were crazy.”

“Nonsense; he won’t do anything but mark time,” answered Denise, laughing. “I always said he knew just everything, but I never supposed that he was a musician.”

They were now just at the entrance to the village, and at that moment the circus parade turned in from a side street which led out to the grounds where their tents were pitched. The streets were crowded as though the entire town had turned out to see the show, which, doubtless, it had, for Springdale in those days was a small place, and circuses did not often tarry there. But this time it was to be an exception, for “Backus’s Greatest Show on Earth” had deigned to honor the town with a two days’ performance upon its way to the more important town of Sing Sing further up the river. It would give a performance this Saturday afternoon and evening, “rest up” on Sunday, give another on Monday, and then “fold its tents like the Arabs” and depart, leaving many an enthusiastic youngster behind who would live for six months upon his memories of its delights, and for another six upon his anticipations of its return. It was, indeed, a gorgeous pageant which burst upon the children’s sight, for in a splendid golden chariot blared and tooted a brass band, the musicians resplendent in red uniforms, and blowing as though their very lives depended upon the volume of sound they could make, and six handsome white horses pranced and curveted before it. Then came a pale-blue and gold chariot drawn by six of the dearest piebald ponies one ever saw, and with whom Ned instantly claimed kinship with a regular rowdy “hullo-yourself” neigh. But you have all doubtless seen circus parades, and know all about the knights and fairies, beautiful horses with their gay riders, elephants, camels, wild animals and tame ones which go to make up a show which will be in vogue as long as children are, and when _they_ drop out of this world’s economy, then the sooner we all scurry out of sight, too, the better. But it is with one particular pony that we must deal, and a summary dealing it is liable to prove before it ends. All the time the parade was passing Ned kept up an incessant fidgeting, tugging at the reins, pawing the ground, shaking his head up and down, and only restrained from plunging headlong into the midst of it all by Denise’s firm hand. Pinto stood behind the phaeton, but, save for a start or two of surprise when an exceptionally loud toot was blown, he behaved like a gentleman. The children were as close to the line of march as they well could be without the ponies’ noses brushing the elephant’s sides, when there came along a magnificent black horse, bearing upon his back the grand high mogul of the show. This was the manager, so the posters announced, mounted upon “his splendid Sinbad the Great, most wonderful performing horse in the world.”

Just then the parade was obliged to halt for a moment or two, and the handsome horse and his rider stopped directly in front of the children. With a “Hullo, how-are-you-glad-to-make-your acquaintance” air, Ned poked out his muzzle and greeted Sinbad the Great. As Sinbad was a true gentleman, and not to be outdone in politeness, down came his nose to meet little perky Ned’s, and they held a second’s whispered conversation--a conversation fraught with fatal results for Ned, as will be seen.

Now Sinbad’s rider had a pair of eyes which just nothing escaped, and one sweeping glance took in every detail of pony, phaeton, and children.

Nodding pleasantly to them he addressed Denise with:

“Fine little horse you’ve got there. Had him long? He doesn’t look very old.”

“Nearly two years. I just guess he _is_ fine! There isn’t another like him in all the world. He is not nine years old yet.”

“Want to sell him?” asked the man.

“Well, I just guess NOT!” was the indignant reply.

“Live here?” was the next question, but Denise began to think that this bravely decked individual was decidedly curious, and hesitated before answering. Before she had made up her mind to do so, the parade moved on, and a few moments later the last donkey had passed. Then Ned took matters into his own hands, or rather his teeth, and did that which he had never done before since Denise had owned him: He positively refused to turn around and go home, and neither coaxing, threats, nor a loudly-cracked whip had the least effect upon him. Shake his head, back, paw, and act like a regular little scamp was all he would do, and at last, growing tired of trying to make her understand what he did want, he resolved to show her, and off he went, pelting ahead till he had overtaken the vanishing circus, wheeling aside to avoid those at the end, tearing along until he had overtaken the part of the parade in which Sinbad was still delighting all beholders, and then, neck or nothing, forcing his way, carriage, occupants, and all, right in behind that wily beast whose whisper had surely been: “Come on behind me and we’ll cut a dash, see if we don’t.”

Having achieved his object, Master Ned was triumphant, and no French dancing-master ever pirouetted and “showed off” for the admiration of all beholders as did this vain little scrap of a beast as he danced along in perfect time to the band.

Pokey was very nearly reduced to a state of collapse, for Sinbad the Great was making the path before them rather lively, while just behind stalked a huge elephant who now and again by way of welcome to the ranks gracefully flourished a wriggling trunk over the phaeton.

Denise’s face was a study. Never before had she met with open rebellion upon Ned’s part, and this first exhibition of it was certainly a triumph. Although thoroughly frightened, she sat holding her reins for dear life, with no thought of deserting her post, while Pokey begged her piteously to “please drive home.”

“Home! Don’t you suppose I want to go there every bit as much as you do? But how _can_ I when this little villain is acting so like time? I can’t get out and leave him, can I?” and just then Hart came tearing alongside the line shouting:

“Hello, Snipenfrizzle, I’m off for home to tell your mother that you’ve joined the circus and the next time she sees you you will be riding bareback! Good-by,” and with a wild whoop he pelted off down the road, Ned whinnying out after Pinto: “Oh, I’m having the time of my life!”

Then the funny side of the whole affair appealed to Denise and saved her from tears, and she began to laugh. Never say that animals do not know the different tones of the human voice! If others do not, Ned _did_, and that familiar laugh was the one thing wanting to complete his festive mood, and if he had cut shines before, he simply outdid himself now, and not till he had followed that circus parade over the entire town, and marched straight into the big tent behind Sinbad, did he decide that he had had enough excitement, and consent to go home. At half-past one he walked sedately up the driveway, and as John led him off to his stable, roundly berating him for his prank, he heaved a sigh which said as plainly as words could have done: “Well, I’ve kicked over the traces for once in my life, anyway.”

Chapter IX

The Earth Opens And Pokey Is Swallowed Up

“Well, how soon can you all be ready? We must get an early start if we expect to secure the best seats in the house,” cried Mr. Lombard, as dessert was being served at dinner that night.

“Oh, we’ll be ready the very minute we’ve finished,” cried Denise, who was so eager to start that she would willingly have dispensed with dessert altogether.

“How soon can you be ready, mamma,” he asked.

“As quickly as I can stick in a hatpin to keep my hat from tumbling off when I laugh,” replied Mrs. Lombard.

“And you, mother?”

“Why, Lewis Lombard, are you crazy?” demanded grandma. “Do you suppose that I am going to a circus at my time of life?”

“To be sure you are! We’re _all_ of us going, the whole family, from you down to cook, John and his family included. I’ve ordered down a hack from the village, and away we all go. Dear me, you don’t suppose that we are going to let such a rare treat as ‘Backus’s Greatest Show on Earth’ go by unappreciated. Certainly _not_!” and Mr. Lombard leaned back in his chair to laugh in his hearty way that proved so infectious that none could resist.

And it was not long before he was assisting his family into one of the village hacks sent down, rather than use his own horses and so deprive the help of their treat, for his thoughts were always for the pleasure he could give to high or lowly. Hart was perched in front with the driver, for he had been borrowed for the occasion; grandma, still protesting that “it was utterly absurd for a woman of seventy to attend a circus,” sat with Mrs. Lombard on the back seat, while her son assured her that she “was his best girl and that no fellow ever went to a circus without his best girl.” “And you’re my ‘second best,’” he said, as he put his arm around Pokey, who sat between him and Denise on the front seat, “and I shall put you one side of me and grandma upon the other, just to keep you from getting into mischief. Grandma looks sedate enough, but you must never judge from appearances.”

“Right this way, gentlemen and ladies! Right this way to secure the finest reserved seats in the house! Fine cushioned parquet chairs. Comfortable as your own lux_ur_us sofas at home. Don’t lose a moment! They’re going fast! Seventy-five cents each for first choice!” shouted the ticket-seller, perched in a funny little tent all by himself at the entrance to the big tent.

“That’s just what we’re after! Here are six of us; now let’s see how well you are going to treat us!” said Mr. Lombard to the man.

The smile with which it was said sent a cheering ray straight down into the man’s tired heart, for, whatever it might seem to the public, circus life was not bliss unalloyed, as this ticket-seller had learned to his sorrow. “Treat you first-class, sir! Six fine seats all in line on third row. Just high enough to see the whole arena, and escape any dust! Here you are! Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir,” as Mr. Lombard laid the money upon the little shelf and gathered up the six tickets. But as he did not pass on, the man looked at him rather questioningly. “Now I want seven more somewhere else. How about your fifty-cent seats? Got plenty of those?”

If the man had beamed before, he fairly glowed now, for such customers were rare. “All you want, sir! All you want!” he cried.

Mr. Lombard made his second purchase, and then, turning to the man who had driven them up, said:

“Now get along back for your second load, and here’s a ticket for yourself when you’ve safely landed all the help at the show. Tie up your horses where they’ll be comfortable--I’ve made that all right with Mr. Andrews--and see the whole thing. Only don’t forget us when it’s over. There will be another hack along for John and the maids when needed.”

“Oh, I say, _you’re all right_, Mr. Lombard,” said the hackman, with a broad grin.

I need not tell you a single thing about the performance. You have all been to the circus, and I dare say much finer ones than this little country show, but I doubt if you ever laughed more heartily at the funny pranks of the clowns and trick ponies, or ever enthused more wildly over the beautiful horses and wonderful trapeze performances, than did this happy party. Near the end of the performance the ringmaster announced that there was to be a “new and novel feature presented this evening by an exhibition of the manner in which bareback riders were taught to ride.” Then a tremendous crane was fastened to the great center pole of the tent in such a manner that it would swing around in a circle the size of the circus-ring. A steady old horse, a very patriarch of ring horses, was brought in, and some one was selected from the audience to ride him. Now it so happened that John’s eldest hopeful, a boy about twelve years of age, was the one to volunteer, and to scramble upon the horse’s back like a young monkey. A long strap with a stout belt attached dangled from the end of the crane, and the belt was buckled securely about the boy’s waist, and the word given to start. So far so good. He sat his steed bravely, and the horse cantered around the ring in the easy rocking motion peculiar to circus horses, who learn to move like machines. “Now stand up,” ordered the ringmaster, and John, Jr., essayed to do so, to find himself a moment later dangling in midair like a big spider from its web, legs and arms flying wildly about in search of something to grasp as the old horse still plodded staidly along beneath him, although just out of reach of those wildly gesticulating arms and legs, while the audience howled with laughter. Around went the horse, and just above him moved the crane at the same speed, but land upon that beast again John, Jr., could not.

“Lewis, if you do not take me home I shall certainly die of laughter,” said poor grandma to her son, who was so convulsed at the sight before him that he was powerless to heed her, for certainly anything funnier than that struggling boy, who had mounted that beast so confident of his ability to ride him “any old way,” as he had confided to his father, it would be hard to conceive of. On Mr. Lombard’s left sat Pokey, laughing as she seldom laughed and until she ached therefrom. But now John, Jr., grew desperate, and resolved to ride bareback or die in the attempt. Ah, now he has his feet upon that broad back, and then follows a wild struggle, only to end in defeat, as John, Jr., wildly kicking, slides gracefully over his steed’s tail and lands gently upon the sawdust. But he was not to monopolize all the excitement, for Pokey had resolved to create a little on her own account, and when next Mr. Lombard turned around to see how she fared she had vanished entirely.

“My soul and body, what has become of her!” he cried, in dismay, when a voice from the bowels of the earth answered:

“I slipped through when I doubled up to laugh, and I can’t get back,” for the “fine cushioned parquet chairs” had proved to be but boards laid upon tiers and covered with turkey-red cushions, which needed but a slight push to slip them into space. Pokey, in her excitement, had given the push, and away she went, cushion and all, her exclamations being completely drowned in the shouts of laughter.

Reaching down, Mr. Lombard gave a “long pull and a strong pull,” and brought Pokey to light, none the worse for her spill.

“Look here, Miss. I’m going to tie a string to you in future,” said Mr. Lombard, while grandma administered consolation in the shape of cream peppermints, with which she seemed provided upon all occasions.

“I don’t see how I ever did it, I’m sure,” said Pokey solemnly.

“No more do I,” laughed Mrs. Lombard.

When the show came to an end Mr. Lombard said:

“Now keep all in a line close behind me, and then we will not become separated in this jam, for the whole town is turned loose I firmly believe.”

So off they started, Hart in the lead, with Mr. Lombard’s hands upon his shoulders to “steer him straight,” Grandma, Mrs. Lombard, Denise, and Pokey, as usual, at the end. They had just reached the exit, when Denise turned to speak to Pokey, when lo, and behold, Pokey had again disappeared.

“Papa, mamma, grandma!” she screamed, “Pokey’s gone again.”

They would have stopped could they have done so, but who can check the outpouring of a circus crowd? Willy-nilly they were swept out into the moonlight.

“Oh, what can have happened to her now,” wailed Denise. “How _could_ she get lost in just that little time?”

“Don’t be alarmed, dearie,” said mamma. “Papa and I will go right back the moment we can get through the crowd, and will surely find her.”

Placing grandma and the two children in the waiting hack, Mr. and Mrs. Lombard made their way back into the rapidly emptying tent, and had hardly proceeded twenty feet when they came upon Pokey, covered with dirt and sawdust.

“What under the sun has happened?” demanded Mr. Lombard.

“Oh, that old stump!” answered Pokey in tones of intense disgust. “Just look at it, and the mess I’m in!” and she gave an impatient kick at a small stump which showed about three inches above the ground close to the bottom row of seats. “I was walking right along close behind Denise, when I stubbed my toe on that hateful old thing and down I went, flat on my face, and before I could get up I guess a _hundred_ people walked right over me. I thought they’d kill me, and I couldn’t get up or stir. So I rolled over till I was in under the seats, and lay there till the people got by. And just look what a sight I am!”

“Pokey, my girl, you are altogether too much given to stretching at length upon mother earth, and after this I must beg you to keep right end up, if you wish to avoid giving the entire family nervous prostration. But considering that no bones are broken, and you are not ground to fine powder, I’ll forgive you this time,” said Mr. Lombard, as he scrubbed her off with his pocket-handkerchief.

Chapter X

Troubles Never Come Singly

“We have waited for Pokey’s arrival before making our first visit to the ‘Chapel’ this year,” said Mrs. Lombard, when all were seated at the dinner-table at one o’clock on Sunday.

“Haven’t you been up there at all this year?” she asked, for it was one of her favorite spots.

“No; but John finished putting it in order yesterday afternoon and we will all go up at about three o’clock.”

“Oh, splendid!” cried Denise. “I’ve got the loveliest book for you to read, Pokey, and I’ll take dear old Tan and Ned. Tan can go up the hill as easy as can be.”

Before long the whole party set out for the beautiful little woodland retreat which went by the name of the Chapel because, during the summer the family spent nearly every Sunday afternoon there, resting in the hammocks, in the comfortable rustic seats, or stretched at length upon the soft moss. Plenty of cushions were always carried, and a more restful, soothing spot it would have been hard to find. The path led through the fields up the hill and to the woods’ edge, and just within it, where the view of the river was most charming, the seats had been built. But between the previous late autumn days and this warm July one, something else had been built, too, although the owner of the property little suspected that squatters had taken possession of a portion of this land. Possibly he would never have made the discovery at all, had not his daughter and her pets brought it about. All were toiling up the hill, burdened with their pet cushions, books, etc., with Denise in the lead, Tan on one side of her, and Ned on the other. She had thrown an arm across each neck, and was saying, “Now ‘hay-foot, straw-foot’” to teach them to keep in step. Not far behind came Pokey upon “Mrs. Mamma’s” arm, for Pokey had not had time to get her climbing wind yet, and the hill made her pant. Grandma was assisted by papa’s arm, and all were “making haste slowly.”

“Hay-foot! Straw-foot! Hay-foot! S-t-r-a-w--Ohw-w-w-w-w!!!!!” “Baa-a-a-a-a-a!” and a screeching neigh! Then pandemonium reigned for a few moments, for the “straw-foot” no, _feet_, three of them! had been planted fairly and squarely into a ground-hornet’s nest, and, in far less time than it takes to tell about it, these “three musketeers” wore yellow and brown uniforms, for the hornets literally covered them as a garment. Mr. Lombard rushed to Denise’s rescue, or there is no telling what her fate would have been, shouting to the others as he ran to fly for their lives. Ned did not wait to be told, but tore down the hill as though all the demons from the lower regions had attacked him, while poor, stiff old Tan forgot all his stiffness and fled for “home and peace” like any kid. But Mr. Lombard found his task no easy one, for the enraged hornets were venting their wrath upon poor little Denise, and he had actually to scrape them from her legs with a stick, only to find them swarm upon the next unprotected spots and upon himself. At last, in desperation, he rolled her in a rug he had brought with him, and tore down the hill, mamma having fled at the first alarm to send John to his assistance.

If you have ever been stung by even one hornet, you will know just about a one-hundredth part of what Denise was enduring then, for some of the hornets were still on her and Mr. Lombard.

John now came hurrying up, and, taking Denise from her father’s arms, fled for home, leaving Mr. Lombard to dispose of his little enemies.

For a few hours there were lively scenes enacted in that home, for while Mrs. Lombard and grandma, with Eliza the cook, and Mary the maid, to help, administered all manner of home remedies to the sufferers, John, mounted upon Flash, rushed for the doctor, and Pokey sat down and quietly sobbed in one corner.

She had not been stung, but was filled with anxiety for Denise, and heart-broken to see her suffer as she was suffering.

Dr. Swift was as good as his name, and came with all haste to give relief, but it was many days before Denise could leave her room, and Pokey was her greatest comfort, for the dear child cared for her as she used to care for the invalid dolls. But before Denise could get about again upon those poor swollen legs, something else happened which almost reconciled the family to her having been so severely stung that she was confined to her room.

Ned and Tan were not much the worse for their experience, for their hair had been a protection, and a vigorous rolling in the dusty road had produced a wonderfully pacifying effect upon those rampant insects. After he had done all he could for the family, John turned his attention to the pets, and had just made Tan comfortable and begun upon Ned when he noticed a man standing by the fence and looking at the pony as he brushed him and rubbed ointment where the stings were worst. John gave a friendly nod, and said: “It’s lively work we’ve been havin’ these past two hours!”

“What’s happened?” asked the man.

John related the story, embellishing it, till the man might have thought that Denise had retired in a garment made of hornets.

“Fine little beast, that,” said the man presently.

“You niver saw the loike of him in all your loife!” said John proudly.

“What will you take for him?”

“What’ll I take for him, is it, ye’re askin’? Faith he’s not mine to sell, as ye well know, but ye’d better not be askin’ the master that same.”

“What’s the boss’s name?”

“What’s that to you?” demanded John with some asperity, for he was beginning to dislike the man.

“Say, I know a man who’ll give a cool two-fifty for him and never wink.”

“Well, he may save his offer, thin, for the boss paid three-fifty for him not two year ago, and wouldn’t sell him for twice that, and don’t you forgit it aither, me son.”

“Want ter make a deal? You git him to sell the little horse to my man for what he paid fer him, an’ it’ll mean a fifty for you.”

But this was too much. “Who the divvil are ye, thin, I’d loike to know? Get out av this, an’ if I catch ye about the place with yer blackguard offers I’ll call the constable for ye as sure as iver me name’s John Noonan,” and John advanced toward the fence with ire in his eyes.

“Did iver ye listen to sooch chake as that, me foin boy?” he asked his small charge. “Don’t ye let it worry ye heart, me soon; it’s not goin’ to be sold out of _this_ home ye are! Not fer _no_ money!”

On Monday the circus gave another performance, and after that, in the evening, crossed the river by special arrangement with the ferry-boat and went upon its way.

As Pokey never drove Ned, he was not used at all on Monday, and at eight o’clock had been locked in his little stable by John, and left, as usual, to his dreams.

It was John’s custom to come early to his work, his own home being but a short walk across the fields, and six o’clock usually found him at the stable-door, to be greeted with welcoming neighs by the horses, which had learned to love him, and by Denise’s pets, who found in John a very faithful attendant. After opening up the big stable he went over to the “Birds’ Nest,” and was surprised to find the door unlocked.

“Now who’s been that careless, I wonder,” he muttered.

Then, entering, he wondered not to hear Ned’s morning greeting. Filled with an unaccountable misgiving, he hurried across the floor and looked over the top of the door of the night-stall, but Ned was gone!

But even then the true situation did not dawn upon him, and he hurried out to look all about the grounds and in every place Ned could possibly have gone. But no Ned was to be found, and now, thoroughly alarmed, he went to the kitchen to ask Eliza, who was just lighting her morning fire, to call Mr. Lombard.

“Whatever has happened you?” demanded Eliza, looking up from her range. “Ye look like ye’d seen a ghost.”

“The little horse is gone! I’ve hunted the place for him and can find no trace of him,” answered John, in a distressed voice.

“The Lord save us! What will that dear child do?” cried Eliza in dismay.

“Go quick and call master,” was John’s answer.

“Don’t let this get to Miss Denise’s ears if it can possibly be helped,” said Mr. Lombard when he and John had returned from a fruitless search. “There may be some foundation for your suspicion regarding that man who spoke to you on Sunday, and, coupled with what Denise has told me about the circus-manager’s questions, I am forced to admit that it does not look well. Go up to the village and ask Mr. Stevens to come to me as quickly and as quietly as possible, for this case needs both a lawyer and detectives. I will warn the others to keep silent,” and with a very troubled face Mr. Lombard entered the house.

But all that day passed, and still others, without revealing a trace of Ned. Inquiries set afoot came to naught. The circus had left at one A. M., but Ned had not been among the ponies. If he were really stolen, as Mr. Lombard was reluctantly compelled to believe, for that wise little beast was not going to lose himself or stay away from home voluntarily, those who tried to get him away must have used great skill, for everybody in that town knew him.

The search had been on foot for three days when the thunderbolt fell from the sky, dropped by Hart.

Mrs. Lombard, Denise, and Pokey were sitting in the former’s pleasant room on Thursday morning when Hart called to Mrs. Lombard from the bottom of the stairs, “Please may I speak with you a second?”

Mrs. Lombard hastened into the hall, for she was fearful that the message pertained to Ned, and, even though the voice vibrated with hope, she did not wish it to be heard by Denise unless it was the one message she longed for. Hart had scoured the country on Pinto, but thus far to no purpose. Half-way down the stairs Hart met her, and whispered, as he supposed, in a low voice: “They think they have found tracks of him because that man who spoke to John was seen away up on Hook Mountain, and had come across the river in a great big boat, big enough to carry Ned over in! And--”

“Hush!” whispered Mrs. Lombard, holding up a warning finger, but it was too late. Over the railing hung a white little face, and a pair of wild eyes looked beseechingly at her as Denise demanded: “_What_ do you mean? Ned found? Traces of Ned? Where is he? What has happened? Tell me right off.”

Chapter XI

A Timely Rescue

Feeling that a real tragedy had come into the little girl’s life, as great as perhaps she would ever experience, for Mrs. Lombard fully realized how strong was the tie between Denise and this well-beloved pet, and also realizing that which, unhappily, few do realize, that childhood’s trials and sorrows are fully as keen for the time being as the trials and sorrows which visit us later in life, although, blessed provision of providence, less enduring. Had not a beneficent Father so ordained it there would be no childhood, for we should be old men and women while still in our teens.

Stepping quickly to her little daughter’s side, Mrs. Lombard put her arm about her and said, “Come into the sitting-room, darling, and let mother tell you all about it. I had thought to spare you the anxiety, for we are confident that all will end well, but now that you have heard so much you would better know the truth.”

Trembling from sympathy, Pokey had drawn near and taken one of Denise’s hands, and now stood beside her “pooring” it and looking into her eyes as though beseeching her not to be quite heart-broken. Hart, with contrition stamped upon his handsome, boyish face, had crept up the stairs, and was looking in at the door. Drawing Denise beside her upon the couch, Mrs. Lombard said in her calm, soothing voice:

“When John went to the stable Monday morning Ned was not there. At first we thought that he had managed to run away, but later we were convinced that he could not have gone voluntarily, and a thorough search has been instituted. Thus far it has been fruitless, but Hart has just reported that one of the detectives whom papa has pressed into service has seen one of the men whom we now know to have been connected with the circus, and has further learned that which surprises us not a little, that Ned once belonged to another branch of this very circus. Indeed, that he and Sinbad, the big black horse with whom he so promptly renewed his acquaintance, were formerly ring companions, and performed tricks together. All this papa’s men have discovered, and also that about a year before Ned became yours, the circus then being in financial straits, Ned was sold, very much to the regret of the proprietor. When more prosperous days returned, they tried to find him, but could not, and not until they chanced to come to Springdale did they ever see their clever little trick pony again. Then this manager recognized him from the odd mark upon his right temple, and sent a man down to see if he could buy him back again, but John sent him to the right-about with a word of advice. Then Ned vanished, and, naturally, our first thought flew to the circus. But Ned is not with it, nor yet with the main body of it, for papa has sent everywhere. If they have taken him they have surely hidden him somewhere till the excitement shall pass, and they think it safe to bring him upon the scene far from this section of the country. There, my dear little girl, is all the truth, and you understand better than any one else can, how very sorry I am to be forced to tell it to you,” and Mrs. Lombard held Denise close to her and tenderly kissed her forehead.

Denise had not opened her lips but had grown whiter and whiter as the story was told. The hand which lay in Pokey’s was icy, and the eyes, which had never once been removed from her mother’s face while she was speaking, had the look of a terrified animal’s.

Not a sound was heard in that room for a few moments save the ticking of the little clock upon the mantel, and then Denise asked in a strange, hard little voice:

“You say that the man was seen up near Hook Mountain?”

“Yes!” burst in Hart. “He had rowed across the river, they think, and was prowling along the shore in a great big boat. Patsy Murphy was out on the river fishing and saw him, and told Mr. Stevens when he got back.”

“Mamma, could he take Ned in a boat?” asked Denise.

“He might do so if the boat were a very large one and Ned so tied that he could not struggle.”

“Hart,” she cried suddenly, the big brown eyes filling with a fire which boded ill for any one minded to take Ned from her, “do you remember that wild little path we once came upon on Hook Mountain when you and I were trying to find a short cut over to the lake one day? It led around the curve of the mountain, and seemed to end, but when we forced our way through the underbrush it led down to an old brick-yard dock. We said at the time that it would be a splendid place to play Captain Kidd and bury a treasure, for nobody would ever think of scrambling way round there.”

“Of course I remember,” cried Hart, catching her excitement, although as yet he hardly knew why.

“Have you hunted there?”

“No! I never once thought of that place.”

“Please go quick, _and take Sailor_. Give him something of Ned’s to smell of and then say: ‘Find Ned, Sailor; find him!’ and he will know just what you mean, because that is what I always say to him when he and Ned and Tan and I play hide-and-seek, as we often do when we are alone. I would go, too, but somehow I don’t feel very well, and I--guess--I’ll--lie--” and the voice dwindled off into nothingness, as poor little nearly-heartbroken Denise drew a long sigh and quietly dropped into her mother’s arms, for the time being oblivious of her loss and grief.

Raising her hand in warning to the terrified children, Mrs. Lombard laid the limp little figure upon the couch, and began administering restoratives with grandma, who, at the first sign of distress, had appeared upon the scene to help. Pokey promptly sat down at the foot of the couch and, taking Denise’s feet in her arms, proceeded to bedew them with tears, begging them piteously to “oh, please get better right off, and she would go herself to find Ned for them.”

Hart fled, dashing from his eyes the tears that had sought to disgrace him, and muttering an excited, “Dod blasticate that circus! Wish the hanged old thing had never showed up in Springdale! I’ll go up to that place before I’ve lived another minute, and if Ned is anywhere in the mountain, I’ll have him or bust the whole shebang. Wish I could catch that man, I’d smash his head for him sure as guns! I’d--I’d--Why didn’t we think of Sailor before! That girl’s got the longest head _for a girl_, and if Pinto doesn’t just hustle _this_ time!” and with his thoughts upon the gallop, Hart rushed across the lawn, calling to Sailor, who was always ready to follow, and five minutes later was tearing up the road toward Hook Mountain with Sailor bounding on ahead of him.

Meantime Denise had come to her senses, but was limp as a little rag, for she had not yet recovered from the effects of her terrible stings, and the news had been as a thunderbolt to her. But Mrs. Lombard was a wise nurse, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing her patient succumb to the gentle influence of hyoscyamus, and slip away into dreamland. Then, motioning to Pokey to leave the room, she drew the shades, and followed her, saying to the distressed girl:

“Something tells me that Ned will come home to-day, and that Hart and Sailor will find him. So run out into the sunshine and keep a sharp watch, dearie, and be ready to report at the first sign of good news.”

Pokey, with Beauty Buttons close upon her heels, went downstairs, and out into the grounds, making her way from force of habit to the Birds’ Nest. But the place was so deserted and silent that she gave a little shiver and turned away from it, to wander aimlessly about with her thoughts filled with Denise and Ned. Hardly knowing what she did, she walked out of the grounds and turned toward the road which Hart had so lately galloped over, and began walking along it.

Meanwhile Hart had passed through the village, and was galloping toward Hook Mountain. Before long he came to the point at which the main road turned aside to wind its way by a circuitous route over the mountain, and this was the only way known to the ordinary traveler to reach the fairy-like lake which lay in the lap of the mountain. But not so to the children, who had scoured the country for miles in every direction. A little path which seemed to end at the edge of an adjoining field did not end there at all, but made its way through the undergrowth, up, down, in, and out until it finally scrambled over to the other side of the steep cliff, at whose base years before a small dock had been built for the accommodation of a long-since-dismantled brick-yard. Stopping at the entrance to the path, Hart called Sailor to him and, taking from under his arm the saddle-cloth of Ned’s saddle, said to the dog: “Here, old boy, see this? Smell it good, it’s Ned’s, Ned’s! Find him, Sailor, find him! That’s a good dog!”

If ever an animal’s eyes spoke, Sailor’s did then, for, giving Hart one comprehensive glance from those big brown eyes, so full of love and faith, he began to bark and caper about like a puppy. Then Hart started Pinto forward, and he and Sailor began their search. On and on they went, furlong after furlong measured off behind them, brushed by overhanging boughs, stumbling through the tangled undergrowth, and repeatedly stopping to call and listen; Hart telling Sailor to bark for Ned, and the deep bark waking the echoes of the silent woods. As though he understood what they were doing, Pinto, too, would often join in with a loud neigh, but no responsive neigh could be heard. Nearly three hours had slipped away since Hart left Mrs. Lombard, and the boy was beginning to lose hope, when they came upon the old dock, and Sailor uttered a low growl, as, with hair bristling, he walked toward it in that peculiar manner a Newfoundland dog advances upon his enemy--a sort of “Come on and face me fairly and squarely” air. Hart drew rein and called, while down his boyish spine crept a wee bit of a chill, for he was far from home, and entirely defenseless. But there was no sign of living thing, and, thinking that Sailor must have been mistaken, Hart called to him, and went on into the wood again. Had he been able to see the lower side of the old dock he might have discovered a large flat-bottomed boat tied close under an overhanging shed of it, while, from beneath the rickety boards peered a pair of steely eyes which watched his every movement. Hart was indeed in greater peril than he suspected, for this man would be the richer by a considerable sum of money if he carried out successfully the dastardly scheme of the one who offered the money to him, and to sit hidden there and see his plans balked before his very eyes, unless he resorted to far worse villainy than that already afoot, was a sore temptation.

With hair still bristling, and an occasional admonitory growl, Sailor stalked very slowly after Hart, looking back from time to time to guard against trouble from the rear. They reached the point where the path wound its way up the jagged rocks, and where they had been forced to pause when he and Denise explored it before, and a feeling of despair began to settle upon him, for it seemed utterly hopeless to look further. Sailor stood panting beside Pinto, evidently trying to ask, What next? when suddenly he supplied the answer himself for, putting his head close to the ground, he gave one long sniff, and then uttered a joyous bark and dashed into the woods. As it was almost impossible for Pinto to make way through the tangle, Hart slipped from his back, and tore after Sailor. Just as he did so, Sailor barked again, and far off in the distance a faint whinny answered him. “Gee whillikens, Christmas! If that ain’t Ned’s whinny, I’m a bluefish!” shouted Hart, and the next moment he almost tumbled into a little dell at the bottom of which a sight greeted him that made him throw his cap into the air and simply yell. In a little cleared space, firmly tied to a tree, a dirty old blanket strapped upon him, and the remains of his last meal scattered upon the ground near him, stood little Ned, with Sailor licking his velvety nose and whining over him as though he were a lost puppy. The next second Hart had his arms around Ned’s neck, laughing, talking, asking questions as though he were speaking to a human being who could answer if he only would. And Ned very nearly did, for the little fellow’s joy was pathetic to witness. When Hart had somewhat calmed down, he discovered how Ned had been led into his hiding-place, for at the other side of it from the one he had entered there were distinct traces of hoof-marks, and Hart lost not a second more in untying the rope which held him and leading him out that way. This path came out upon the wood-path somewhat below the point where Pinto had been waiting, but, at Hart’s call, Pinto came picking his way down the path and was greeted by his old friend with a joyous neigh. They had not gone far when Sailor gave signs of anger, and, without a moment’s warning, sprang upon a man who suddenly barred their progress.

Chapter XII

Joy Turns Pokey Daft

Had not Sailor acted so promptly, one trembles to think what might have been the outcome of Hart’s adventure, but as the man bent down to avoid the branches when he entered the pathway, Sailor sprang upon him and bore him to the ground, face downwards, then planted both front feet squarely upon the man’s back and held him firmly by his coat-collar, growling in his ear: “If you know what is well for you, you won’t move!”

“Guard him, Sailor, guard him!” shouted Hart. “Hold him fast, good dog, and I’ll send some one to you!” and, scrambling upon Pinto’s back and leading Ned by his tattered rope, he plunged along the path at a pace fit to bring destruction upon all three. But he had no thought of destruction just then, his only thought being to send some one to the noble dog’s aid. He reached the main road, and was tearing along at breakneck speed, when he came upon a hay-wagon which had just turned in from a roadside field. Pulling up so suddenly that he nearly fell over Pinto’s head, he shouted: “Quick! Quick! Run up into the woods, for Mr. Lombard’s Sailor has caught the man who was trying to steal Ned and is holding him fast.”

[Illustration:

_Denise._

“The Man Bent Down To Avoid The Branches.”]

All Springdale knew the story, and the three men in the hay-wagon tumbled out of it as one man, to run toward the wood-path as though they had Mercury’s wings upon their feet, while Hart, still quivering with excitement, again pelted off toward home and friends. He was still rivaling John Gilpin when a voice from the side of the road called:

“Oh, Hinkey-Dinkey! Hinkey-Dinkey! Where did you find him? Where did you find him?” and up bounded Pokey, to plant herself almost directly in his path, for joy made her reckless. They were on the lower side of the village, Pokey having walked and walked till she was weary, and then seated herself by the roadside to think things over. Hart slid off Pinto’s back, and both ponies were glad to rest, for Hart had never given a thought to time, distance, or heat in his eagerness to reach home. Both ponies were blowing like porpoises, and for once in her life Pokey forgot all fear of Ned and, gathering his head in her arms, proceeded to sob out her joy upon his neck.

“I say, what the dickens are you crying about now when we’ve got him?” demanded Hart, with a boy’s usual disgust for tears. “Those fellows up there will fix that man all right and Sailor’s a trump. Come on home, for that’s where we want to get Ned now just as quick as ever we can,” and he gave Pokey’s sleeve a pull.

“I know it,” she answered, raising her head from Ned’s silky mane. “But I’m sort of all shaky, I’m so happy, and please let me lead Ned home. He’s awful tired, and will be glad to walk the rest of the way, and I want to take him to Denise, for I couldn’t go to find him, and I wanted to do something so badly.”

“Of course you may lead him, but I thought you were scared to death of him,” said Hart, amazed to find that timid Pokey, who had invariably kept some one between herself and Ned, wanted to lead him. But on they went, and Hart had cause to be more surprised before he was less so, for Pokey hurried along the road, Ned pattering beside her, and occasionally tugging at the rope to hasten her steps as he drew nearer and nearer the dear home and dearer little mistress. Pokey did not take time to go around by the driveway when she reached the grounds, but slipped in through a side gate, and right across the lawn. What happened next will be told presently.

After about an hour’s sleep, Denise awakened much refreshed, and Mrs. Lombard was on hand to say a soothing word the moment her eyes opened. Then followed a long, quiet talk, Denise asking questions and her mother answering them with the utmost care and infinite patience.

“Where is Pokey, mamma?” she asked, after a little.

“I sent her outdoors to freshen up a bit, for she is much disturbed over this misfortune. She will be in soon, I think, dear.”

“Would you mind if I went down into the library, mamma? That room always seems the nicest one to be in when things trouble me, for somehow or other they seem to sort of get straight there.”

“Certainly, we will go down, darling, if you think you can do so, but the poor legs are still pretty stiff.”

“I think I can with your help.”

“Then off we go,” and Mrs. Lombard placed her arm about Denise’s waist to help her down the stairs. In a few moments they were settled in the big chair, Denise saying, with a sigh, as she rested her weary little head against her mother’s shoulder:

“Mamma, why is it that I always feel such a sense of security when _you_ are with me? Then things always seem to go so smoothly, and troubles don’t seem half so hard to bear.”

“I wish that it lay within my power to make all your pathway smooth for you, my darling, and insure a future free from trials. But that cannot be, so I try to make the childhood days sweet and happy ones, that you may carry with you throughout your life a beautiful memory, of which nothing can ever deprive you, and which will bring into the dark days which you like all others, must meet, a ray of sunshine to cheer and gladden you. Then the memory of these precious home hours, our little talks, and confidences, our perfect trust in each other, will come back to you, and, I think, strengthen you to meet the daily trials we must all meet, and to see how you may smooth them out for others when opportunity arises.”

Mrs. Lombard was stroking back the hair from Denise’s forehead as she talked to her, and Denise was toying idly with the ribbons upon her mother’s gown. When Mrs. Lombard finished speaking they sat silent for a moment or two, and then the silence was broken in a startling manner.

“Yes, you can do it if you want to, and you just _must_ ’cause her legs are too stiff for her to come to you. There? Now you see you can, just as well as not! Now another! Another! One more! Another! Now only two more-and--t-h-e-r-e you are!” and then a clatter and a scramble over the piazza, and in through the lace curtains tore Pokey and Ned side by side, one with a cry of, “I had to bring him! I couldn’t wait!” and the other with as joyous a neigh as ever a horse gave voice to. Straight into the library they came pell-mell, and straight into Denise’s arms, to be laughed over and cried over. For the tears which had not come at the sorrow, fell like a refreshing summer shower now, and Denise never knew that they were falling.

Mrs. Lombard and Denise had sprung to their feet as the funny pair entered the library, and both joined in the shout of welcome, and now Pokey, having done her one wild, unbridled act, curled herself up in a little heap in the middle of the floor and, clasping her knees in her arms, swayed back and forth, crying and laughing by turns as she said:

“Hart found him in the woods, and I made him scramble up the piazza-steps, so we both got him! We both got him, didn’t we?”

Need I tell you any more? Yes, I will tell you how Beauty Buttons carried the good news to papa when he came home that evening. Of course all was excitement for a time, for Ned was welcomed like a lost son, the entire family gathering about him as he stood in the middle of the library with Denise hugging him as though she would never give over doing so, and every one trying to find some spot to stroke, for grandma, Eliza, Mary, and John had rushed up to the library to rejoice, eulogize, and all talk at once of Ned’s abduction by “that bad man,” and his rescue by “this blessed boy.” Hart’s head was in a fair way to be turned hind-side-before with sheer conceit, and in future Ned might be expected to demand quarters in the library. After the excitement had subsided a little, John went tearing off to the village to learn the fate of the “bad man” and Sailor, and also to telegraph to Mr. Lombard.

Of course, during all the attention paid to Ned, Beauty was somewhat overlooked, but this he set about remedying himself by first jumping upon a chair, and then upon Ned’s back, where he wriggled about so much that Ned turned his head around to hint at less active demonstrations of joy.

Finally Ned was taken to the “Birds’ Nest” by the children, Denise having speedily recovered under the stimulating influence of so much happiness. During the afternoon Beauty was as fidgety as a flea, and kept running to the entrance-gate every time a train whistled. As six o’clock drew near he vanished, but was not missed by the family because Sailor, who had just been brought home by John, after having held his victim till the men sent by Hart released him and led him to the sheriff’s office, where he was promptly dealt with, was now the conquering hero to be worshiped and commended.

As John’s testimony was required at the sheriff’s office, he was not on hand to drive to the station as usual for Mr. Lombard, but as that gentleman stepped from the train, what should he see perched at the end of the platform, but a tiny black-and-tan dog, with both ears cocked up expectantly, and who, directly he spied his master, rushed toward him fairly squirming and wriggling with excitement. Mr. Lombard said that he felt sure that Beauty was trying to tell him the good news.

Chapter XIII

Mischief

“Good-night, Sweetheart. Good-night, Pokey, dear,” said Mrs. Lombard, as she kissed the children just before departing a few evenings later to attend a card-party given by one of their neighbors. The children were not to accompany them, and a few moments later Mr. and Mrs. Lombard, with grandma, sweet and delightful to look upon, arrayed all in soft gray china silk, with a dainty little white lace cap upon her snowy hair, and dainty lace at her throat, took their seats in the carriage and were whirled out of the grounds and down the road, waving farewells as long as they were in sight.

“Now what shall we do this evening?” demanded Denise, as they ran back to the piazza.

“Let’s take a walk down the road,” answered Pokey.

“No, we can’t do that, because mamma does not like me to leave the grounds when she goes out in the evening.”

“Then let’s go into the library and get a nice book and read aloud. I saw one that looked wonderfully interesting when I was looking in there the other day. It was called ‘Ernest Hart on Mesmerism,’ and I want to see what it is about.”

“My goodness! Why don’t you try to read Greek and have done with it? Why, papa would think we were crazy if we tried to read those books. Besides, I don’t think he would like to have us take them. Whenever I want to know anything about such things I ask him and he tells me all about them in just plain every-day language that I can understand. I don’t believe that we could make head or tail of that book if we took it. What is mesmerism, anyway?”

“Why,--it’s--it’s--a man who can put people to sleep and make them do things they don’t know a thing about. When they wake up again they can’t remember a single thing they have done, and--why, what are you laughing about? I don’t see anything so very funny in that,” for Denise’s eyes had begun to sparkle, and a mischievous smile appeared upon her lips.

“Maybe our mesmerizings aren’t the same, but I know of one kind that is the funniest thing that you ever saw if we only had some one to mesmerize.”

“Who told you about it?”

“We did it one time at a Hallowe’en party, and we nearly died laughing. Some of the girls got angry, but most of them took it just as fun. It really was fun, for it did not do them the least harm, and it all came off.”

“_What_ came off?” persisted Pokey, for Denise’s explanation certainly left room for speculation.

“The smudge. I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll mesmerize Eliza. She’s such a good-natured old thing that she’ll not mind it a bit, and Mary will nearly have a fit when she sees her.”

Pokey’s faith in Denise was boundless, so a few moments later the conspiracy was hatched, and the two scapegraces were on their way to victimize Eliza.

Running down to the little porch just outside the laundry-door, where Eliza took her evening airing after the labors of the day were ended, the children pounced upon her, crying:

“Oh, Eliza, we have come to show you and Mary something wonderful that we have learned. Do you want to see it?”

“Somethin’ wondherful, is it, Miss Denise? Shure, yoursilf and Miss Pokey is wondhers all riddy.”

“No, but really, Eliza, this _is_ something wonderful! Have you ever heard of a man named Mesmer?”

“Mismer? What was he loike at all? Was it him thot came out to tach ye all to dance last winter?”

“Oh, no! That was Monsieur Mezereau. The man Pokey and I mean was a great magician, and could do almost anything.”

“A mugician? What did he play on, thin? A horn? Thim Frinch min does be playin’ horns mostly.”

“Oh, Eliza, she doesn’t mean a musician,” explained Pokey. “She means a man that does all sorts of tricks, and magic things like they do in the theatres. Have you ever seen one?”

“Sure! Didn’t me niphew take me to see that feller called Heller whin I was down in New York this very sphring past. Faith, he was a marvil thin, an’ no mistake. Is it him ye mane, an’ can ye do some av thim things yersels?” and Eliza clasped and unclasped her hands in excitement, for her trip to town to pass a week with her married sister early in the spring, the first Mrs. Lombard had been able to persuade her to take in more than two years, had been one of the events of her life, and the happenings of that week, among which had been an evening at the theatre watching Professor Heller’s marvelous performances, had been gone over again and again for the benefit of the none too credulous Mary.

“Well, we can’t do _all_ the things he did, of course,” said Denise, “but we can do one of them. We can put you to sleep and make you do just the things we tell you if you will let us. Will you?”

“Thot Heller man put a girl to slape, and then tuck away the thing she was slapin’ on and left her lyin’ there on the air! Could ye do thot same wid _me_?” demanded Eliza in amazement.

“We can put you to sleep, but we don’t know how to make you lie on the air,” answered Denise, a twinkle coming into her eyes as she surveyed Eliza’s ample proportions.

“Well thin, thry it now, an’ I’ll bet ye all me old shoes that niver a wink will ye be afther gittin’ out av me. So there now!” and Eliza settled herself comfortably back in the rocking-chair she was occupying, and looked defiance at her amateur magicians.

“Will you do just exactly as we tell you to do?” demanded Pokey.

“Sure!” with a confirming nod.

Meantime Mary, who had been having a neighborly chat across the fence with Mr. Murray’s gardener, came upon the scene, and at once became interested in the proceedings.

“There now, ye wouldn’t belave me whin I towld ye all I’d seen down yonder, would ye now?” cried Eliza, “but here the very childer know about it an’ will be afther showin’ ye. They think that they’ll be able to put _me_ to slape! Faith, it do be wake-moinded cratures that can be sint off to the land o’ nod by thim thricks. I’m not such a fool as not to know _that_ much. But let thim thry if they want to. It’ll do _me_ no harm, and it’ll show ye a thing or two ye’ve been doubtin’,” and Eliza, whom Mary had driven nearly to the point of distraction by teasing unmercifully when she had related some of her experiences while in town, nodded her head in the way that meant, maybe you will believe me when you have seen it tried yourself.

Pokey and Denise now came running back armed and equipped for magical deeds. They carried three plates, each one partially filled with water. When they saw Mary, Pokey cried:

“Oh, Mary, you must let me mesmerize _you_, while Denise mesmerizes Eliza. Will you? Please do.”

“If she kin stand it I guess I kin,” was Mary’s laughing reply, and, taking a seat beside Eliza, she waited developments. Pokey rushed back into the house and presently returned with a fourth plate.

“Now you must both do just exactly as you see us do, and you must look right straight at us _every_ minute,” commanded Denise.

“Sure, that’s dead aisy,” answered Eliza, reaching two chubby hands for her plate.

Denise undertook to direct Eliza, while Pokey gave her attention to Mary.

“Now hold it just this way, and _no_ other,” said Denise, adjusting the plate in Eliza’s hands in such a manner that her thumbs rested upon the rim, and her four fingers just touched the under side. “Don’t take your eyes from my face, and don’t _laugh_ whatever you do. Mary, you do just exactly the same as you see Pokey do.”

Two chairs were then placed opposite their victims, and the children took their seats, their own plates held in precisely the same manner the maids were holding theirs.

“One, two, three,” counted Denise, and “one, two, three,” counted Pokey.

“Wan, twoo, thrae-e,” echoed Eliza, and “one, two, three,” repeated Mary, looking intently at the children.

“With this magic sign I charm thee,” droned Denise, dipping her finger into her plate and making a snake-like streak across her forehead.

“’Tis the sign av the divvil himsilf, I doubt,” muttered Eliza.

“Hush! You must say exactly what I say,” commanded Denise.

“The god of sleep descend upon you,” muttered Pokey, frowning prodigiously at Mary, and making moist, wavy signs upon her own forehead, which Mary imitated with a half-laughing, half-scared look.

“Hickory, dickory, dockory, o,--Four little imps on the bottom, I know,” continued Denise, doing her best to keep a straight face, while Eliza repeated with more or less accuracy the nonsense which had sprung into Denise’s fertile brain and out of her lips, as she rubbed her fingers around and around upon the bottom of her plate, and then drew it carefully down the bridge of her tip-tilted nose; Eliza doing precisely the same so far as motion was concerned, but with a far more startling result.

“‘_De gustibus non est disputandum_,’”[1] quoted Pokey, airing some of the Latin which she had learned the previous winter, and which she now used with telling effect upon Mary.

“Lord have mercy upon us! She’s sayin’ the very words the praist said on Sunday last!” said Eliza, glancing hastily toward Pokey.

“Oh, you mustn’t! You mustn’t!” cried Denise. “Now pay strict attention to me. By all the powers of the little god of sleep,” and a finger was rubbed beneath the plate, and then a cross made upon her cheek: “By all the charms that he can work upon us,” another cross upon the other cheek: “By every dream that haunts us,” more vigorous rubbing upon the bottom of her plate, and cabalistic signs drawn upon her face, which were closely imitated by Eliza’s fat finger, upon her fatter face, until it would have been doubtful if her own sister, so recently visited, would have recognized her. “By--, By--, oh dear! _Don’t_ you feel the least _little bit_ sleepy?”

“Sorry a wink! Didn’t I tell ye it would take a wake-moinded person, Mary?” turning a most triumphant, soot-marked face toward Mary, who, giving a howl of derision, let her own plate go rolling across the porch floor, to bound off the steps and land in the grass, where it lay peacefully right side up and told no tales.

“What are ye howling at me loike that for, I’d loike to know?” demanded Eliza, for Mary had come to the house when a mere slip of a girl, and Eliza had trained her in the way she should go, and laughing at her superior was not one of the duties inculcated.

“Oh, Eliza, will ye be lookin’ at yer face! ’Tis a sight for sinners ye are!”

“Well, thin,” cried Eliza, bridling, and adding red as well as black to her decorations, “maybe it would be jist as well were ye afther takin’ a look at yer own pheeziognomy in the mirror there in the dinin’-room beyant, for beloik ye’d think that ye had not missed all the beauty av the whorld entoirly,” and up rose Eliza to sail majestically into the house, from whence a moment later arose a howl of wrath which caused Denise and Pokey to flee to the seclusion of the Birds’ Nest, there to confide to Ned Toodles the prank they had played upon the autocrats of the kitchen and dining-room, while said autocrats resorted to a vigorous application of pumice-stone soap and hot water, meanwhile comparing notes and vowing vengeance upon their would-be mesmerizers.

“Ah, ’tis sthrong-minded ye are, Eliza,” cried Mary, scouring vigorously, and then bursting into hearty laughter.

“Faith I do be thinkin’ it’s a _nayguer_ I am, an’ no mistake. Did iver ye know the loikes av them childer, to take in an old woman loike me wid their palaverin’? Faith, it’s makin’ their marks in the whorld the’ll be afther doin’!”

“Glory be, but they’ve already begun on oursels, an’ no mistake,” and Mary sat down upon a near-by chair to laugh as only a light-hearted Irish girl can, even though the joke be at her own expense.

Footnotes:

[1] There is no use disputing about tastes.

Chapter XIV

Aunt Miranda Comes To Town

Vacation was slipping away all too rapidly, and the first of September drawing near to carry Pokey away from her beloved Springdale and back to the city and school duties. But Pokey was an ambitious little soul, as well as a very philosophical one, and took her blessings as they came, making the most of them for the time being, and taking up the duties with a cheerful face when the time arrived to take them--a characteristic which followed her through her whole life, and made many a wearisome burden less wearisome.

But two more weeks remained of that precious vacation, and how to make those weeks the very best of all was a problem the children were settling themselves to solve one warm morning, when John appeared with the mail-bag. Springing from their seats upon the soft grass under the old apple-tree, and scattering dogs, cats, a goat, and a pony helter-skelter, the two girls rushed after him to claim any mail the bag might hold for them. True, their correspondence was not so overwhelming that they required amanuenses, but a mail-bag has a wonderful fascination for both old and young folk, and simply to watch for a possible letter was exciting.

This time there was the usual supply for each member of the family, and, although there was nothing for either of the children, there was one letter which held a peculiar, and none too pleasing, interest for the family. This one came from an aunt who usually visited the family once a year--an aunt of Mr. Lombard’s, who had seen many, many summers and winters pass by, and yet had never learned that simplest of all lessons: to look upon certain situations with other people’s eyes. No, Aunt Miranda saw things with her _own_ eyes, and why her range of vision was not the only correct one, or why some one’s else might not be equally correct, sixty-seven years spent upon this big globe had utterly failed to convince her. In _her_ day young girls, young men, middle-aged men, and middle-aged women did thus and so, and consequently ought to do so at the present day.

It need hardly be added that her annual visit was not anticipated with enthusiasm, for, from the moment she entered the front door to the moment it closed upon her, a succession of comments, criticisms, and commands, issued as only Aunt Miranda could give voice to them, kept everybody rubbed the wrong way, and made things generally miserable.

“Oh, dear-r-r! Is she really coming day after to-morrow?” wailed Denise, in a tone very unlike her usual cheery one, for if “coming events cast their shadows before,” certainly Aunt Miranda’s