[Illustration: "CRICKET WENT TO THE WINDOW AND PEEPED OUT"]

CRICKET AT THE SEASHORE

BYELIZABETH WESTYN TIMLOW

AUTHOR OF "CRICKET: A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS"

ILLUSTRATED BYHARRIET ROOSEVELT RICHARDS

BOSTON

ESTES AND LAURIAT

PUBLISHERS

_Copyright, 1896_

BY ESTES & LAURIAT

Colonial Press:

C. H. Simonds & Co. , Boston, Mass. , U. S. A. 

TO

My Mother

 CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. OLD BILLY 11

 II. A BROKEN WHEEL 21

 III. CRICKET'S DISCOVERY 33

 IV. KEEPING STORE 45

 V. A BATH IN CURDS AND WHEY 61

 VI. BEAR ISLAND 79

 VII. THE EXILES 101

 VIII. A NEW PLASTER 117

 IX. GEORGE W. AND MARTHA 132

 X. THE ECHO CLUB 147

 XI. THE "ECHO" 165

 XII. THE HAIRS OF HIS HEAD 180

 XIII. A WRESTLING MATCH 192

 XIV. PLAYING NURSE 204

 XV. A KNITTING-BEE 213

 XVI. TWO LITTLE RUNAWAYS 223

 XVII. HILDA ARRIVES 237

 XVIII. A SAILING PARTY 251

 XIX. BECALMED 267

 XX. A NEW HIDING-PLACE 287

 XXI. BILLY'S PRAYER 306

 XXII. HELEN'S TEXT 323

 XXIII. THE JABBERWOCK 333

 XXIV. AFTER THE SACRIFICE 344

 XXV. THE END OF THE SUMMER 359

 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 PAGE

 "CRICKET WENT TO THE WINDOW AND PEEPED OUT" _Frontispiece_

 "OLD BILLY TELLS HIS STORY TO THE TWINS" 31

 LANDING ON BEAR ISLAND 87

 "THE EXILES" 99

 FEEDING GEORGE WASHINGTON--"CRICKET BORE OFF HER CHARGE TO THE KITCHEN" 137

 "SHE BURIED HERSELF IN HER NEXT STORY FOR 'THE ECHO'" 205

 HILDA'S ARRIVAL 235

 "CRICKET SAT DOWN ON THE BEACH WITH THE CHILDREN" 293

CRICKET AT THE SEASHORE

CHAPTER I. 

OLD BILLY. 

The summer at Marbury had begun. On the 20th of June, after seeing theEurope-bound party off for New York, the Ward children had arrived, bagand baggage, under Auntie Jean's escort. 

Early the first morning after their arrival, Cricket awoke Eunice with apunch. 

"Eunice, what do you think I am going to do to-day? and I'm going to doit every day till I succeed. "

"Don't know, I'm sure, " said Eunice, sleepily. "Don't tumble round so. It isn't time to get up. "

"Oh, you're such a lazybones, " sighed Cricket, whose light, active framerequired less sleep than Eunice's heavier build. "It's six o'clock, forthe clock just struck. Now I'll tell you what I want to do. Let's digin the sand-banks every day, and see if we can't find mamma's money-bag, that she and auntie buried there so long ago. "

"All right, and let's search in the cove for the little turquoise ringyou lost two years ago, in bathing, " answered Eunice, still sleepily, but with much sarcasm. 

"Now, Eunice, you needn't come out with any of your sarcastic sinuates, "said Cricket, tossing her curly head. "_I'm_ going to do it anyway, andI'm going to find it. I feel it in my bones, as 'Liza says, and I'mgoing to begin straight after breakfast, if we don't do anything else. Don't tell any one, for I want to surprise everybody. "

"I think you're safe to do it, if you want to. I won't tell. Wonder ifthey've sailed yet, " with a thought of the travellers. 

"The steamer doesn't sail till eleven; don't you remember? Prob'lythey're just getting up. Come, Eunice, get up. I hear the boys, now. "

Cricket scrambled out of bed and ran to the window to peep out. 

"There they go now for their swim. Boys! Boys! wait for me!" and Cricketdropped into her bathing-suit, which had been put out all ready thenight before, and flew down-stairs to join the boys in their morningplunge in the sea, her bare arms gleaming from the dark-blue of hersuit, and bathing-shoes protecting her feet from the sharp stones in therough lane that led to the cove. 

They had a glorious swim. At least, Will and Archie swam, and Cricketsplashed under their directions. She had almost learned to swim the lasttime that she had been at Marbury in the summer-time, two years before, and she could already float nicely and go "dog-paddle, " but she hadgreat difficulty in making any headway in swimming. 

"There!" she sputtered, in triumph, at last, clinging hold of theswimming-raft; "I almost got away from the place where I was, then. " Sheturned over on her back to rest herself, and float for a moment, thenprepared for another start. 

"I don't seem to wiggle my feet right. I get so destracted thinking ofmy hands, that I always forget to kick. I can't keep my mind in twoplaces at once. "

"Now try again, " said Will, good-naturedly. "See here. Draw up yourfeet as you bring your hands together and kick _hard_, when you throwthem out. Go just like a frog. That's fine. Now again. Draw up, kickout, draw up, kick out--fine!" and Cricket, sputtering and laughing, drew herself up on the swimming-raft, having really swum two feet. Andthen it was time to go out. 

The cove was some little distance from the house, so, after scamperingup the lane, their bathing-suits were almost dry. There werebathing-houses down there, but for this early morning dip they likedbetter to get into their bathing-suits at the house, and dress there. 

When Cricket flew up-stairs into her room, glowing and rosy, she foundEunice only partly dressed, with the sleep not half out of her drowsyeyes. 

"Oh, you lazy thing!" cried Cricket, retiring behind the screen. "Youdon't know how fine I feel. My skin is all little prickles. "

"I shouldn't think that would be very comfortable, " said Eunice, brushing out her long, dark hair, and braiding it. "I like to sleep inthe morning better than you do, anyway. Did you dive for mamma'smoney-bag?"

"You needn't laugh at me, " said Cricket, emerging, half-dressedalready. "I mean to find it. You'll see. " But she inwardly registered avow that she would pursue her search alone. 

The Ward children had never spent much time at Marbury, with grandma, since they had their own summer home at Kayuna, in East Wellsboro. Theyhad often been there for short visits, however, as mamma generally tookone or another of her little flock with her, in her frequent trips tosee grandma. 

Marbury lies in Marbury Bay, which is very large, but so shallow that atlow tide the mud-flats are all exposed for a long distance out. A longtongue of land, principally sand-banks, stretches half around the bay, making a break-water from the ocean, and rendering the harbour a verysafe one for sailing. Will and Archie Somers were capital sailors, inheriting their grandfather's love of the sea. Back of the house, overa short, steep hill, lay the beginning of the sand-banks, where mammaand auntie had buried their money-bags long ago. Then beyond thesesand-banks, on the ocean-side, was another deep small curve, called thecove, where the children bathed. It was a safe, sheltered spot, with agood bit of beach. Altogether, Marbury had many attractions. 

What chattering and gabbling there was that first morning at breakfast, when all sorts of plans were projected for the summer's amusement! Mrs. Somers and her children had spent most of the warm weather at Marbury, for years, so that Will, and Archie, and Edna knew every inch of thecountry for miles around, and were eager to do the honours. 

"'Wot larks' we're going to have, " cried Archie, as they all got up fromthe table. "Think of it, grandma! all summer! whoop!" with a shout, ashe vanished, that made grandma cover her deafened ears in dismay, as thewhole flock trooped after. 

"Dear me! mother, " said Mrs. Somers, privately, as they stood togetheron the piazza, "I begin to think that we've undertaken a great deal, tokeep this horde in order for a whole season. Can you ever stand it inthe world? I scarcely realized that there would be eight of them. "

"We'll manage beautifully, " said grandma, cheerily. "The boys go totheir camp for a month, you know, and the little girls will soon settledown. "

"Yes, and Edna will have to spend two weeks with her Grandmother Somers, at Lake Clear, as usual, and as for the twins, Eliza manages them reallybeautifully, and Kenneth is no more trouble than a kitten. Eunice andCricket are used to running pretty wild all summer. If the confusion isnot too much for you, that's all I'm thinking of. "

"And I'm on special police duty, " broke in Arthur, popping up frombehind the vines. "I'll chuck the baddest ones overboard any time yousay. "

"And there's old Billy for special guard duty, " added auntie, laughing. "See him now, poor old fellow! he doesn't know whether he's scared outof his few wits, or whether he likes the commotion. "

Grandma followed auntie's glance. 

"He likes it, " she said, "for see, he's bringing out his music-box, andthat's the highest honour he can pay any one. "

I must stop right here and tell you about old Billy, for he was alife-long institution at grandma's. I wish I could make you see the dearold fellow as I see him now, in my mind's eye. A tall, thin, bent oldman he was, not much over fifty, in reality, though he looked seventy. Ashock of rough gray hair stood out all over his head, and a gray, tousled-looking beard covered half his face. A pair of keen, startled-looking eyes flashed sharp, observant glances this way andthat, from under his shaggy eyebrows. Few words he had on any occasions, but he generally spoke straight to the point. 

A sad story had poor old Billy. He had been a bright lad in aneighbouring village, and, when he was about eighteen, had come to workfor Captain Maxwell. He was very faithful and responsible, and soonbecame a fixture on the place. Then poor Billy one day got a terriblefall in the barn, and was taken up for dead. However, he was not dead, only unconscious, and terribly hurt. He had a long and severe illness, during which Mrs. Maxwell had him carefully nursed and cared for in herown home. 

At length he recovered, but, alas! his poor mind was hopelesslyaffected, and the doctor said that, though he might be much better, hewould never be quite right again. Everybody thought they ought to sendhim to the poorhouse, as he had no home to be sent to, but CaptainMaxwell refused to do this. So he stayed on, and, gradually, as he grewstronger, he took up some simple duties again. However, he had forgotteneverything, even how to read. 

But he was very happy in his dim way, for he did not realize all thathad happened to him. So several years passed, when suddenly a lawyer'sletter was received, stating that William Ruggles was heir to a largeamount of money from a brother who had gone West many years before andhad never been heard of since. He had died leaving no family, and noother heir than Billy. 

Of course there was a great deal of troublesome law business to beadjusted, but the end of it was that, a few months later, Billy was inpossession of a small fortune. The next question was, what to do withhim. He could not stay on as a servant at the Maxwells, and he wasentirely unable to take care of himself. Captain Maxwell had beenappointed his guardian, and trustee of his property. There chanced to bea small unused building, once an office, on the grounds, and this waseasily changed into a suitable abode for Billy. He had his littlesitting-room, bedroom, and kitchen, and some one to take care of it andof him, and here lived Billy, as happy as a king. When Captain Maxwelldied, Mrs. Maxwell took Billy as one of her legacies, and here heprobably would end his days. 

It was hard at first to make him understand that he need not do any morework, and yet could have what he called his "pay, " just the same, for itwas useless to tell him about his property. His allowance had to be asmall one, for it was soon found that generous Billy emptied his pocketson all occasions to any one asking. So his allowance was limited totwenty-five cents a week in his own hands, but the spending of his"dollar, " as he always called his quarter, gave him quite as muchpleasure as if it had been hundreds. He always spent this for tobaccoand peppermint candy, his two luxuries. 

Mrs. Ward and Mrs. Somers had been little girls of ten and twelve whenBilly first came there, and all through their childhood he had beentheir devoted slave, for the poor soul was patience and fidelity itself. And to the second generation, old Billy was as much part of thelandscape as the bay itself. 

CHAPTER II. 

A BROKEN WHEEL. 

"Let's take a ride, the very first thing we do, " said Eunice, eagerly, after breakfast. "I'm wild to get behind Mopsie and Charcoal again, " forthe ponies had been sent over from East Wellsboro for the children'suse. 

"I'm going to--" began Cricket, and then she stopped, remembering thatshe was going to surprise the family with what she felt sure would bethe result of her mining explorations, --the finding of mamma'slong-buried money-bag. But then, she could dig any time, she reflected. 

So Luke, the man, brought up the ponies, harnessed to the little cart, that was getting to be close quarters for Eunice and Cricket, to saynothing of Edna. 

"Dearest old Charcoal!" said Eunice, caressing her pony, as he rubbedhis affectionate head against her shoulder, expecting sugar; "isn't itlovely to have him again! But, Cricket, don't you think he is reallygetting smaller all the time? Last summer his head came above myshoulder, and look at him now!"

"Does it occur to you that your shoulder may be growing above his head?"suggested Auntie Jean, laughing. "Unless you put a brick on your head, Iam sadly afraid that you wouldn't be able to ride Charcoal next summer. "

"When Eunice and Cricket are big ladies, Helen and I are going to havethe ponies. Papa said so, " piped up Zaidee. 

"Dear me!" said Cricket, mournfully. "I wish I could take a tuck in mylegs. I don't want them to get so long that I can't ride Mopsie. Get in, girls. Hello, Billy! If we had any room, we'd take you, too. "

Billy grinned. 

"Old Billy can walk as fast as them little tikes can run, " he said, withscorn. 

"All right, then, you come, too, " said Edna, jumping into the cart; "youjog along behind. Don't you want to?" And off started the littlecavalcade, with Cricket driving, because she was the smallest, and couldperch up on the others' knees, while old Billy, all beam, jogged after, making almost as good time, with his long legs and shambling gait, asthe ponies. 

Back of Marbury there are miles of level roads, almost free ofunderbrush, intersected in every direction with roads and lanes, and onecan drive for hours without leaving the shelter of the stately foresttrees. 

They had been riding for an hour or more, laughing and singing, andshouting sometimes, since there was no one to be disturbed, whensuddenly one wheel went over a big stone, which Cricket, in glancingback to see if Billy were in sight, did not notice and turn out for. 

"Look out, Cricket!" warned Eunice, but too late. Thump came down thewheel and crack went something, and in a twinkling down came one side ofthe cart, while the wheel lay on the ground. The well-trained littleponies stood still at the first "whoa!" and the children were out in aflash. 

They looked at each other in dismay. How should they get the cart homeagain with only one wheel?

"And we must be twenty miles from home, " said Eunice, soberly. 

"Oh, no, we're not, " said Edna, for as she usually spent her summers atMarbury, she knew this country-side well. "Only two or three miles, that's all. You see we've been driving around so much that it seemslonger, but it's not really far. This lane leads out on to theBainbridge road, by the old Ellison Place, and that's only two milesfrom home. But, after all, nobody may come along here for hours to helpus about the cart. "

Just then old Billy came lumbering up around the curve behind them. 

"Sho, now!" he said, surveying the wreck. "Wheel's come off. "

"Exactly so, Billy. Now the question is, can we get it on?" returnedEunice. 

But something was broken, and getting it on proved impossible. 

"Billy carry the cart, " suggested that individual, who had a highopinion of his own strength. 

"Well, hardly, Billy, --but, oh, I have an idea! Billy, you hold up thecart on that side, so it will run on the other wheel as the ponies drawit, and Cricket can lead them, and Edna and I will roll the wheel along. You said it wasn't far, Edna. "

Billy lifted the side of the cart, obediently, while Cricket started theponies forward. This worked very well. Then Edna and Eunice armedthemselves with sticks and found that their new variety of wheel rolledin fine style, with a little persuasion. 

"What a come down, " laughed Eunice. "We start out in state, and we comeback on foot. "

"Let's play we're a triumphant procession, " instantly suggested Cricket, the fertile of resource. "I'll be the emperor, what was his name? Theone that conquered Zenobia. I'll be that one, and Billy is one of myslaves, a captive of war, and you can be Zenobia, Eunice, and you're herdaughter, Edna, coming into Rome at the head of my procession afteryou're conquered. You go ahead singing 'Hail to the Chief. ' That's it;march along like that. Now don't go too fast. I really ought to beriding in the cart, but I'm afraid Billy couldn't hold me up, so I'llplay I'm tired of riding in state. Play we haven't come into the cityyet. "

"I can't think how 'Hail to the Chief' goes, " said Eunice, after one ortwo attempts at the tune. "I keep getting into 'Hail Columbia happyland. '"

"That won't do, for this is Rome and not Columbia we're coming to. Thisis the way that 'Hail to the Chief' goes, " and Cricket sang the firstline. 

Now Cricket, alas, was, unfortunately, absolutely devoid of voice tosing. She loved music dearly, but she could not keep to a tune to saveher life. Like a certain modern heroine, she could not even keep theshape of the tune. Consequently, unless the girls had known the words, they could not have told whether she was singing "Old Hundred, " or"Tommy, make room for your uncle. "

Edna and Eunice almost doubled up with laughter. Edna sang like a littlewoodthrush, and Eunice also had a sweet and tuneful voice. 

"Oh, Cricket, you'll kill me, " gasped Edna. "Your voice goes up when itshould go down, and down when you ought to go up, and the rest of thetime you go straight along. "

Cricket looked injured, for, strange to say, she was sensitive on thesubject. She loved music so dearly, that she never could understand whyshe couldn't make the sounds she wished come out of her little roundthroat. 

"I never pretended that I thought I could be singeress to thePresident, " she remarked, with dignity. "Anyway, if I'm emperor, I havepeople to sing for me. Begin, Zenobia. "

"I don't know 'Hail to the Chief, '" said Edna. "Let's sing 'HighlandLaddie'--I love that, " and Edna piped up in a gay little voice, thatstartled the birds overhead, and presently attracted the attention oftwo prowlers, who were getting birds' eggs for their collection. 

"The kids have had an accident, " said one of them, peering through thetrees. "Hi! there!"

"There are the boys, " said Eunice, as the "triumphant procession" haltedat the voice. "Come and help us, " she called. 

"No, we don't want any help, " said Edna, moving on, "and boys are such abother. Don't call them. " But the boys needed no calling, and so sheadded, with decision, "You can't come with us unless you behaveyourselves. "

"We're a triumphant procession, " explained Cricket, "and you must gobehind and be slaves. I'm the emperor that captured Zenobia, and Ednaand Eunice are Zenobia and her daughter. They're to march in front, singing, and Billy is one of my captives who carries my chariot becausethe wheel came off, and these are my elephants that draw it. Ho, there, base minion! are you tired?" for Billy was grunting a little under hisburden. 

"Guess one of them boys better spell old Billy a little, " suggested theslave, putting down his side of the chariot, and mopping off his facewith his red bandanna. "Cart's kinder heavy when you carry it so fur. Hurts your hand, too. "

"That's so, boys, " said the emperor, stopping her diminutive elephants. "Do help him, please. There, now, Zenobia and her daughter are almostout of sight. Put your eggs and things in the cart, Will, --I mean in thechariot. Now let's start. Billy, you can walk in front of me now. "

They started on again, the boys holding up the side of the demoralizedchariot, and keeping up a fire of jokes. 

"Next time you're emperor, Marcus Aurelius, see that your groom looksafter your chariot wheels before you start, " said Archie, finally. "Itwould be inconvenient to have a wheel come off when you're making acharge, and it would give your majesty a nasty fall. "

"Yes, my grooms are getting very careless. I think I'll make gladiolasof them, and get some new ones. I captured a couple of pretty fairlooking slaves, a little while ago, that I'm thinking will do. If theydon't, " she added, severely, "I'll cut off their heads, and put them ina dungeon. "

"Don't do that. I'd rather you'd make a 'gladiola' of me, too. I don'tmind so much about my head, but don't put me in a dungeon. See here, emperor, next time you break down, please do it within easy reach ofyour ancestral halls. The side of this chariot hurts my hands, and Iwouldn't demean myself so for any one but your majesty. "

"That's too bad. Shall I carry it a little while?" asked the emperor, sympathizingly, as they turned into the main road. "My hands are prettystrong. "

"No; your humble slaves can manage a little longer. "

"It's a good mile home, now, " said Archie. "See here. The blacksmithshop is not far down the road. We'll leave the cart there, to be mended. Edna! Eunice! Stop at the blacksmith's. "

So the "triumphant procession" came to a halt, while the ponies wereunharnessed, and the cart and wheel left for repairs. Cricket mountedMopsie, with the boys walking beside her, while Billy stalked along, leading Charcoal, since Eunice and Edna were walking along together. 

Will was very fond of his merry little cousin, who laughed at his jokes, took his teasing good-naturedly, and loved and admired him with all herheart. He was nearly sixteen, big and strong of his age, and Cricketthought him the nicest boy in the world. She was not nearly so fond ofArchie, who was a year younger than Will. He teased her more, wasquicker-tempered, somewhat conceited, and rather liked to order thegirls around. He was slight and small for his age, and he did not havehis reddish hair for nothing. 

Auntie met them at the gate, with an anxious face. 

"What has happened, children?" she asked, resignedly. 

"Nothing, much, auntie, " answered Cricket, cheerfully. "We lost thecart-wheel off, that's all. It was real fun coming home. We left it atthe blacksmith's to get it mended. "

"So you've begun already, " said auntie, laughing, but relieved. 

[Illustration: "OLD BILLY TELLS HIS STORY TO THE TWINS"]

CHAPTER III. 

CRICKET'S DISCOVERY. 

Old Billy sat in the front yard, under a big tree, telling stories tothe twins. Perhaps I should say telling _a_ story, for Billy's range waslimited to a single tale, and when he had told this, if any child wantedmore, he simply had to tell it over again. It was a story with a moral, and was drawn from Billy's own experience. It was about a bad littleboy, who ate up all his sister's pep'mint drops. This was the worst ofcrimes, in Billy's eyes, for to him pep'mint drops were a sacredpossession, not even to be lightly referred to. 

"His marmer, " went on Billy, impressively, "kep' a-whippin' him, an'a-whippin' him, but it warn't no kind o' use, an' didn't do a mite o'good. And just think, children, " finished Billy, solemnly, "when thatbad, naughty, selfish little boy died, he couldn't go to Heaven and be agood little angel, but he had to go to the Bad Place. "

The children listened with wide-open eyes. 

"Where is the Bad Place, Billy?" questioned Zaidee, lookinginterestedly up into Billy's face. 

Billy looked slowly all about him, and above him, and then at theground, puzzled, now, what to say. He was not very clear, himself. Helooked again at the blue sky, flecked with soft, white clouds. 

"Wal, I think, children, " he said, in his slow way, "that Heaven is upthere where all them little bright specks is at night. I guess them'sholes in the floor. Can't see 'em daytimes, you know, when the lightsare out, up above. 'N' I ruther guess t'other place is down underthere, pointing to the ground. "

Helen jumped. 

"Oh, I don't want it right under our foots. The ground might crack, Billy, and we'd fall in. _Please_ don't say it's there, " she begged, earnestly. 

But Zaidee immediately began to poke the ground with great interest, andstamp hard upon it. 

"Do you really think it's down there, Billy?" she asked, excitedly. "Oh, Helen, let's dig and find it! How far down is it, Billy?"

"Wal, now, I dunno as it's down there at all. Dunno as it is, dunno_as_ it is. Folks say it's purty hot there. "

"I know a nice place to dig, Helen, and that's the sand-banks. They'reso nice and soft. Let's go and try it. "

But Helen hung back, and Billy said, anxiously, "I wouldn't. Folks saythat Somebody lives there. "

"Who?" demanded Zaidee. 

"Wal, folks says as Mr. Satan lives round them parts, " answered Billy, cautiously. 

"Oh, don't let's dig, Zaidee, I'm afraid, " said timid little Helen, clinging to Zaidee's hand. "He might not like it, if we finded him. "

Zaidee, always more daring than her delicate little twin, did not thinkso. 

"'Course we'll be careful not to bunk right into him, " she conceded. "We'll dig very slowly when we get pretty near there. Come on, Helen. Want to come, Billy?"

"Sho, now!" said Billy, looking very unhappy over this unexpected resultof his little moral tale. Once, long ago, a mischievous boy-visitor hadtaken and eaten all Billy's peppermints, and he never forgot it. Healways took occasion to tell it as a story to every little newcomer, toensure the safety of his valued peppermints, but no one had ever thusapplied the story before. 

"Seems as if I wouldn't try, children, " he repeated, anxiously. "Youmight tumble in. "

But when Zaidee's mind was once set on an enterprise, nothing could turnher. She ran away for the shovels and dragged reluctant Helen with her. They selected a nice hollow place in the sand, and began to digfuriously. In a few minutes they had a hole a foot deep. Zaidee balancedherself on the edge, on her knees, and put her hands down on the bottomof the hole. 

"I do think it's getting hotter, Helen, just feel. "

Helen put her hand down, rather fearfully. 

"It's getting _very_ hot, Zaidee, and don't let's dig any more. "

"Don't be a 'fraid cat, " responded Zaidee, promptly. "It's only a littlebit hot. We must dig until it's ever so much hotter yet, " and Zaideewent on throwing up the sand, energetically. 

"Oh, dear! how it all slides down the sides. I'll have to get in it anddig, " she said, presently. 

"Don't! don't!" cried Helen, in great terror, clutching Zaidee withboth hands. "Don't go down there. You might tumble right through anytime right on Mr. Satam's head!"

But Zaidee, unheeding, jumped into the hole, and went on digging, sturdily, while Helen, frightened and apprehensive, watched her fromabove. Suddenly she shrieked in new terror:

"Oh, Zaidee! come out! please come out! I see the feathers on his capsticking right up there! oh, you'll hit him in a minute, and he'll jumpup!" for "Mr. Satam, " and Indian chiefs, with waving plumes, andtomahawks, formed a very confused picture in her mind. 

Zaidee scrambled up in a flash. 

"Where? Where?" she cried, peering down when safe above. Truly, at thebottom of the hole was seen the top of a feather dropped from asea-gull's wing, and buried under the drifting sand, but the startledchildren never doubted that it was growing fast on the top of "Mr. Satam's" head, and they waited in terrified silence for that head torise and confront them. 

Meanwhile, Billy was wandering around in great anguish of soul, notknowing what dreadful thing might happen any moment. He started back tothe house at last. Cricket came skipping down the piazza steps. 

"See here, young 'un, " Billy began, eagerly, --he seldom called thechildren by their names. "I'm afraid suthin' dretful's goin' to happen. "

"What's the matter, Billy? Why, how your hands shake!"

"Perhaps you can stop 'em, " went on Billy, hurriedly; "them ere littletikes is a-doin' a dretful thing. They're over by the sand-bank, a-diggin' fur--hell. " He brought out this last word in a deep, half-frightened whisper. 

"Digging for _what_? Oh, Billy!" and Cricket's laugh rang out. "You knowbetter than that. Where are they? I'm going to dig a little myself, andthey might help me. "

Billy looked a little shamefaced at Cricket's laugh. 

"Don't you think they could get there, then?" he asked, lookingrelieved. "I don't really know just where 'tis, myself. Didn't wantthem little tikes to come to no harm, that's all. "

"Billy, think how silly of you to think that place is under the ground. Think how men dig wells and mines, and things, and nothing ever happens, unless they cave in, or something like that, which doesn't count, " saidCricket, skipping and dancing on, as usual, while Billy shambled alongby her side. "I'm just ashamed of you. "

Billy looked crushed. 

"I s'pose I'm a silly boy, " he said, meekly, for the poor old fellow wasnever anything but a boy in his own eyes. "See here, don't say nothin'to Mis' Maxwell, will you?" he added, anxiously. 

Just then the children, who still stood, frightened yet curious, by thehole, caught sight of them coming. They both made a wild rush and caughtCricket's hands. 

"I'm so 'fraid, Cricket, " half sobbed Helen. "Zaidee digged for the BadPlace and we've most found it, and there's a feather of Mr. Satam'shead, sticking right up, and I'm 'fraid he may bounce up and get us. "

Cricket doubled up with laughter. 

"Oh, you silly children! You're thinking of a red Indian, I guess. That's nothing but some bird's feather. If you dug long enough, you'dcome to China, that's all. "

"But it got so hot, Cricket, " insisted Zaidee, "an' Billy says it'sawfully hot there. "

"'Course it's hot when you dig down, because the centre of the earth isall burning up, you know, but I don't think you'll get far enough to getscorched any. You're silly children, any way, " finished Cricket, with avery elder-sisterly air. 

Nevertheless, Helen did not feel secure until Cricket had jumped intothe hole and pulled up the feather, triumphantly. 

"Now I'm going to dig myself, " with a deep-laid purpose in her mind, "and you may dig, too. You start another hole, right here. I'll dig thisbig one out more, and I'll be an incubus"--meaning nobody knowswhat--"and live in it, and you be little crabs trying to get out of myway in these holes of yours. "

The children, quite reassured now as to the safety of their petamusement, dug away merrily, while Billy, like an amiable Turk, satcross-legged near by. 

The shifting stretches of sand changed their shape year by year with thewind and rain, and Cricket had no definite idea of the exact locality ofthe spot where mamma and auntie had buried their money-bags, thirtyyears before. She enlarged the hole the children had begun, till it wasquite an excavation, carrying on her game of "incubus" with the childrenall the time. At last she concluded to sit down and rest. She plantedherself in the bottom of the hole, with her curly crop not visible abovethe top of it. She pulled up her sleeve, plunging her hand idly in thedry, cool sand, till her arm was buried far above the elbow. Then herhand struck a resisting object. 

"Oh, _oh_!" she shrieked, immediately, not daring to move her hand lestshe should lose the object, which _might_ prove what she was searchingfor. It was too large to bring up through the weight of sand. 

"Come here, Zaidee, quick, " she cried. "Dig me out. Dig out my arm, quick. "

Helen looked fearfully into the hole, then set up a shriek in her turn. 

"Mr. Satam's got Cricket's hand, and he's holding her down. Pull, pull, Zaidee, " and the child began tugging at Cricket's nearest shoulder, which she could reach without committing herself to the dreadfulpossibilities of that hole. Zaidee instantly jumped in, however, and, screaming, herself, added her small strength to pull up Cricket's arm, while Billy, startled by this sudden hubbub, ran distractedly from sideto side, trying to find something to pull, likewise adding his peculiar"Hi! Hi!" his expression of great excitement. Cricket laughed so at thegeneral uproar that she could not explain. 

"Oh, children, " she managed to cry at last. "Stop pulling the socketsout of my arms--I mean the arms out of my sockets. Goodness, Zaidee, howyou pinch! There isn't anybody down there, but I've got hold ofsomething and I don't want to lose it. Just dig down around my arm, that's all. Stop crying, Helen. That's a good girl, Zaidee. " And so in afew minutes, by their united exertions, a hole was scraped aroundCricket's arm, and she could bring up the object she was grasping. 

"What is it?" cried the excited little twins. Cricket plunged both handsunder the object, and, if you'll believe me, she actually brought up alittle buckskin money-bag. 

"Hoo-ray!" she shrieked, wild with delight at her discovery. "It'smamma's bag, children, that she planted ever so long ago, when she was alittle girl. There's money in it. "

The bag, indeed, had been perfectly preserved all these years in thesand. The sand-banks there were too high to be ever overflowed by thetides, and were very dry, even to the depth of many feet. But the stringfell to pieces in Cricket's eager hands as she tried to unfasten it, andthe pennies and dimes came to view. 

A few minutes later, the young woman, breathless and excited, flew upthe walk, with the twins toiling on behind. Auntie Jean and grandma weresitting on the porch, when suddenly a shower of dull-looking coins fellinto auntie's blue lawn lap. 

"I've found it!" Cricket cried, triumphantly. "Knew I would. Won't Ilaugh at those girls now!"

"But what in the world--" began Auntie Jean, in amazement, hastilytransferring the heap to a newspaper. Cricket waved the chamois bag inwild delight. 

"It's one of the bags, auntie, that you and mamma buried so long ago inthe sand-banks, because you thought it was the right kind of a bank toput money in. "

"We digged the hole, " put in Zaidee, eager for her share of the glory. "We digged for Mr. Satam's house, an' most found him, an' Cricket camean' said he'd gone to China, an' then Cricket digged this up, and we'regoing to dig every day, now, and get lots of money, " for the wholeperformance was very mysterious in Zaidee's mind. 

You can imagine the clatter when the rest of the children arrived on thescene, and Cricket, flushed with victory, waved her bag, which had beenfound to have mamma's initials on it. Therefore, auntie's was stillunfound, and, strange to say, it never _has_ been found, although, afterCricket's remarkable achievement, the sand-banks in that locality wereexcavated to a point just short of China. 

CHAPTER IV. 

KEEPING STORE. 

It was voted by all that the money in the bag belonged undeniably toCricket, by right of discovery, but she would not touch it till she hadwritten to mamma the astounding news. She was very anxious to cable theimportant announcement, and Auntie Jean had some difficulty inpersuading her that a letter would convey it just as well. The moneyonly amounted to two dollars and sixty-four cents in all, but this waslarger in Cricket's eyes than any money she had ever owned before. Shespent it in imagination a hundred times, and the others helped her, tilleven little Kenneth caught the fever, and begged "Tritet, buy Tennetbikachine, " his own invention for bicycle. 

"Goody!" exclaimed Cricket, "that's just what I'll do for myself. Eunice, I'm going to put the money in the really-truly bank this time, and keep putting more in, and I'll save my allowance and get a bicycleto ride when I'm too big to ride Mopsie. Wonder how long it wouldtake. "

"Years, " said Eunice, with a cold-water expression. "Why, Cricket, bicycles cost lots of money. You never could do it. "

"I can ride on the boys' bicycles when they get them, to learn how, andkeep saving till I'm grown up. Couldn't I get enough by that time? WishI could earn money. "

"Keep a peanut stand, " suggested Archie. 

"I wonder if I couldn't, " said Cricket, instantly attracted by the idea. "What fun! Where could I have one? I'd just love to. I'd have that bigwhite umbrella that used to stand up in the old phaeton, over my head, and I'd have a chair and a table. Do you suppose auntie would let me godown on the dock and sell peanuts?"

"I should think not!" cried Edna, horrified. 

"I'm going to ask her, " returned Cricket, undaunted. "I'll make greatpiles of money. Everybody will stop and buy of me when they're going outsailing. Peanuts are always good when you're sailing. "

"Discount to the family?" asked Will. 

"Discount to me, anyway, " put in Archie, insinuatingly, "for mysuggestion. Really, you know you ought to supply me free. "

"Free!" replied Cricket, with much scorn. "I might as well try to fillup Marbury Bay as you, Mr. Archie. I know who ate twenty-sevengriddle-cakes for breakfast. "

"Don't confess it right out loud, Miss Scricket, if you did get awaywith that number. I'm not astonished, but I'm overcome. "

"Dear me, " answered Cricket, tossing her curls, "you think you'reabdominally smart, I know, but--"

A howl of laughter stopped her, and Cricket looked dismayed. They alwaysmade so much fun of her when she made one of her constant mistakes inthe use of words. 

"She means abnormally, " shouted Archie, rolling on the ground. "Abdominally smart, oh, my!"

"Well, abnormally, if you like it better, " returned Cricket, amiably. "Idon't see much difference, anyway. I am going to ask auntie, right away, about the peanut stand, " she continued, changing the subject quickly, aslong experience had taught her to do. Off she ran, returning, jubilant, in a few moments. 

"Auntie says to be sure I may; there, now, Edna; she says I may sellall the peanuts I like, and on the dock, if I want to, and she'll giveme a pint cup to measure them out with. And since you all make so muchfun of it, I'll keep it all alone, without any partner. "

"You might go shares with me, " pleaded Archie; but Cricket was resolute. 

"If you'd been more polite to me, perhaps I might have. Now I sha'n't. Idon't know that I'll even sell you any. "

"But I'll be partner, sha'n't I, Cricket?" asked Eunice, accustomed tosharing everything with her younger sister. 

"You all laughed at me, first about finding the bag, then about thepeanuts, " she said, firmly, "and I'm going to be my own partner. If Itake any one it shall be Billy. _He_ never teases. "

"But if you put in the capital, " urged Archie, "you should have somebodyelse to supply the experience. "

"All the experience that any of you would supply would be experience ineating them, " Cricket replied, with severity. "Then I'd lose my moneyand my peanuts, too. Good-by. I'm going to make my arrangements now. "

"If you buy your peanuts of old Simon, at the corner, make him givethem to you wholesale, " called Archie after her; and then he departed ona little private expedition. 

Cricket was busy all the rest of the afternoon, getting herestablishment together. First, a little, square table was unearthed inthe garret, and was scrubbed and polished by Cricket's own hands. Thenthe old white phaeton umbrella was found and brushed, and a long slit inone side of the cover mended with stitches of heroic size. This was, with much painstaking, lashed firmly to the back of the stout, woodenchair, contributed by the kitchen. All these, old Billy, proud and happyat being selected as chief aid, took down to the little dock, where shewas to set up business. She decided to invest a capital of fifty cents, not part of her new-found funds, but her private and personalpossession, and expected to come out of her venture a millionaire. Shemade up her mind that she would not take even Billy into partnership, for it would be so much fun for him to buy peanuts of her; but shegraciously allowed him to go to the village store with her the nextmorning, after breakfast, to help her carry home her stock in trade. Shewould have driven Mopsie, but the cart was not yet home from theblacksmith's. 

Acting on the boys' suggestion, she proposed to old Simon Hodges, whokept the village store, that he should give her the peanuts wholesale, and they struck a bargain that she should buy them at nine cents a quartinstead of ten, which Cricket regarded as a most generous reduction. 

She invested in four quarts to begin with. 

"Say, little 'un, " suddenly proposed old Billy, nudging her, "why don'tyou buy some o' those pep'mint drops long o' the peanits. I'd just aslives buy 'em o' you as o' Simon. Fact is, I'd liver. "

"What a good idea, Billy. 'Course I will. "

Billy grinned from ear to ear. 

"How will you sell them, Mr. Simon?"

Simon, a weather-beaten old sailor, who had taken to keeping store inhis old age, thought he could sell her as many as she could take aboardat the rate of six for five cents, instead of the regular rate of apenny apiece. These peppermint drops must have been peculiar to Marbury, I think, for I have never seen any just like them anywhere else. Theywere thick and round, and about two inches across, indented in themiddle, like a rosette. They were not soft and creamy, but hard andcrunchy, though how much of this latter property rose from the lack ofabsolute freshness, I am not prepared to say, for it was a standing jokewith the boys that Simon had once been heard to remark that he hadn'tgotten in his summer stock of candy yet. Some of the peppermints werepink, and some were striped red and white. Cricket supplied herself withsix of each. 

"That makes forty-six cents, doesn't it? I ought to spend the whole ofmy money, " she said, twirling her half-dollar on the counter. 

"Tobaccer?" queried Billy, quickly, thinking of his other indulgence. "I'd just as lives--"

"Oh, _no_, Billy, I wouldn't have tobacco for anything, nasty stuff, "said Cricket. 

Billy looked dejected. 

"Didn't mean no harm, " he said, meekly. 

"Never mind, Billy. Now what shall I get?"

"Lemons, " suggested Simon, deferentially. "I'll let you have 'em for acent apiece, and water's cheap. Lemonade would sell well these hotdays, " for Simon had been taken into Cricket's confidence. 

"That's a good idea, " beamed the small merchant. "There's the sugar, and I guess grandma would give me that, and I'd let her have a glass oflemonade free. Yes, I'll take four lemons, Mr. Simon, thank you. Now, Billy, you take the peanuts and put the lemons in your coat pocket, andI'll carry the peppermints. "

Thus laden the two went gaily homeward. 

"For goodness sake! look there, Billy!" Cricket suddenly exclaimed, asthey approached the little dock, where they had arranged the table, chair, and canopy, the night before. Archie had evidently been busyduring their absence. He liked to tease Cricket, because, as he said, she was so "gamey. " Edna would grow peevish and fretful if he teasedher, and his mother would never allow it. But Cricket never cared, andenjoyed a joke on herself as well as on any one else. 

She went into shrieks of laughter, at the new decorations adorning herplace of business. From every rib of the umbrella hung a little, live, wriggling crab. Four horseshoe shells, stuck up on the sharp points, decorated the four corners of the table, and a drapery of seaweedfestooned its legs, and the back of her chair. A flapping sign wassuspended on one side, on which, in big letters, they read:

 PEANUT EMPORIUM!!

 SIGN OF THE CRAB

 MISS SCRICKET, BILLY & CO. 

 PEANUTS STRICTLY FRESH EVERY YEAR CALL EARLY AND OFTEN

Billy glanced from Cricket to the peanut stand, and back again, notknowing whether to join in her laughter or not. He didn't see anythingfunny himself in it, for he had a horror of creeping, crawling things. 

"Drat them boys!" he said, at length; "how be we goin' to get themthings off?"

"You go get me a basket and a pair of scissors, Billy, " ordered Cricketof her willing slave, "and I'll take them away. _Don't_ they lookfunny?"

In a very little while the crabs were restored to their native element, the seaweed was thrown over the dock, the chair and table wiped cleanand dry, and everything was again in order. The horseshoe shells wereleft sticking up for ornaments. Then she proceeded to lay out her stock, and dispose of it to the best advantage. Grandma contributed a bigcracked dish for the peanuts, which stood in the middle of the table. The peppermints were arranged in a row, a red one and a striped onealternating. 

"Now, Billy, you stay here and watch things while I go to the house fora pitcher for the lemonade, and some tumblers. I mustn't forget thesugar, either, and a knife. Oh, and the lemon-squeezer. I do hopeeverybody will keep out of the way till I get it all fixed. "

Fortunately, auntie had sent Edna and Eunice on an errand, and had toldEliza to keep the children away till the little merchant was ready tobegin her sales, so Cricket was left in peace, as Archie, after he hadfinished his adornments, had gone for a sail with Will. 

A little later, and the peanut vender had everything in order. A pitcherof lemonade--not of the strongest, it must be confessed--was added tothe table. At the first signal, the twins, who had been eagerly watchingfrom a distance, darted forward, with pennies in hand, and trade began. Then the girls appeared, and each bought a glass of lemonade, and whenWill and Archie landed, as they did, a few minutes later, the demand forpeanuts increased. Cricket measured them out in a teacup, and pouredthem into the purchaser's outstretched hands. 

"Put in some more for good measure, " somebody would say. "Some of minespilled. "

"Pick them right up, then, " said the little store-keeper, thriftily. "'Twon't hurt the nuts a bit. No, Zaidee, you can't have another thingtill you bring me some more money. A peppermint drop, Eunice? No, youcan't have two for a cent. Don't they look good? B'lieve I'll just tasteone, " hastily putting her words into practice. "Yes, Billy, what do youwant? a red one or a striped one?"

"Say, little un, " asked Billy, uncertainly, "which would you take, ifyou was me? I want two cents' wuth. Would you get two reds, or twostriped?"

"Two reds, " advised Edna, as Eunice said, "Two striped. "

"I can't buy so many, can I?" he asked, holding out his hand, with sixcents in it. "I want some peanits, too, and some lemonade. Will this buy'em all?"

"Get one striped and one white, " said Eunice, "and two cents' worth ofpeanuts and a glass of lemonade. "

"Lemonade is three cents a glass, " said Cricket, "but, Billy, you canhave it for two, because you've helped me so much. "

"By the way, Will, " broke in Archie, suddenly, "how much are crabsselling for, in the market, to-day?"

"Ten cents, " answered Will, promptly. 

"Now, then, Cricket, you owe me a lot on those crabs that I furnishedyou this morning. It took me all yesterday afternoon to catch them, too. You have sold them all off, I see, already. How much did they bring?Give me all the lemonade I want, and we'll call it square. "

"I don't care whether you call it square or round, " answered Cricket, briefly, snipping Zaidee's fingers, which were creeping too near thepeppermints. "Zaidee, keep your hands away. You've broken a whole pieceout of that. "

"How could she break a whole piece?" teased Archie. "If it's a piece, 'tisn't whole, Miss Scricket. "

"If catching crabs makes you so brilliant, you'd better catch somemore, " said Cricket serenely. "Now, do all of you go away. I see someother people coming down to the dock, and I know they'll buy something, if you go away, so they can see me, " she added, rearranging her wares. "Billy, drive them off. " Thus ordered, Billy made a lunge at the twinsfirst, and they, secretly half-terrified out of their wits if he spoketo them in his gruff tones, scampered off to Eliza. Eunice and Ednastrolled off, eating peanuts, and the boys betook themselves to newsports. 

All day the little maid and her faithful ally sat on the little wharf, vending her wares. The dock had half a dozen sailboats moored there, andtheir various owners, in passing to and fro, stopped, laughed, andbought. Soon Billy had to take some of the accumulated money and go upto Simon's to replenish the stock, and frequent expeditions therethrough the day were made. The two refreshed themselves in the intervalsof business with sundry glasses of lemonade, and occasional "peanits, "while every now and then a piece of a red or of a striped peppermintfound its way down Cricket's throat. Billy scrupulously paid for all heate. By supper-time nearly everything had disappeared. 

"Now, I think, Billy, we might just as well drink up this little bit oflemonade, and eat up those peanuts, " said the tired little merchant. "All the peppermints are gone, and it's most supper-time. "

Billy was nothing loth, and together they soon cleared the board. 

"Well, my little peanut woman, how went the day with you?" asked AuntieJean, at supper. She had, of course, patronized the peanut stand herselfduring the day, with grandma. "All your wares sold?"

"Yes, auntie, everything, " answered Cricket, as the always hungry tribegathered around the supper-table. "Billy and I ate up what little therewas left so it shouldn't be wasted. "

"Then you don't mean to go on with your speculations in peanuts?" askedgrandma. 

"No-o, I think not, grandma, thank you, " answered Cricket. "It was verynice to-day, but I think I couldn't stand keeping still all day for_every_ day. But we made a lot of money, " she added, with muchsatisfaction. 

"Well, dear, that is always gratifying, " replied auntie. "How much didyou make? if we may be admitted to the financial secrets of the firm. "

"We made twenty-one cents, " cried Cricket, proudly, "and I think that'spretty good. "

"Indeed, it is. You're quite a financier. And you invested fifty cents?Then you have seventy-one cents now. "

"No, we haven't, " returned Cricket, looking puzzled. "I have twenty-onecents, now. Oh, I spent a lot more than fifty cents. Billy went up tothe store five or six times and got more peanuts and things, as fast asthe money came in. Now, I have twenty-one cents to put in my box. Isn'tthat making twenty-one cents?" she asked, looking up, anxiously. 

There was a burst of laughter from the older ones. 

"My dear little girl, " said Auntie Jean, "I'm afraid your affairs arenot on a sound financial basis. You must have been too generous. Peopledon't call it making money unless they get back all they spend, and morebesides. As it is, you had fifty cents this morning and, to-night, youhave twenty-one. That looks like losing. "

Cricket stared. 

"I don't believe I'm a good speculationer, " she sighed, at last, lookingcrestfallen. "Well, I don't care much. I didn't want to keep store anymore anyway. It's too poky. Can we be excused, grandma? I _must_ have aride on Mopsie, or I'll burst!"

CHAPTER V. 

A BATH IN CURDS AND WHEY. 

All the younger fry were playing in the barn. It was much smaller thanthe great barns at Kayuna, for there was no farm attached to Mrs. Maxwell's place, but the new-mown hay was just as sweet and soft to jumpon as the haymows were at dear old Kayuna. There was a little addedexcitement in the fact that Luke was not nearly so good-natured as'Gustus John was, and was very apt to chase them off his premises whenhe found them there. He said the horses would not eat the hay after thechildren had jumped on it. However, as grandma always said that theycould play in the barn as long as they didn't do any damage to anything, Luke's disapproval did not trouble them much. To be sure, they wouldscamper off if they heard him coming, and breathlessly fly aroundcorners, and eagerly report if the "coast was clear, " but, after all, all this was more for fun than anything else. This morning they had aclear three hours before them, for Luke had gone to drive grandma andauntie over to Plymouth, and they would not be back till almostdinner-time. Of course the time must be improved by a grand romp in thebarn. 

Eliza sat in the doorway crocheting. The older girls climbed the ladderto a high beam, and then would shoot off on to the soft hay far below. Zaidee ambitiously tried to follow. But half-way up the ladder hercourage invariably failed her, and she would sit still and shriek tillone of her sisters came and carried her down. 

"Zaidee, don't climb up this ladder again, " said Eunice, sharply, aftershe had rescued her small sister for the tenth time. "If you do, I'llleave you there. It's too high for you, and you're always afraid. "

"I isn't a bit afraid, " returned Zaidee, stoutly. "It's only when I getup there, the ladder gets so dizzy. "

"You get dizzy, you mean. At any rate, don't climb up there again. "

"You mustn't speak cross to me, " said Zaidee, who was a born rebel, andresented any orders of her older sisters. "If you speak cross to me I'llrun away. "

"Oh, don't, Zaidee!" begged Helen, in alarm. 

"Yes, I will. I'll run away, and then she'll be sorry. Let's jump onthis little hay, Helen. "

But after a time the high ladder looked so very tempting, and it wassuch wild excitement to see the girls flying off that great, high beam, with shrieks of fun and laughter, that Zaidee tried the experimentagain, of climbing up herself. She went up eight rounds bravely, andthen it suddenly looked so very far to the bottom that she screamed forhelp, as usual. 

"You're a naughty little girl, to climb up there again, after I had toldyou not to, " said Eunice, severely. "Now you must stay there and screamtill you promise me not to try it again. " She knew there was really nodanger, and Zaidee was always trying to do what she could not. 

"Take me down, 'Liza! take me down, Eunice!" she shrieked, till Ednasaid:

"Oh, do take her down, Eunice, and have her stop. "

So Eunice helped her off her high perch once more, with the warning thatif she did it again she would certainly leave her there and go awaywhere she couldn't hear her call. Then the older girls resumed theirfun. Zaidee and Helen ran out into the yard. 

Presently, Helen came flying back in a great panic. 

"Do come here, 'Liza! do come quick, Eunice! Zaidee's eating worms!She's eaten two woolly ones, and one plain one. I'm afraid they'll makeher sick. Do come, 'Liza, and make her stop. "

"Isn't she the funniest child!" exclaimed Eunice, as Eliza hurried offto rescue the worms. 

"If somebody won't give her what she wants, or if anything makes hercross, she always does something disagreeable to herself. Sometimes shesays she won't eat any luncheon or dinner, or won't go to walk. Think ofeating those worms, just because I scolded her about climbing up on theladder. Ugh!"

"I should think she _was_ funny. Girls, let's go up to Simon's, and buysome peppermints, " suggested Edna. "It's such a hot day, and peppermintsmake your throat so cool when you breathe, don't you know? I've fivecents in my pocket. "

Zaidee, having reluctantly consented to forego her diet of worms, watched the three girls go out into the road, and ran after them. 

"Let me go, too, " she called, toiling after. 

"No, you can't go, my dear. It's too far. You stay with 'Liza, " saidEunice, but speaking very pleasantly, to avoid another scene. 

"It isn't a bit too far, Eunice. We go there lots of times with 'Liza. If you're going for peppermints, I want some, too. "

"Run and ask Billy to give you some of his, then. Zaidee, you _can't_go. Now, run back. "

"Then I'll run away, " said Zaidee, repeating her former threat. She hadlately heard some one speaking of running away, and it seemed a verynice punishment to inflict on Eunice. 

"Very well, " said Eunice, turning away. "Only don't eat any more worms;"for the way to manage Zaidee was not to take much notice of her. She wasa headstrong little thing, and grew very obstinate if she was opposed. 

"Run back to 'Liza, children, " repeated Eunice, looking back. "Come on, girls. "

"It's awfully hot walking up this road, " observed Edna, as they went upthe slight incline to the village. The treeless road was made of whitesea-shells, powdered fine, and reflected the glare of the sunpowerfully. 

"Don't your feet burn, walking along here? Mine do, awfully, " saidCricket. "I wish I had wooden legs like Maggie Sampson's father's. Hisfeet can't burn. "

"He can't feel the heat through the soles of his feet, 'cause he ain'tbuilt that way, " chanted Eunice, instantly, for she shared the familyfailing for rhyme. 

"We might have stilts, I suppose, " said Cricket. "I love stilts. Here weare. Let's rest and get cool before we go back. "

It was half an hour before the girls strolled leisurely into the yardagain, munching their peppermints. 

"Where are the children?" asked Eliza, hastily, seeing the girls comeback alone. 

"Not with us. We sent them back to you, " said Eunice, quickly. "Whathave those tiresome children done now? They ought to be put in barrelsand kept there. It's the only way to be sure of them. When did you missthem?"

"Ever since you've been gone. Zaidee ran past, saying she was going withyou, so I let her. "

"They must be somewhere around the house or barn, " answered Eunice, beginning to call "Helen! Helen!" She knew that Helen would answer ifshe were within earshot, but Zaidee was quite equal to letting themcall, if she were in a fit of temper. But they searched in vain. Kennethinsisted they went "that way, " pointing down the beach, but Billythought he had seen them going up the beach. They searched the house andbarn, and then, as it was near dinner-time, Will and Archie appeared andjoined the detective force. 

"This is getting serious, " said Will, presently. "I think the littleskivers have really run off. "

"Could they have fallen off the dock?" asked Cricket, anxiously. But, fortunately, it was low tide, and there was no water to fall into. Theyinquired of all passers-by, and of the immediate neighbours, with nobetter result. The children had not been seen. Faces began to growgrave, and feet began to fly faster in every direction. Archie saddledthe ponies, and Cricket started off in one direction, Eunice in another, while he and Will went back into the woodland roads. 

Meanwhile, the twins, after being sent back by Eunice, had marcheddisconsolately down on the beach, without Eliza's seeing them. 

"I'm going to run away now, " said Zaidee, firmly. She must have gottenout of the wrong side of the bed that morning, for everything seemed togo wrong. She was usually a sunny little soul. 

"Where shall we run to?" asked Helen, hanging back. 

"Let's go this way, " said Zaidee, selecting "this way, " for noparticular reason. It led them back of the house, on to one of thewoodland roads, out of sight of anybody. 

They trudged on for half a mile or more, and then suddenly came upon asmall cheese factory, which stood upon one side of a little brook. Therewas a dam here, and a small pond, and on the other side of the brook alittle saw-mill stood. 

Zaidee, of course, immediately wanted to go into this queer lookinghouse, as she called it. Finding the door open, and no one there, sheentered, boldly. As it was just noon, the few men employed were atdinner, and the place was deserted. 

"What a queer house!" exclaimed Zaidee. It was a long bare place, witha platform on one side, and on that were three or four vats or tanks, only, of course, the children did not know what they were. These vatswere for the milk. There was also the most remarkable number of newbrooms decorating the walls. 

The children ran here and there with the greatest interest andcuriosity; and very soon discovered that there were spigots in thetanks. Of course Zaidee instantly proceeded to turn one, and out came aspurting deluge of whey, all over their feet. They jumped back, hastily. 

"Oh, what pretty white water!" cried Zaidee, eagerly, stooping down andspatting her hands in the trough, and then throwing it up in the air. Itcame down all over herself and Helen. 

"I don't like it. It smells so _loud_, " said dainty Helen, drawing back. 

Zaidee sniffed, critically. 

"Yes, it does, Helen. But isn't it pretty? Let's look over the wall andsee what it looks like. "

They were not, however, quite tall enough to do this, but Zaidee's quickeyes, roving around, spied a wooden stool which she immediately draggedup on the little platform, to stand on. She climbed up and looked in. It was not the vat in which she had turned the spigot, and it was halffull of whey with great pieces of the curd floating around on it. 

"Here's more nice white water, with pretty white stones floating on it, "Zaidee cried, eagerly. She stretched down her hand to grasp some. Shecould just reach it, but to her surprise the "white stone" separated asshe grasped it. 

"I can't pick it up, " she cried, puzzled, as she tried again and again. 

"Let me see, " begged Helen. But the stool was not big enough for both tostand on, and Zaidee was too interested to get down. A bigger piece ofcurd came floating towards her, and she leaned quickly forward to reachit. She lost her balance, and went headlong into the milky pool. 

In a moment, sputtering and screaming, she found her feet, for theliquid was only up to her waist, but the top of the tank being even withher head, of course she could not get out. Helen stood open-mouthed withastonishment at Zaidee's sudden disappearance; then she quickly climbedupon the stool to see for herself. Zaidee stood immersed to her waist, with her short, silky black hair plastered to her head with the whey, and small lumps of curd sticking all over her head and shoulders, sothat she looked as if she had been out in a sharp-cornered snow storm. She tried to rub her streaming eyes dry with her wet fists. 

"I don't like this white water, " she said, wiping her wet face on herwetter sleeve. "It's nasty stuff. It's worse than the ocean. It's sourwater, Helen. Just taste it. "

"I can't, " said Helen. "How can you get out? Can you step on those whitestones?"

"They won't hold me up. They're such funny stones. They all go to pieceswhen you squeeze them, " said Zaidee, grasping some with both hands, toillustrate. "Could you put the stool over for me to stand on?"

"I can't, 'cause I'm standing on it. P'raps I can pull you out, Zaidee. See if I can. "

Zaidee waded over to the side of the tank, and tried to climb up thesmooth, tin-lined surface, while Helen tugged from above. 

When this did not work, the children stared at each other wistfully. 

"Do you s'pose you'll have to stay there always?" said Helen, at last, in a half whisper. 

"No. I'll holler, " said Zaidee, with confidence, "and somebody willcome. If only I could get _boosted_ a little bit! Helen!" with a suddeninspiration, "you jump over here and I'll stand on your knee as I do on'Liza's when she boosts me up into the apple-tree. Then I could climbright over. "

Helen hesitated. This plan did not strike her favourably. 

"Oh, Zaidee! I don't want to get down there into that white water. Itsmells so loud, and I'd get my feet all wet, and my dress wet, too. "Helen was one of the children whom dirt distresses, and no soil everseemed to cling to her clothes or hands. Zaidee was not in the leastparticular, or, perhaps, she would not have lunched on woolly worms. 

"But I've got to get out, Helen, " she persisted. "I'm all sticky inside. I don't like it. Please jump in and boost me out;" for the problem ofgetting Helen out never occurred to either of these young philosophers. 

Helen looked very unwilling, but she was too used to doing as Zaideeordered to object further; she slowly put one leg over the edge of thetank till her foot touched the whey. Then she shivered, and hesitated. Zaidee took hold of her leg for fear she would draw it back, but, pulling it a little harder than she intended, Helen immediately fellover on to Zaidee, who, unable to keep her footing on the smooth tinbottom, took a second plunge, dragging Helen with her. 

Then two curded and wheyey heads arose. 

"Oh, Helen, you look so funny!" said Zaidee, as Helen spluttered in herturn. "Doesn't it feel awful nasty? And see how funny these littlestones look now!"

The curd being pretty thoroughly churned up now, with the gyrations ofthe two children, it was settling in a smooth, even layer over the topof the whey. Zaidee slapped and splashed it about in high glee, perfectly satisfied to stay in the tank any length of time, now that shehad Helen beside her there. 

Just then steps sounded on the planks outside, and the voices of menwere heard. 

"Great guns! Who left this 'ere spigot a-runnin'!" exclaimed one, cominghastily forward. "Look at the whey goin' galumphin out. Suthin' must hevgorn bust. "

A breathless silence settled on Zaidee and Helen. 

"There warn't nothin' a-runnin' when I went off to dinner, " saidanother, "and I was the last feller out. "

The next moment the astonished men were gazing at the pair ofguilty-looking little mermaids, who wore curds for seaweeds. Helen'sfloating golden hair, all stringy with whey, was a funnier sight eventhan Zaidee's short plastered locks. The two frightened, dirty, streaming little faces, were raised appealingly. 

"Wal, I vum! We've caught suthin' in _this_ cheese, for sure, " said oneman, coming nearer. 

"We falled in, " said Zaidee, regaining her courage, which never longdeserted her. "We don't like this white water, and it's all smelly. Please take us out. "

"I swan, " said the other man. "Where did you come from, young uns?"

"We live at the beach, at grandma's. Take us out, please. Take Helenfirst. "

"What are you doin' around here, then, a-tumblin' into our vats, anda-spilin' good curds and whey? You don't suppose we want to flavour itwith little gals, do you?"

Zaidee wasn't sure of anything but that she wanted to get out of hernew bath-tub, so she only repeated:

"Please take us out, Mr. Man, and we won't fall in again, ever, 'causewe don't like this white water, truly we don't. There are such funnylittle snow stones in it. We like really truly water best. Please takeus out. "

"Was it you turned my spigot?" demanded her jailer, very sternly. 

Zaidee quaked. She had forgotten about turning the spigot. 

"We won't ever turn it again, " she promised, hastily. 

"Oh, come, Steve, take the kid out, " said the other man. 

"Ef it was one of our children they'd get a trouncin', but they belongto some of them city folks down by the beach. Them city children dunnonothin'--can't expect 'em to. Come, young uns, " and, in a moment, Zaideeand Helen stood on the planks. 

"Sech capers!" grumbled the other man, setting down the dripping littlefigures he had lifted out. "Hull batch spiled. Now, scoot. " And thechildren hastily scooted, leaving a milky track behind. 

They had no idea of the way home, but, as Zaidee was not ready toreturn yet, that did not trouble her. Once outside of the cheese factorythey got leaves and wiped off each other's dripping faces and hair, asbest they could. 

"My shoes are all soppy, " said Helen, tiptoeing along, uncomfortably. 

"Let's take 'em off, " said Zaidee, instantly, sitting down and tuggingat the wet buttonholes, which would not yield to her small fingers. Helen's were loose, and unbuttoned easily. When she got her shoes off, however, she found she could not walk, for the sticks and prickles onthe ground hurt her tender feet. 

"I'll have to put my shoes on again, " she said. "The palms of my feethurt so. Don't take yours off, Zaidee. "

So Zaidee got up out of the little pool of whey that had dripped fromher dress while she had been sitting, and after Helen had, with somedifficulty, crowded her feet into her wet shoes again, the childrenstarted off in search of a new adventure. The hot sun on their clotheswas fast making them very unpleasant objects to a sensitive nose, butthey were getting used to the odour of sour milk. 

There was a little foot-bridge above the dam, for on the other side ofthe stream stood a little sawmill. The children ran across the bridge, gaily. Back of the sawmill were high heaps of delightful yellow sawdust. 

"See those beautiful yellow hills!" cried Zaidee, rapturously, runningforward and throwing herself full length into one, bringing a cloud ofyellow powder about her. "It's awfully nice, Helen; come on. "

Helen, nothing loth, came on, and in a moment the children werewallowing in the soft, light dust. In the somewhat damp state of theirclothes, the immediate result can be imagined. 

"You look just like a woolly worm, Helen, " said Zaidee, gleefully. "You're all fuzzy with sawdust. Lie down and I'll bury you all up. "

Helen obediently sat down, and Zaidee heaped a yellow mound over her. 

"You're like a yellow Santa Claus, " cried Zaidee, as Helen emerged, presently, somewhat smothered. "Now, bury me!"

"I love to feel it all running down my back like ants, " Zaidee said, wriggling, but enjoying the sensation, as Helen let the dry dust dropthrough her fingers on her head. 

A little later, Will, running through the woods, came past the sawmill, and stopped to listen, at the sound of children's voices. Followingthis, he immediately discovered two strange looking objects, rolling, with shrieks of laughter, down the sawdust heaps. 

"You're a pretty pair of kids, " he said, approaching them. "Scaringpeople into fits, for two hours! By Jove! where have you been?" he brokeoff, holding his nose, as he drew nearer. 

"Let's go home, now; I'm hungry, " was all the answer Zaidee deigned. 

And so it happened that just as auntie and grandma drove up in front ofthe gate the first thing they saw was two remarkable little figurescoming slowly around the house, golden hair and black all of a colour, faces begrimed with dust and streaked with sour milk, draggled dresses, with plasters of sawdust here and there, and odorous, --but the less saidabout that, the better. 

CHAPTER VI. 

BEAR ISLAND. 

Eunice and Edna were devoted little friends. Edna came just between thetwo sisters. But, as she had always been somewhat delicate, Cricket'stireless energy often wearied her, and Eunice's naturally quietertemperament suited her much better. Edna was more deliberate ineverything than her little cousins were, more literal, less full of funand frolic, and sometimes fretful under the mere burden of not feelingquite well and strong, as they always did. But she was neither selfishnor exacting, as delicate children often are; she was always gentle andpolite, never reckless and forgetful of consequences, as Cricket sooften was, and so she made an excellent balance for her little cousins. 

Cricket sometimes found herself rather in the cold, when Eunice and Ednawere together, however, for Edna loved to get Eunice down in some cool, shady corner, or under the rocks on the beach, to chatter or do fancywork together. Cricket thought this was dreadfully stupid, and wheneverthe other girls settled themselves for what Edna called a "cozy hour, "she would slip off by herself, to find the boys, or go off with oldBilly, with whom she had struck up such a comical friendship, for hefollowed her round like a big dog, and permitted all sorts of libertieswith his possessions from her, that he was very chary of allowing theothers. Or else she would go alone for a scamper on Mopsie, or evenperch herself up on a branch of some tree in the orchard, and pore overthe pages of her beloved "Little Women, " or some other of herfavourites. Reading was the sole sitting-down occupation that Cricketdid not think was intolerably stupid, and a sheer waste of time. Fortunately, she always had boundless resources of amusement withinherself, and she would not have been lonely on a desert island. 

"Come for a row, girls, " said Eunice, the next morning. "The water islike glass. "

"Suppose we row over to Bear Island, " said Edna. "I'll take myembroidery, and you can take a book and read to me, Eunice. If we takethe boat off the boys can't get to us and tease us. "

"All right, " assented Eunice. "We'll take the 'Light-house Girl. ' I'mdying to finish it. Cricket, you bring your knitting, won't you, andwe'll take some cookies and things to eat, and stay all the morning. "

"'Not mush, ' as baby says, " responded Cricket, with decision. "Think I'mgoing to waste this glorious day, knitting _washrags_?" with ineffablescorn. "You two old grandmothers can knit and read all you want to. I'vetoo much else to do. "

"Cricket is afraid she'll get her washrag done, if she works on it, "laughed Eunice. 

"Well, what if I am?" returned Cricket, defensively. "As long as I havethat on hand, nobody can ask me to do anything else. If I'm careful howI work on it, I can make it last till I'm grown up. "

They all laughed at Cricket's scheme. Her knitting was a standing joke. Mamma had insisted on her learning how to knit, when she was quitesmall, telling her that it would be a very useful accomplishment whenshe was grown up, and that it was very much easier to learn to knitquickly, if one learns very young. So Cricket had toiled her way througha pair of reins for Kenneth, and had also accomplished a red and whitestriped washrag for Helen. Her present undertaking was a blue and whiteone for Zaidee. It was now a year old. 

"If Zaidee was in need of that washrag, she'd be a blackamoor before shegets it, " said Eunice. 

"She isn't starving for it, " returned Cricket, comfortably. "And I'vedropped so many stitches, anyway, and couldn't find them, that it isn'tmuch but holes. The knitting only just holds the holes together. 'Lizawill have to darn it a lot, before she can use it for Zaidee. "

"You're old enough to like to sew and embroider things, " said Edna, reprovingly. 

"No, I'm not, " said Cricket, quickly. "When I have to wear plaguy longdresses, and when I can't play football, nor climb trees, nor perform onthe trapeze, nor do anything nice, then I'll get some glasses and storeteeth, and sit down and consolate myself by knitting and sewing all day. Ugh! I wish I were a boy! I mean, sometimes I wish I were, " with a quickglance around, to see if those omnipresent cousins of hers were withinearshot, for, before them, nothing would have induced her to admitanything of the kind. 

"You and I will go, then, Edna, " said Eunice. "I'll run down and getthe boat ready, while you bring the cushions, and get something to eatfor a lunch. Better come, Cricket. "

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll row you over, and then I'll row rounda little, for fun, myself, while you two are having a nice stupid time, all by yourselves. You can call me when you want me to come back. 

"Oh, I'll tell you what let's do. Let's play we're shipwrecked. You getsome luncheon, Edna, lots of it, and we'll have a very exciting time. "

"You always want to _play_ something, " said Edna, who couldn't quiteunderstand how Cricket could always change the aspect ofeverything--even of things she had to do, that she didn't like--by themagic formula, "Let's play. "

"It's so much more fun to play things, than just plain _do_ them, "Cricket contented herself with saying now. 

"I'll run the boat down, Eunice, if you'll go with Edna, and get all thethings, cushions and books and luncheon, and _don't_ forget yourprecious work, Edna, " and Cricket skipped off to the dock, while thegirls went to the house. 

"Shall we be the 'Swiss Family Robinson, ' or 'The Young Crusoes, ' orshall we be a new set altogether?" asked Cricket, when they were allafloat. 

"A new set, I say, " answered Eunice. "We've played 'Swiss Family' somuch I'm tired of it. Let us be two boys, and Edna our sister. "

"No, our grandmother, " said Cricket, soberly. "It's more appropriate. She likes to knit so much. "

"I won't be a grandmother, " said Edna, decidedly. "If I can't be asister, I won't play. "

"I was only in fun. I'd just as soon that you'd be a sister, " saidCricket, pacifically. "I was only joking. We've escaped from a burningvessel, you know, and every one else is either burned or drowned. We'veprovisions for a month, if we don't eat too much, and we're in the SouthSea Islands. South Sea Islands sound nice and shipwrecky, don't youthink so?"

"Splendid. No sail is in sight, " went on Eunice, striking in, "and awild waste of waters stretch on every side, " quoting freely, as sheswept her hand around the expanse of the wide, calm bay, dotted withwhite sails and rowboats. 

"A savage, rock-bound coast appears before us, " she added, as Cricket'smuscular little arms sent the light boat along towards the small islandahead of them. It consisted of little more than a mass of rocks, with abit of shelving beach on the west side, and, here and there, a scrubbypine. 

But it was a picturesque spot, and the children were very fond of comingover there, since no one else ever seemed to think of it, and they hadit to themselves. 

"Methinks this coast looks bare, indeed, " said Cricket, in her characterof shipwrecked mariner, as she rested on her oars. "Shall we land here, brother?"

"'Tis the only land in sight, " returned Eunice, shielding her eyes, andlooking forward. "What say you, sister?"

Edna giggled. "Suppose there are cannibals there?" she asked. "I don'twant to be eaten up alive. "

"We will defend you, with our last breath, " promised Eunice, valiantly, as they shot up on the pebbly bit of beach. "Shall we explore it, brother?"

"You explore, and I'll row around the island, and see if there are anysigns of cannibals or savages. Perhaps I'll find a settlement of whitepeople, " she said, as she pushed off with her oar, after the girls haddisembarked with the baggage. 

"Don't forget to come back, if you do, " called Edna, over her shoulder. 

"I'll row off, " said Cricket, conveniently deaf to this remark, "andrencounter, " aiming at reconnoitre, "and if you are in any trouble, givethe call, and wave a handkerchief on a stick. Perhaps I'll row back tothe burning vessel, and see if I can pick up any one who is floatingaround. "

The call was a vigorous whoop, that had been long ago adopted. Itconsisted in drawing a deep breath, and then crying, "Wah-whoo-wah!wah-whoo-wah! _Crick_-et! _Crick_-et! wah-whoo-wah!" putting in the nameof the person wanted. 

[Illustration: LANDING ON BEAR ISLAND]

Eunice and Edna watched Cricket off, and then sauntered slowly acrossthe island, to a dear little spot, their favourite nook. It was a smoothbit of sand, under the shadow of a pine, and well sheltered by ruggedoverhanging rocks. They had an uninterrupted view of the bay outward, with the long tongue of land that partly enclosed it, and the lighthousestanding on the rocky point. Marbury lay behind them, out of sight. 

They settled themselves comfortably, in the cushions, with the rocks attheir backs. Edna took her work, a linen cover for her bureau, which shewas embroidering exquisitely. Her deft little fingers accomplishedreally beautiful work, and she loved to do it. 

She had done outline work when her tiny fingers were hardly firm enoughto grasp the needle, and her kindergarten sewing, when she was a smallchild, had been the delight of her teachers, and the envy of her littlecompanions. Eunice was fond of her needle, too, though she was not equalto such deft workmanship as Edna was. 

"You do such _lovely_ things, " she said, now, taking up the strip oflinen, on which graceful maidenhair fern was growing rapidly. "I don'tsee where you get time to do so much. "

"I do suppose it makes a difference that, when I'm at home, I haven'tany one to play with, as you have. Probably you and Cricket play gamestogether, while I am doing my fancy work. What do you do in the winterevenings at home?"

"Different things, " answered Eunice, lifting up the soft, pale-greensilks, admiringly. "Sometimes I study. Not often, though, for papadoesn't like us to study in the evening much. You see, our school is outat one, and lunch is at half-past. Then, till half-past four, we can doanything we like out-of-doors. We skate, if there is any skating in thepark, we coast down hill on Sawyer Street, or walk, or papa takes us todrive. 

"In spring and fall days, we often walk out to Manton Lake for wildflowers or chestnuts. But we must always be in the house at half-pastfour in winter, and at five when the days get longer. Then we alwaysstudy in the upper hall till quarter after six, and then we get readyfor dinner. "

"How nice it is always to have somebody to do things with. I am sure Icould study better if I had somebody to talk things over with. Then ifyou do your studying in the afternoon, what do you do in the evening?"

"After dinner we are all in the back parlour for awhile, papa, andDonald, and Marjorie, and everybody, and we have fun then, I tell you, if there isn't any company. We play games, or papa plays with us. Thenif I haven't gotten through my lessons in the afternoon, papa lets mestudy for half an hour. But we _never_ can study after half-past eight, no matter what. "

"But suppose you didn't study hard in the afternoon, and _can't_ getthrough by half-past eight?" asked Edna. 

"Oh, but we _must_ study hard, " said well-trained Eunice, surprised. "Papa hates dawdling. "

"Does your mother help you with your lessons?"

"Not much. Sometimes she explains something we don't understand, butpapa says we should not need help. Well, then, generally we read for alittle while, or mamma reads to us, and if she does, I embroidersomething. Sometimes we sew on Saturday mornings. What do you do?"

"Nothing, much, " sighed Edna, dolefully. "It's so stupid to be an onlydaughter. The boys are older, you see, and they have each other, andthey do study very hard in the winter. You see, I've no one to go outwith, after luncheon, unless I go with some of the girls. Of coursemamma often takes me with her, but lots of times she can't. And if she'sout when I come in, the house is so stupid. And evenings I just sit anddo fancy work, all by myself, if mamma is invited out to dinner, oranything, and she is invited out such a lot. I wish you were my sister, Eunice. "

"Poor Edna! I wish you were _my_ sister, and could live with me all thetime. I don't think I _could_ leave Cricket and the rest to come andlive with you. Wouldn't it be nice if one of your brothers was only asister? I don't think boys mind nearly as much about being the only one. And sisters are such a comfort. Let's read now. I peeked ahead, andJessica is an only child, too. "

In the interest of their story the time slipped by. They munched somecookies, but decided to wait till Cricket's return before eating aregular luncheon. They always provided themselves with luncheons on theslightest pretext. 

"Isn't it time for Cricket to turn up?" said Eunice, at last, suddenlyinterrupting herself. "She's been gone perfect ages. I really believeher cannibals have eaten her up. "

"If they have, " replied Edna, decidedly, "they would soon repent it. Nobody could digest her, for she would fly around so. I believe even the_pieces_ of her would jump up and down in their stomachs. "

"I thought she would just row around the island, and then come back andhail us, at all events, " said Eunice, laying down her book and standingup to give the call. The "wah-whoo-wah!" rang across the water, butbrought no answering cry. They gave it again and again, with no bettersuccess. 

"What geese we were to let that child go away with the boat!" exclaimedEdna, vexedly. "We should have known better. Likely as not she's rowedover to Plymouth and forgotten us entirely. Let's go up and see if wecan see her from the top of the rocks. "

Accordingly they climbed to the highest point. It was high noon now, bythe sun, and very hot. Not a sail was in sight, nor even a rowboatanywhere. 

Everybody had evidently been driven in by the heat, which was intense. The tide was going out, and soon a mud-flat would lie between them andthe home shore. 

"Gracious, isn't it sizzling hot!" cried Eunice, shading her eyes. "Theheat just quavers up from these rocks. I believe a coffee-pot would boilif you put it on top of my head. Where _is_ Cricket?"

"The tide is going out very fast, " said Edna, anxiously. "Look at thehigh-water mark. If we're not off here in less than half an hour we haveto wait till the tide is up again. That's a nice prospect, too, to stayhere and broil all the afternoon. "

"Horrors!" cried Eunice. "I like to stay here when I want to, but Idon't want to be made to. When could we get off, then?" for Eunice knewmuch less accurately the times and tides than Edna, who always spent hersummers at Marbury. 

"It was high tide at eight this morning, so it won't be entirely outtill two. But you know there is about an hour and a half before ebbtide that the flats are bare, and, of course, it's the same time afterthat before enough water comes in to float a boat. I don't believe it'smore than twelve now. Think of staying here till, say, four o'clock. Let's call again. She might be over on the other side of Clark'sIsland. "

"Wah-whoo-wah! Wah-whoo-wah! Come _back_, Cricket! Wah-whoo-wah!" Eunicesent her clear, strong voice ringing across the smooth waters, but withno better success than before. 

"You don't suppose she's purposely hiding somewhere, do you?" askedEdna, doubtfully. 

"No, indeed, " returned Eunice, promptly. "She's only forgotten, ifanything, unless something has happened to her, " she added, somewhatanxiously. 

"Nothing could happen in Marbury Bay, " replied Edna, positively. "It'sthe safest old hole. And since we are not really in the South SeaIslands, there aren't any cannibals to eat her up. "

The island was only about a mile and a half from shore, and they couldplainly see grandma's house on the Neck. Not a soul was in sight, noteven Eliza and the children. 

"Let's wave a handkerchief, " suggested Eunice, looking for hers, "forthe boys may see it and come out for us. "

"It's not much use, " said Edna, "for I don't believe any one wouldnotice a little white handkerchief fluttering over here, and, besides, I'm getting dreadfully afraid that there isn't time for any one to pullout here and get us in before the tide would be so far out that we wouldstick in the mud. You see the bottom is so flat that the water goes outvery quickly. But let's try a handkerchief. "

"I haven't any with me, " said Eunice. "Take yours. "

"Bother! I haven't either. Oh, there's a boat coming past. If that manwould take us in, we might just get to the shore. Wave _something_. Call! Call!"

The girls shouted vigorously, but the little rowboat aggravatingly kepton its way, the oarsman having his back towards them. Then he turned hiscourse a little, keeping in the channel where the water was deeper. 

"What _can_ we wave?"

"Take your work, Edna. Tie it to a stick. "

"Tie my work to a _stick_? Why, it would ruin it. "

"No, it wouldn't. What if it did? We don't want to stay here all day;"and Eunice caught the linen scarf from Edna's half-unwilling hand, and, tying it to a stick, waved it furiously. 

"Oh, dear, I wonder if it will ruin it? Wave harder, Eunice. Wah-whoo-wah! Why don't you turn, whoever you are! I wonder if I caniron it out, " went on poor Edna, distracted between the fear of injuryto her beloved work and her desire to get off the island. But the littleboat pulled swiftly down the channel, its owner evidently not desirousof being caught himself on the mud-flats, and was soon a speck on thewater. 

"Where _can_ Cricket be?" wondered Eunice, for the hundredth time. "Edna, I am afraid she's drowned or something, " for she began to be muchmore worried over Cricket's non-appearance than at the prospect ofspending a few more hours than they had intended on the island. 

"I'm sure nothing has happened to her. Cricket will never be drowned, don't be afraid. I think she's just plain gone off and forgottenus--that bad girl! Won't I make the boys tease her for this! There!perhaps I can iron that out smooth. "

[Illustration: "THE EXILES"]

CHAPTER VII. 

THE EXILES. 

Eunice made a telescope of her hands and studied the shore intently. 

"Isn't that our boat, now, drawn up by those rocks? No, not near thedocks, but up to the right. "

Edna followed her gaze. 

"I do think it is! Yes, and that's Billy, isn't it? and those littlethings are the twins. And Eunice! that's Cricket, this instant! Seeshe's standing up now. I know her by the broad white flannel collar onher blue dress. Now they are coming down to the beach. She did row overfor something and sat down to talk, and forgot us. What crazy lunaticswe were to let her go off with the boat!"

"Cricket hasn't forgotten anything serious since she forgot mamma'sinvitation last spring. You see, she never thought about the tide goingout, and meant to come back and get us later. It takes so long to getused to the tide. I do wish it would settle upon some time of day, andkeep to it. Don't you? It's a great nuisance. "

"I guess I do, " replied Edna, with inelegant emphasis. "If I had my way, the tide shouldn't go out but once a day, and that's at night. Theseugly old mud-flats that have to be seen some time during every day arethe one thing that spoil Marbury. It's so pretty when the bay is full. But, Eunice, we've got to make up our minds to stay here and broil, thiswhole afternoon. Even if Cricket should start this minute, she couldn'tget here. Do you see that broad, smooth place, with the water rippling alittle on each side? That means that there is a mud-flat there, and itwill be bare in about ten minutes. Oh, goodness gracious me! enchantingprospect!" and Edna plumped herself down on the rock in despair. 

"It's no worse really than many a time when we've been over here andstaid five or six hours and meant to, " said Eunice, philosophically, "only we never happened to be caught and obliged to stay. And it mightbe worse, " she added, cheerfully. "We have luncheon, for one thing. Youknow we stayed here all day, once. "

"But then we _expected_ to, " said Edna, looking very unresigned. "Wehad made up our minds to. "

"Very well, then, " said Eunice, brightly, "let us make up our minds tostay, now. Let's play we want to, and meant to all the time. We'll eatour luncheon, and then you can embroider and I'll read to you some more. Or let's go on playing that we're shipwrecked, and that Cricket has goneback with a raft to the ship, to bring some things back. Of course, thatwould take all day. "

"If the ship was burned, " objected Edna, "there wouldn't be any wreck tobring things from. "

"We'll play it rained and put out the fire, " returned Eunice, imperturbably. "Plenty of ways to fix it. Wasn't it fortunate we rescuedyour work and my book from the wreck, " she went on, changing her tone. "And don't let's stay here and bake in the sun any longer. I'm justdrizzling away. Come back to the rocks and eat our luncheon. There'sevidently no use waiting any longer for Cricket, " she added, with alaugh. "We'll have a lovely afternoon, and we'll pretend we meant tostay all the time. "

"Oh, pretend! I believe you girls would _pretend_ if you were going tobe hung. You'd play you liked it, " said Edna, laughing, herself. 

"Why not?" answered Eunice, sturdily. "It makes things lots easier. Besides, it's more fun. Do you suppose auntie and grandma will worrywhen we're not back to dinner?"

"No, because I told mamma where we were going, and Cricket will have totell them we're safe, and that she's forgotten us. We can't be run awaywith very well, and nothing can happen to us here. And, why, Eunice!look! isn't that Cricket, now, rowing towards us? No, this way. Not farfrom shore. "

"It is! it is! Wah-whoo-wah! wah-whoo-wah! Naughty, naughty Cricket!wah-whoo-wah!" shrieked Eunice, clapping her hands. 

But Edna instantly put her hands to her mouth to form a trumpet, andcalled with all her might:

"Go back, Cricket! go back! You'll get aground. "

"Wah-whoo-wah!" came back faintly over the water, and they could see thelittle figure bend to the oar. 

"Go _back_!" screamed Edna, fairly dancing up and down in herexcitement, for she knew what would happen better than Eunice did. ButCricket evidently did not understand. She looked over her shoulder, waved her oar, and pulled on. 

"Oh, _dear_, " cried Edna, "see, that mud-flat back of her will be allbare in two minutes, and she doesn't know it, and she's pulling rightacross it. Oh, oh, she's aground!"

And, indeed, the last stroke of the oars had landed the boat on thetreacherous bank, where it stuck fast. The girls watched her, eagerly, as the oars came up, dripping with mud, in her frantic efforts to pushover it. 

"Why doesn't she sit still?" exclaimed Edna, anxiously. "She'll get theboat wedged fast!"

But, by some good luck, one final shove of the oars sent the light boatthrough the yielding mud, and into a little depression beyond, where thewater still flowed. Cricket pulled with all her strength, realizing nowthe inconvenience of being stuck fast. There was still another flat, which was fast uncovering itself, between her and the island, but if shecould only get through that, there was water enough beyond to float herto the island. That had a rock foundation, and the water wasunexpectedly deep around it. But, unfortunately, the next mud-flat wastoo wide to get over it before the swiftly ebbing tide left it entirelybare, and so there, within five hundred feet of the island, she finallystuck, immovably. The girls ran down to the edge of the island, wavingtheir hands, and shouting. 

"I--guess--I'm--stuck!" called Cricket, standing up, carefully, andturning around. Fortunately her voice could just be heard. 

Eunice and Edna laughed at the obvious truth of her remark. 

"I should think she _was_ stuck! What a little goose to try to get outhere when the tide was so low!"

"She isn't used to it, " said Eunice, defensively. "See, now. Fiveminutes ago there seemed to be water enough in the bay, and now look atit!"

It was a sight to look at, for the broad mud-flats were now visible inevery direction, while streams of water still lay in the deeperdepressions. 

"I never noticed before, in all my life, how quickly the tide goes out, "added Eunice. 

"We never happened to be caught on a desert island before, " said Edna, "when you _have_ to notice it. I suppose we get so in the habit ofcalculating upon it, and knowing by the looks of the water how long itwill take, that we forget you don't know so well. But what will Cricketdo? Think of her staying out there for about four hours, in thatbroiling sun, and nothing to eat. Gracious, she has the worst of it. "

"Couldn't she take off her shoes and stockings, and wade in through themud?" suddenly asked Eunice, brightening. 

"No, indeed. She'd sink down to China, I guess. There'sjust about no bottom at all to this mud, if you step in it. Keep--perfectly--still--Cricket, " she hallooed, suddenly, through her hands, as Cricket shows signs of restlessness. 

"What will she do?" groaned Eunice. "It seems perfectly heartless to sitdown and eat our luncheon, when she can't get a mouthful. "

"But our not eating won't do her any good, " objected Edna, verysensibly. 

"Anyway, I'm not going to eat anything, with my Cricket out there, starving, " cried Eunice, determinedly. 

"But _Eunice_! how silly! It won't help Cricket any. She wouldn't liketo have you not eat. "

"I sha'n't eat a mouthful, " replied Eunice, obstinately, shaking herhead. 

"Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll eat just one tinysandwich apiece, so we won't just die with hunger, then we'll call toCricket that we won't eat the rest till she can get in here. Then we'lleat it before we go back. "

"Yes, I'll do that, " answered Eunice, after considering a moment. Andthen they called to Cricket. 

"We--won't--eat--any--luncheon--till you--get--here. Can--you--wait?"

"Have--to!" called back Cricket, cheerfully. "Will--it--be--long?"

"Three--or--four--hours!" answered Edna. "Keep--as--still--as--you--can, --so--the--boat--won't--sink. _Can_ she keep still?" added Edna, toEunice. 

"I think so, " answered Eunice, somewhat doubtfully, it must beconfessed. Then they sat down, and, opening their luncheon, selected asmall sandwich each. It really took considerable self-control not tosatisfy two hearty appetites, then and there, for the luncheon lookedvery tempting. But Eunice resolutely put the basket away. 

"What will auntie think?" asked Eunice, anxiously, glancing toward theshore. "It's dinner-time, I guess. "

"There are the boys, now, " cried Edna. "Yes, it's dinner-time, andthey've come down to see where we are. " She stood up and waved herbureau cover. The boys, catching sight of the signal, waved franticallyin return. Presently, all the others, grandma, auntie, old Billy, andthe children, were seen to gather there. The boys ran up and down thebeach, then all the figures clustered together, evidently holding acouncil of war. 

"There's just nothing to be done, " sighed Edna, "except to wait for thewater. "

"Wait for the water, and we'll all take a ride, " sang Eunice. "It'sreally much harder for them to be anxious about us, and about Cricket, than for us to be here. And hardest of all for Cricket. For pity's sake!what is the child doing?"

In watching the shore people, they had forgotten for a moment thestranded boat and its small occupant. As they looked again, they saw shehad stuck the oars in the mud, blade down, and was now evidently lashingthem to the oar-locks. This done, she stood up and slipped off the blueflannel skirt of her little sailor suit, standing up in her short whitepetticoat. She hung the skirt by the hem over the oars, and immediatelyshe had a very fair substitute for a tent, to shield her from theblazing sun. Then, apparently quite contented, she sat down in thebottom of the boat, adjusting the cushion from the stern seat, for aback. She had her face towards the island, and, when she was comfortablysettled, she waved her hand, crying out:

"Isn't--this--exciting?I'm--playing--I'm--Marco--Bozzaris--in--his--shrouded--tent. "

After their consultation, the shore people had evidently decided therewas nothing to be done for the shipwrecked mariner and her exiledcompanions, as presently every one went into the house. 

"Think of the soup and roast beef they're devouring!" sighed Eunice, with a thrill of envy, --but she stood fast to her resolution not to eatluncheon till Cricket could have some, too. 

Fortunately, there was no special danger for Cricket, unless sheactually tumbled out of the boat into the deep, soft mud, which shecould scarcely do, unless she deliberately jumped out, so securely wasthe boat held. So the time went on, and Eunice and Edna, after a while, submitted to the inevitable, and resumed work and reading, stopping nowand then to look towards Cricket, and call out sympathizing messages. 

"Isn't--it--nice--I'm--near--enough--to--talk--to--you?" called backthis little Mark Tapley once. 

"Are--you--_very_--hungry?" shouted Eunice, after a long lapse in thishigh-keyed conversation. But there was no answer, and, looking again, they saw that Cricket's head was down on her arm, which was stretchedout over the seat. 

"She's actually gone to sleep!" said Eunice, in amazement. "Well, Inever knew Cricket to go to sleep in the daytime before in her life. "

"I should think she'd do anything for variety, " returned Edna. "If thisisn't the longest day that ever was! I should think it was to-morrowmorning. It's worse than that day last summer when we wentblackberrying and came home at ten in the morning, thinking it was six. Do you remember?"

"I should think I did! I never had a chance to forget it, " answeredEunice, "between papa and Donald. I suppose it _was_ funny to them, butI never could see how the time seems so long to us. "

"Oh, look, look!" cried Edna, suddenly. "Do you see that little ripplewhere the water lies in the channel? The tide is turning at last. In anhour or so, now, the water will be high enough for Cricket to get overhere at least, --though we can't get home for a long time yet. "

If the time had dragged before, this last hour fairly crawled. Eagerlythe girls watched the strengthening ripples and the eddying current inthe channel, as the water slowly crept higher in the outer bay. Slowlythe brown ooze became a smooth, even, brown paste, and then, a fewminutes later, the usual transformation scene took place. The bay was soprotected by the long arm of land that half surrounded it that there wasnot only no surf, but no large waves even. The first you knew, thedeepening water hid the ugly mud-flats, which were so level that onlytwo or three inches of water were needed to transform the bay into athing of beauty. 

"Cricket! Cricket!" shrieked both girls, in eager chorus. "Wake--up!wake--up! the--tide's--coming--in. _Crick_--et!"

Cricket, evidently bewildered, sat up, and looked around her, thengrasped the situation. Quickly she pulled down her tent, and restoredher skirt to its original use. She unlashed her oars, and adjusted themin the oar-locks. 

"Push--off--as--soon--as--you--can!" called Edna. "Rock--the--boat--to--loosen--it. "

Cricket obeyed instructions. She kept up a steady swaying movement, dipping her oars lightly in the deepening water. At last, likeLongfellow's ship, "she starts! she moves!"

"Hurrah!" shouted Cricket, waving her oar, and then applying itvigorously. "I'm off!"

One more determined shove and she _was_ off, and her boat floated in thehollow between herself and the island. It was but a moment's work thento pull in shore. If the two sisters had been parted for a year, theycould not have greeted each other more rapturously. They rushed intoeach other's arms, kissing and hugging each other, while Edna declaredshe would eat up all the luncheon if they didn't stop. 

"If I'm not starved!" cried Cricket, eagerly falling to as soon as theluncheon was opened. "I almost thought I'd eat my shoes out in the boat. It was awfully good of you not to eat anything till I got here. "

"There's enough to last us till we get home, anyway, " said Edna, munching away at the sandwiches with much satisfaction. "Now tell us, Cricket, what became of you?"

"Nothing became of me. I thought I'd row over home for a drink, and oldBilly and the children were down on the beach, and I took them out for alittle row, and I played they were castaways from the burning ship. ThenI took them in, and sat down to rest, and then I thought it was time tocome back for you. I never thought about the tide, and there seemed tobe plenty of water around, and suddenly I found the water had all turnedinto mud. "

"Cricket, your stockings are all coming down, " interrupted Eunice. 

"Yes, I know, " said Cricket, coolly, stopping long enough to produce herside-elastics from her pocket. "I took off my stocking-coddies to tiethe oars up with, to make my tent. Why, I had lots of fun, girls. Icouldn't think of any shipwrecked hero who was ever stuck in the mud, soI played the mud was a desert, and that I was Marco What's-his-name inhis shrouded tent, and--"

"It was the Turk, who was at midnight in his shrouded tent, " interruptedEunice, again. 

"Was it? Well, I played it, anyway. Then I put my head down on my arm tolook like him, and I must have gone to sleep, for the sun was prettyhot, even under my tent, and it made me dreadfully sleepy. Then I heardyou call me, and there was the water all around me. Can't we start, now, Edna?"

"We can't get over that last bar nearest the shore, yet awhile, "answered Edna, "but we can start as soon as there is the least bit ofwater over it, for by the time we get there the water will be deepenough to float us. "

"I don't care how long we stay, now, " said Eunice, contentedly, "sinceCricket is here, and not out there all alone. I'll row in, Cricket. "

"See, there are the boys running along the shore, and beckoning. Probably they mean it is safe to start now. Let's get ready. My goody, doesn't it seem as if we had been here a week?"

"Don't let's come again till it's high tide in the middle of the day, "said Eunice. "Here, now we have the things all in. "

"Isn't this boat a spectacle?" said Eunice, surveying its mud-splashedsides. "Won't the boys give you a blessing, Miss Scricket!"

"A blessing is a good thing to have, " answered Cricket, quiteundisturbed, as she yielded the oars to Eunice, and sat in the sternwith Edna. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A NEW PLASTER. 

"It seems to me, my dear, " said grandma, standing on the piazza, anddrawing on her gloves, "that it is a _very_ great risk to run to go andleave those children to themselves for six whole hours. If you _could_manage without me, I think I'll stay at home, even now, " and grandmalooked somewhat irresolutely at the carriage, which was waiting at thegate to take them to the station. 

"I am afraid you must come, mother, on account of those businessmatters, " Mrs. Somers answered. "But the children will be all right, Iknow. Eliza will look out for the small fry, and the elders must lookout for themselves, " she added, looking down at the three, Eunice, Edna, and Cricket, with a smile. "Don't get into any mischief, will you?"

The girls looked insulted. 

"The very _idea_, auntie!" exclaimed Eunice. "As if we ever got intomischief! Nobody looks after us especially, at Kayuna. "

"And, consequently, " said auntie, with a sly smile, "you go to thecider-mill when you are put in charge of the children, and get run awaywith by the oxen. "

Eunice got very red. 

"Well, that was a great while ago, auntie, when we were quite young, "she said, with as much dignity as if the occurrence auntie referred towas half a dozen years ago, instead of one. "Anyway, " changing thesubject, "we'll look after everything now, and you can stay till thelast train, if you want to. "

"No, dear, thank you. We'll come on the 5. 10, I think, at any rate. Perhaps earlier, if we accomplish all our business. There! I didn't puton my watch. Edna, will you run up-stairs and get it, from my bureau ortable? I think I laid it on the table. No, wait. Have you yours, mother?Never mind, then, Edna. But will you please put it back in my drawer, when you go up-stairs, dear? Don't forget. Well, good-by. Be goodchildren, " and with a kiss all round, auntie and grandma got into thecarriage. 

"Good-by. Be sure and bring me some chocolate caramels, " called Edna. 

Auntie smiled, nodded, and waved her hand, and then Luke turned thecorner, and they rolled away. 

"The boys said that the tide would be right for bathing, about eleven, "Cricket said, after they had watched them out of sight. "Come on, it'smost time, " and off they trooped for their plunge. The children werealready over at the Cove, with Eliza, running about in their little bluebathing-suits, though they generally went in only ankle deep. Edna couldswim well, and Cricket had made good progress in the last week. Eunicetook to the water as naturally as a duck, and, strange to say, hadlearned to swim well, before Cricket did. 

After their bath they came back to the house, where Eunice and Cricketsettled themselves on the piazza, to write letters to the travellers. Cricket kept a journal letter and scribbled industriously every day. Both Eunice and Cricket had sometimes very homesick moments, when papaand mamma seemed very far away, and Cricket, in particular, occasionallyconjured up very gloomy possibilities of her pining away, and dying ofhomesickness, before they returned, so that when they should come home, they would find only her grave, covered with flowers. She even went sofar, in one desperate moment, as to compose a fitting epitaph for hertombstone, which was to be of white marble, of course, with an angel ontop. 

This was the epitaph. 

 "Oh, stranger, pause! Beneath this mossy stone Lies a poor child, who died, forsaken and alone. Her mother far in distant lands did roam, Leaving her daughter, Jean, to die at home. She pined away in sad and lonely grief, Not any pleasures brought to her relief, And when at last her family returned, With sorrow great, about her death they learned. So, pause, oh, stranger! drop a single tear, Pity the grief of her who liest here. "

This effusion was the greatest consolation to Cricket. She never showedit to anybody, not even to Eunice, but she often took it out, and readit with much satisfaction, and was almost inclined to begin pining awaydirectly. 

But on the whole they were very contented, and it was much easier forthem than if they had been left at Kayuna. 

Dinner-time--dinner was a one o'clock feast, in the summer--came whenthey had finished their letters, and had them ready for the mail. 

"We'll have the European letters to-night, " said Eunice, joyfully, asthey sat down to the table. "Does it seem as if we'd been here twoweeks? Mamma won't seem so far away, when we get the first letters. "

"There was the cablegram, " said Edna. 

"That doesn't count, " said Eunice. "It wasn't mamma's own dearhandwriting. "

"Papa writed it, " chirped in Helen. 

"No, he didn't, goosie, " said Cricket. "The man here wrote it. Papa onlysent it. "

"I know!" exclaimed Zaidee. "Papa talked it into the box, and the manwrited it down when he talked, " confusing the telephone at home with thecablegram, which, directed to Miss Eunice Ward, as the eldestrepresentative, had been the occasion of much excitement on its arrival. 

After dinner the three girls started down on the beach, to sit downunder the rocks till it should be cool enough, later, to go for a ridewith the ponies. 

"There comes the baby, all alone, " said Cricket, presently, as thatyoung man slipped out of the yard all by himself, and ran across theroad and down towards the beach where the girls were. "Doesn't he lookcunning? The darling!"

Kenneth, although he was nearly four, was still The Baby to the family. His broad-brimmed hat hung down his back, held around his chin by itselastic, and his golden hair was rampant. His blue eyes were dancingwith mischief, and his hands were clasped behind his back. 

"Dess what I dot?" he demanded, pausing at a safe distance, and lookingup roguishly from under his long lashes. 

"What have you there, baby? See what he has, Cricket, and tell him hemustn't have it, " said Eunice. 

"Bring it to Cricket, baby, " said that young lady, holding out her hand. 

"Dess what I dot, " repeated the baby, edging off a little. 

Just then Zaidee appeared from the house. Kenneth immediately trottedoff up the beach at the sight of her. She ran after him. 

"Do away!" he cried, holding his possession, whatever it was, moretightly. "You tan't have it, Zaidee. I dot it. "

"What's the matter, Zaidee?" called Eunice. "Where's Eliza?"

"She's dressing Helen. Eunice, Kenneth has auntie's gold watch. Sheleft it on the little table where she keeps her God-books"--for so thetwins always called the Bible and Prayer-book--"and he's run off withit. I guess auntie forgot it. Ought he to have it, Eunice?"

"Of course not, " said Eunice, springing up. "Edna, auntie told us to putit away, and we forgot it. Dear me! I hope he won't drop it. Baby, comehere and give the watch to Eunice. " She went slowly towards him, holdingout her hand. 

But baby hugged his treasure. "I dot tick-tick!" he announced, triumphantly. "Tennet likes it. Oo tan't have it, " and off he started asfast as two little legs could carry him, over the soft sand till hereached the firmer beach, which the receding tide had left hard. 

Eunice sprang after him. The baby looked back over his shoulder, greatlyenjoying the race, tripped over a bit of stone, and fell headlong, thewatch shooting on ahead. He gave a frightened cry as he fell, but thenext instant, when Eunice reached him, he lay motionless. Hurriedly sheraised him up. A stream of blood poured from an ugly gash in his poorlittle forehead, cut on a piece of glass that was half imbedded in thesand. As she raised him his golden head fell back heavily, and his eyeswere closed. 

"Oh, girls, girls!" shrieked Eunice. "Kenneth is dead! he's killed! he'skilled!"

Cricket and Edna were already by her side. 

"Run, Zaidee--Edna--run for Eliza. Get some water, Cricket. Oh, baby, speak to me, " poor frightened Eunice cried, half beside herself at thegruesome sight of the baby's white, still face, and that dreadful bloodwelling up so fast, and staining everything with its vivid red. Cricketflew to the edge of the beach, dipping water up in the crown of hersailor hat. She tore off her soft Windsor tie to use for a handkerchief(which, of course, she didn't have), to wipe off the streaming blood. The little face looked ghastly white, in contrast to the blood-soakedhair about it. 

Eliza came flying from the house with the Pond's Extract bottle in onehand and a bundle of old linen in the other, articles that were alwaysat hand, ready for use. 

"Bring him into the shade, " she called, as she ran, and Eunice, withKenneth in her arms, hurried up the beach. Eliza took him as they met, and fairly flew back into the yard. 

"Oh, Billy!" she called, passing him, "go for the doctor as fast as youcan. Kenneth's dreadfully hurt. No, Miss Edna, you go. You can goquicker;" and Edna flew. 

Eliza, frightened herself by the child's unconsciousness, dropped on thegrass under a tree, trying to stanch the blood that now flowed lessfreely. Eunice ran for hartshorn, Cricket for water. As they washed awaythe blood, they could see the long, ugly cut just over his eye. Elizalaid linen bandages soaking in Pond's Extract over the place, but in amoment they were stained through. 

Edna came rushing back, panting and breathless. 

"The doctor's gone away--won't be back for ever so long--they'll sendhim right over when he comes. Oh, Eliza! will Kenneth die?"

Zaidee set up a shriek at the word. 

"Be still, Zaidee, " ordered Cricket, slipping her hand over the littlegirl's mouth. "You go and find poor Helen, and help her finish herdressing. "

Zaidee went off, sobbing, and Eunice asked, anxiously:

"Couldn't we plaster it up ourselves? I know papa says the edges of acut like that ought to be drawn together as soon as possible, andbandaged. I know how he does it. He sops the place off, and washes thecut out, and puts strips of sticking-plaster over it, and then ties itup in a dry bandage. "

"Oh, it's a head you have, Miss Eunice, " said Eliza, who showed herIrish blood by her terror. 

"You get some sticking-plaster, Miss Cricket, while I sop off the blood. Oh, my pretty! my pretty! See! he's opening his eyes. Do you know 'Liza, lovey?"

The heavy blue eyes opened, languidly, and the yellow head stirred alittle. The motion set the blood flowing again. 

"Kenneth, " said Eunice, bending down beside him; "here's sister! wakehim up, if you can, 'Liza. Papa wouldn't let Zaidee go to sleep lastwinter when she fell off the bedstead and bumped her head so. Baby! wakeup, pet!" and she kissed him, eagerly. 

In a few minutes, Cricket came running out of the house. "We can't findany sticking-plaster, and we've looked everywhere. Edna says shedoesn't know if her mother has any. What shall we do? I know it oughtto be put together right away, else it wouldn't heal so well. Oh, wait!I know!" and back she darted. Immediately she reappeared with a part ofa sheet of postage stamps. 

"These will do, 'Liza, " she said, excitedly. "Now, is the cut all washedout? Here, I can do it. I've watched papa lots of times. "

Cricket knelt down by the baby and dipped a piece of linen in water. Theflow of blood was very slight by this time. She wiped Kenneth's foreheadoff, carefully, over and over, and then the cut itself, looking to seeif any bit of glass or sand was still in it. Then, with firm, gentlelittle fingers, she drew the gaping edges together closely, and heldthem, while Eunice moistened some postage stamps in water, and laid themin place. 

"Cricket! how can you do that? How do you know how?" exclaimed Edna, whokept in the rear, since the sight of the blood made her feel a littlefaint and sick. 

"I've seen papa _loads_ of times, " answered Cricket, in hermatter-of-fact way. "If only we had some surgeon's plaster. But thatwill hold for now. Bind this strip tight around it now, 'Liza. Baby, can't you talk a little? Do you know Cricket?"

"Tritet, " repeated Kenneth, with a faint little smile. "Tritet takebaby. "

"Let me have him, " begged Cricket, and Eliza laid him gently in hislittle sister's arms. 

"Eunice, there's Mrs. Bemis coming over, " said Edna, "I'm so glad. "

Mrs. Bemis was the doctor's wife. She came hastily up to the littlegroup. 

"I was out when Edna came, and just got in. The girl told me some onewas hurt, so I came right over. The baby, is it? poor little soul! hashe lost all that blood? did he cut himself?"

Eunice explained, and Cricket told Eliza to unfasten the bandage to askMrs. Bemis if it was all right. At the sight of four pink stamps, thedoctor's wife exclaimed in astonishment:

"What have you put on for a plaster? It looks beautifully done. "

"Them's postage stamps, " volunteered Eliza, quickly. "Miss Cricketcouldn't find any sticking-plaster, so she brought this. Oh, she's herfather's own child for the doctorin'. "

"I thought they might do, " explained Cricket, rather shyly. "I knew Iought to have strips of plaster, of course, but I couldn't find any. Ithought the cut ought to be drawn together as soon as possible. "

"You're a thoughtful child, " said Mrs. Bemis, warmly. 

"But Eunice thought of doing it first, " answered Cricket, quickly. "Ionly thought of the postage stamps. "

"He's too heavy for you, my dear, " said Mrs. Bemis, then. "Carry himgently into the house, Eliza. He's faint with the loss of so much blood. Let him go, dear, " as Cricket demurred. "Eliza can carry him better thanyou. Let me give him a few drops of this, first, " and she moistened thebaby's lips with a few drops from a flask she had brought in her hand. 

When the little procession reached the hall door, Mrs. Bemis said:

"Let me take care of him now, with Eliza, girls. You keep the twinsamused out-of-doors, " for Zaidee and Helen came creeping down thestaircase, looking frightened to death. The girls willingly turned back, having taken them in charge. 

"Oh, the watch!" suddenly exclaimed Edna, and they all raced down tothe beach, where the accident had happened. The watch still lay, gleaming in the sunlight, where it had fallen, ticking as unconcernedlyas if no adventure had befallen it. Fortunately, it had alighted on aparticularly soft bit of sand. Edna picked it up. 

"If only I hadn't forgotten to put this away when mamma told me to, allthis wouldn't have happened, " she said, remorsefully. 

"I suppose Kenneth just slipped in there after 'Liza finished dressinghim, " said Eunice, "and saw it lying on the table. You know he's alwaysteasing auntie to show him her 'tick-tick. '"

They went slowly back into the yard, scarcely knowing what to do withthemselves. They could not settle to any of their regular amusements, and nobody wanted to go off riding. The twins were still under the tree, where they had left them. Helen ran towards them. 

"Eunice, won't you please make Zaidee stop drinking up all the Pond'sExtrap? She says she likes it, and I'm afraid it will kill her, " shesaid, half crying. "I told her to don't, and she didn't don't. "

"Put the bottle right down, Zaidee, " ordered Eunice, laughing. "If youdrink the Pond's Extract, what will you do when you fall down and hurtyourself, next time?"

Zaidee took a last hasty swallow. Strange to say, she did like it, verymuch. 

"I suppose it goes all down inside my legs, " she said, with calmconviction, "and if I bump my legs it will do them lots more good insidethan outside. Come on, Helen. 'Liza said cook would give us our supperto-night, and she's calling us. "

"What funny children, " exclaimed Edna. "Does Zaidee really _like_ it?"

"Yes, really. 'Liza keeps the bottle locked up. Isn't it funny?"

Just before auntie and grandma returned, Dr. Bemis came over, and wentto see his little patient. He was amused at Cricket's original plaster, for which he carefully substituted the proper article, but he pronouncedthe dressing of the cut very nicely done, and said that the cut wouldnot have healed so well as he hoped it would now, if it had been leftopen for that two hours that elapsed before he could get there. 

CHAPTER IX. 

GEORGE W. AND MARTHA. 

A rattling, banging, clattering sound, like a small army of tin pans ona rampage, suddenly woke the echoes one still, sultry afternoon. AuntieJean thought it was the circus, and sighed as she wondered if they weregoing to keep it up long enough to make it worth while for her to leaveher cool room and her afternoon nap, to go and stop them. Grandma heardit, and supposed it was Cricket, trying some new experiment as a tinwaremerchant, and hoped she would soon turn her attention to some differentemployment. Cricket heard it, and promptly started for the scene ofaction, meeting, in the hall, Eunice and Edna, who came runningdown-stairs, as well as the boys, who appeared from the kitchen, wherethey had been foraging for a mid-afternoon lunch. 

The disturbance came from the front piazza, but when they went out therenothing, for a moment, was visible, though the same mysterious whackingand banging went on, under the table. 

"What is it?" they all exclaimed, but straightway the question wassolved, for out from under the table-cover backed a half-grown blackkitten, with its head firmly wedged into a tin tomato can. Backing andscratching, as a cat will when its head is covered, the poor littlething, evidently half frantic, tumbled up against the chairs and theside of the house, mewing most frightfully and banging its inconvenientheaddress against the piazza floor. 

"You poor little cat! Has some horrid boy been abusing you?" criedCricket, making a dive for it, but dropping it, when she caught it, withequal promptness, as its sharp claws tore her hands. "Why, stop! youdreadful little thing! How you hurt me!"

"Pick it up, boys, " begged Edna, as the cat resumed its backward way. "Do get that can off. How did any one ever get it on, do you suppose?Here, kitty! kitty!"

"Curiosity killed a cat, they say, " said Will, watching his chance atit. "I suppose it wanted to see the inside of that can, and now that ithas seen it, it isn't satisfied. There's no suiting some people. Thereyou are, sir!" and Will, having caught the table-cloth from the table, sending the magazines and papers in a shower to the floor, threw itover the poor little black thing, so that, in picking it up, he couldmuffle its claws, so that it could not scratch. Its neck was torn alittle, with the sharp, rough edges of the tin can, and a redoubledchorus of frightened meows greeted his first attempt to remove it. 

"Should think a whole orchestra of cats was shut up in here, " Willobserved, trying another direction. "Arch, get out your knife, and seeif you can rip up this can a little. Jove, but it's snug! We candispense with a little of that music, my fine fellow. There--you--are, "as Archie, with a final careful twist, drew off the can. Once out of itstin bondage, the little creature seemed too frightened to move, andsuddenly curled down under the protecting table-cover, to restore itsruffled fur, with many a piteous mew. 

The girls gathered around to pet and soothe it. 

"Keep away, girls. Don't touch it yet with your hands. It's sofrightened still it might scratch you. Here, Cricket, take it in thetable-cloth, there. Better give it something to eat. It's a stray cat, and probably half starved, and that's why it tried to eat tomato cans, like a goat. "

Cricket bore off her charge to the kitchen, where she fed and soothed itwith such good effect that, when she came back, half an hour later, thelittle black cat cuddled down on her arm, purring like a teakettle inspite of its wounded neck. 

"Isn't it a dear?" she said, admiringly. "I think grandma will let mekeep it. We haven't any cat in the house since Wallops died, and I lovethem. "

Grandma was entirely willing that the little waif should be added to thefamily, and so it was legally adopted by Cricket, with all sorts ofsolemn ceremonies. Then came the naming it, always a serious difficulty. 

"I want a very appropriate name, " meditated Cricket, aloud. 

"The Cat in the Iron Mask, " suggested Will. 

"Too long. Think of calling all that out when I want him in a hurry. "

"Cantankerous, " said Archie. 

"No, I want a regular name. "

"Can-on Farrar, then. That's a regular name, and it's a very appropriateone. "

"I don't like that, either. I want just a plain, common, every-day sortof name, like George Washington. "

"Very well, take George Washington, then. That is very appropriateindeed. He couldn't tell a lie, and probably your cat can't either. "

"Do you think he's dignified enough to be called George Washington!"asked Cricket, doubtfully, watching the Nameless jump around after histail. She had had him for two days now, and he had quite recovered fromhis tinny imprisonment. He proved to be a most well-bred andentertaining little cat, for he came when he was called and went when hewas bid, in orthodox fashion, and made himself entirely at home. 

"Probably George was frisky in his youth, " said Will. "Especially whenhe was courting Martha. "

"Then I'll do this: I'll call him George Washington as far as his tail, and I'll call that Martha, because he runs after it. Come here, GeorgeW. , you've run after Martha long enough now. Come here, and bechristened. "

[Illustration: FEEDING GEORGE WASHINGTON--"CRICKET BORE OFF HER CHARGETO THE KITCHEN"]

And so George Washington he remained to the end of the chapter. He soonlearned his name, and would come flying at the first sound of it. Heproved to be a pet that required considerable attention. He was of anespecially sociable nature, and, if left alone in any room, he wouldhowl in mournful and prolonged meows, that speedily brought some one tothe rescue. He tagged the girls like a little dog, and would stand onthe shore crying like a child if they went off in the boat and would nottake him. He slept in Cricket's bed at night, and if by any chance hewas shut out when the family went to bed, and the house was locked up, he would make night hideous with lamentations, to an extent that wouldsoon bring some one down to let him in. 

One day the familiar meow sounded, and Cricket, who was curled up in thehammock, reading, instantly sprang up. 

"There's George W. , " for so his name was generally abbreviated, "andhe's shut up somewhere, and I let him out myself only a few minutes ago. I believe he gets into places through the keyholes, and I don't see whyhe doesn't get out through 'em. "

But George was not to be found in any of his usual haunts, and his meowsceasing, Cricket went back to her book. Presently, a prolonged cry washeard again, and again Cricket started in quest of him. She looked andcalled everywhere, but George W. Was nowhere to be found, though hismeow, with a quality peculiar to himself, seemed to come from noparticular place, but to pervade the air generally. 

"Come and help me find George W. , " she called to Eunice and Edna, whowere also on the piazza. "He's mewing dreadfully, and I can't find him. "

"He's worse than a baby, " said Eunice, unwinding herself from thecomfortable, twisted-up position in the steamer chair, which she loved. "Couldn't you let him cry a little while and give him a lesson?"

"I wouldn't mind giving _him_ a lesson, but I'm afraid he'd give me onein patience, " returned Cricket, laughing. "I'm sure I don't want tolisten to that music long. There, he's stopped again, now. "

But five minutes later, George W. Renewed his complaints. 

"Now I'm going to let him cry!" said Cricket, returning in despair fromanother search. So down she sat, shutting her ears to outside sounds inher comfortable fashion. 

Presently grandma appeared at the hall door. 

"Cricket, my dear, George Washington seems to want something. Don't youthink you'd better try and find him?"

"Grandma, he's been crying and weeping for an hour at least, and I justcan't find him. But I'll look again. "

But wherever George W. Was, he was certainly securely hidden. He criednow and then at intervals, but it was impossible to locate the sound, since it came first from one side, then from another. 

"He's between the floors somewhere, " said Will, who had joined thesearch. "The question is, where?"

"We'll have to decide that question at once, " said auntie, "because wecan scarcely have all the floors in the house taken up. How could hehave gotten in?"

"Perhaps through some small hole in the garret floor. He's probablyforgotten the way back. Or, perhaps there's some hole down cellar wherehe got inside, and ran up after the mice. "

"Perhaps the mice have gotten the best of him, and are tearing him limbfrom limb, " suggested Archie, making such a horrible face that Helenretreated behind Aunt Jean in terror. 

All the afternoon they followed the sounds at intervals, listening atthe floor, and calling over and over. George W. Seemed to be exploringthe entire interior of the house. Late in the afternoon, the cries camemore constantly from the floor of the trunkroom, a small apartment offthe garret, and directly over Eunice's room. There was a small knot-holein the floor, and the light from a window fell directly on it, probablyattracting George W. There. Saws and hatchets were brought, and the boyssoon had a piece of the floor up, making a hole large enough for severalcats the size of George to come up. 

"George evidently likes this sort of thing, " said Archie, hacking away. "First the tin can, then the floor. Come out here, old fellow. " But hewas evidently frightened away by the noise, and could not be induced tocome up. 

"Bring a saucer of milk, Edna, " said Mrs. Somers. "Stand it at one side, and then we will all go away and he will soon come up. " So the milk wasbrought, and as it was supper-time, they all went down and left GeorgeW. To his own devices. Cricket was much disposed to stay and make surethat he came up, but she was finally persuaded to come down with therest. 

"Isn't it funny how his voice came from all over?" she said, at thesupper-table. "Probably he was right there under the trunkroom floor allthe time. He was a regular philanthropist. "

"A regular what?" asked grandma and Auntie Jean, together. 

"A philanthropist. Don't you know? a man who--who talks where he isn't?"

"A _ventriloquist_!" said Will. "That's what you mean. "

"Do I? Auntie, what is a philanthropist, then?"

"A philanthropist is one who loves man, dear, and who--"

"Then when a girl's engaged, is she a philanthropist?" broke in Cricket, with her glass of milk half raised. The others all laughed. 

"She is, very often, " said grandma. 

"I know the man she is engaged to is called her _financé_, but I neverknew she was called a philanthropist, " went on Cricket, thoughtfully. 

There was another shout. 

"_Fiancé_, dear, " said auntie, as soon as she could speak, "and the girlisn't often _called_ a philanthropist, though she often is one. "

"Dear me, " sighed Cricket. "Words are very puzzling. They seem to bemade to say what you don't think. "

"Oftentimes, my little Talleyrand, " said grandma. 

After supper, Cricket ran up to see if George W. Had made his appearanceyet. A few moments later, the household, assembled on the front piazza, was startled by a crash and a scream in Cricket's voice. With oneaccord, everybody rushed up-stairs. The sounds seemed to come fromEunice's room. As they opened the door, a cloud of dust poured out, froma mass of plaster that lay on the floor, while from a hole in theceiling a length of black-stockinged leg kicked wildly. Above, a pair offists beat a tattoo on the floor, while Cricket called, loudly:

"For goodness' sake, somebody come and pull me up; I'm breaking my otherleg off. "

Will sprang for the garret stairs, stumbling headlong, at the top, overGeorge W. , who took the opportunity to spring over his head, alightingright in the midst of the group of eager children, each of whom wastrying to get up-stairs first, and in a moment everybody lay on top ofeverybody else, at the foot of the staircase. 

Will, meantime, found his feet, and went to Cricket's rescue. It wasdark in the trunkroom, under the eaves, but there was light enough tosee Cricket, with one leg stretched out straight, and the other one sofirmly wedged into the hole in the floor that she could not move. 

"My leg feels as George W. 's head must have when he was caught in thetomato can, " said Cricket, as Will drew up. "It's a pretty tightsqueeze. I don't believe there's any skin left on it. I just came upquickly, and I couldn't see very well, and the first thing I knew myfoot slipped into a hole, and there was not any floor there, and Islumped through. "

"Are you hurt? Is Cricket hurt?" cried everybody, scrambling in, in hothaste. 

"Not much, " said Cricket, ruefully, feeling her barked knee. "I camedown pretty hard on my elbow, and I nearly knocked it up to the top ofmy head, and my back feels funny, but I'm _not_ hurt, not a bit!"

"What a mercy the child didn't fall all the way through, and go down onthe lower floor, " said grandma, who had just arrived on the scene. 

"Why, I couldn't, " said Cricket, surprised. "My other leg stopped me. "

CHAPTER X. 

THE ECHO CLUB. 

Eunice and Edna went sauntering along the beach, with arms around eachother's waists. They were bending their steps towards one of theirfavourite retreats, under some big rocks. It was high tide, and thewater lay dimpling and smiling in the sunlight. Down beside the dock, Will and Archie were giving their sailboat, the _Gentle Jane_, athorough cleaning and overhauling. Cricket was--the girls didn't knowexactly where. 

"There she is now, " said Eunice, as they came around the rocks. Cricketlay in her favourite attitude, full length on the sand, in which herelbows were buried, with a book under her nose. She sat up as the girlscame nearer. 

"I have an idea, " she announced, beamingly. 

"_Very_ hot weather for ideas!" said Eunice, fanning herself with herbroad-brimmed hat. 

"Eunice, you're dreadfully brilliant, aren't you? Anyway, I _have_ anidea, and I just got it from 'Little Women. '"

Edna threw herself on the sand. "Don't let's do it, if we have to _do_anything, " she said, fanning likewise. 

"Now, you're brilliant. But you're a lazybones, you know. Tell us youridea, Cricket. "

"You know how Jo and the rest had a club and published a paper? Now, then, let _us_ have a club and publish a paper ourselves. It would belots of fun. "

Eunice and Edna looked rather startled at Cricket's ambition. 

"Who would write the pieces for it?" demanded Edna, instantly. 

"_We_ would, of course, " answered Cricket, superbly. "I'd love to doit. "

"Write stories, and poems, and everything, " urged Edna, aghast. 

"Of course, " repeated Cricket, undauntedly. "It's as easy as rolling offa log. That isn't slang, Eunice, and you needn't look at me. Rolling offa log is really very easy indeed. " For Eunice, though her own languagewas not always above reproach, was very apt to play censor to heryounger sister. "We'd just make them up ourselves. "

"Make them _up_!" Unimaginative Edna opened her mouth and eyes wider. "I couldn't, to save my life!"

"Oh, you _could_. I've made up billions of stories, " answered Cricket, hugging her knees, and talking earnestly. 

"But how?" persisted Edna. "Oh, I couldn't! I wouldn't try!"

"I don't know exactly _how_, " returned Cricket, considering. "Just makethem up, that's all. Things come into your head all by themselves, somehow. "

"It _would_ be fun, Cricket, " put in Eunice, who had been thinking overthe project. "We could print the paper all out on foolscap. "

"Would we each write our own story out?"

"We could if we wanted to. I thought we might take turns being editor, and printing everything out like a real paper. We might have one everyweek, and get subscribers, " added Cricket, ambitiously. 

"Subscribers!" groaned Edna, "and print a copy out for each one? Not ifI know myself. It's too warm weather. "

"Well, then, we might hand the one around to the subscribers, and eachone could pass it to the next, like a Magazine Club, " said Edna. 

"No, " said Eunice. "Don't let us have subscribers, or anything likethat. We'll just do it for fun. We'll write one number out forourselves. I do think it will be fun. Shall we let the boys know?"

"No, " said Edna, instantly. "They would tease and spoil things, just asthey always do. "

"They don't tease much, " said Cricket, defensively. "They're a greatdeal nicer than they were last summer, I think, anyway. They did tease, last summer, dreadfully, and they never played with Eunice and me, butwere always with Donald. " For the summer before, Will and Archie hadspent two months at Kayuna, as grandma had been ill, and was not able tohave them at Marbury, as usual. 

"This summer I think they're awfully nice. At least Will always is, andArchie is, sometimes. They let me be around with them all the time. "

"But I think we'd better not let them into it, " said Eunice, judicially. Eunice generally settled all questions. "They would not stick to it, andthey would want us to do it some other way from what wewanted, "--speaking from long experience with boys, --"and they wouldwant to have it their own way. Now what shall we call ourselves?"

"We ought to be the 'Echo Club, '" suggested Edna, who often hadpractical ideas. "We copy it from 'Little Women. '"

"Splendid!" cried Cricket, clapping her hands. "That's just the name, Edna. How clever of you! We'll be the Echo Club, and the paper shall bethe 'Echo, ' and we'll have badges with 'E. C. ' on them, and we'll choosea certain colour ribbon to wear them on, always, and we'll havemeetings, and oh, we'll have some by-laws!" her imagination instantlyrunning away with her. "I always wanted to have a club, and haveby-laws, and rules, all written out. Do let's begin, right away!"

"We can't very well begin a paper, till we have some stories written toprint in it, " said Eunice, laughing. "We'll have to get some ideas, first. "

"You don't want ideas, " answered Cricket, scornfully. "We want to writesome stories and things. "

"I _never_ can!" sighed Edna, despairingly. 

"But you can try, " insisted Cricket. "It's so easy. " And at last, Edna, with a groan, promised she would at least try. 

For the next few days, the three girls were never seen without theaccompaniment of blank books and pencils. The blank books were Cricket'sidea. She said that they could carry around blank books with them, andwrite whenever they thought of anything to say. So they tied pencilsaround their necks, by long ribbons, and scribbled industriously incorners. Edna groaned, and protested, and chewed up her pencil, butCricket was inexorable, and gave her no peace, till she made abeginning. 

Suddenly Cricket discovered that they were not properly organized yet. 

"Let's have a meeting at two o'clock this afternoon, and choose apresident, and secretary, and treasurer, and an editor, to print thepaper when it is done. We must make up our rules and by-laws, too. Oh, we must have a regular business meeting, " with an air of muchimportance. 

"Let's have it now, for we're all here, " proposed Edna. 

"No, indeed, that would not do at all, " said Cricket, decidedly, quitedisgusted with this suggestion. "We must call the meeting first, justas grown-up people do. " For Cricket, with all her harum-scarum ways, hada strong liking for organization. 

"You're a fuss, " said Edna, laughing, but yielding the point. 

So at two o'clock, the three girls duly and solemnly convened behind therocks, where they were completely screened from observation, both fromthe house, and from any one passing along the beach. All felt theimportance of the occasion, and had preternaturally grave faces. 

"What do we do first?" asked Edna, uncertainly. 

"I know, " said Cricket, quickly. "We nominate some one for president, and somebody seconds the motive. Papa has often told us about it, andonce I went with mamma to a club of hers. I'll nominate Eunice forpresident, and you must second the motive, Edna, and then we'll vote. "

"There'll be nobody to vote, but me, then, " objected Eunice. "Shall Ivote for myself?"

"Might as well. You'll have to be president anyway, because you're theoldest, and it's more appropriate. Or let's do this: You say, 'All infavour say, aye. Contrary-minded, no, ' and then we'll all vote. That'sthe way they did in mamma's meeting, only, of course, there were more tovote. Now, I nominate Eunice Ward as president of the Echo Club. "

"I second the motive, " said Edna, promptly, trying not to laugh. 

"All in favour of my being president, say aye, " said Eunice, in herturn. 

A very vigorous aye from the two others followed. 

"Contrary-minded, say no. "

There being nobody to say no, it was considered a unanimous election, and Cricket so declared it, with a slight variation. 

"Eunice is a _unaminous_ president, " she announced. 

"What is a _unaminous_ president, " asked Edna. 

"I don't know. It's something they always say. Now we must choose asecretary and treasurer. "

"What do they do?"

"Why, the secretary writes things, " said Cricket, vaguely. 

"All the stories?" said Edna, brightening. "I nominate Cricket forsecretary. "

"Of course not. We each write our own stories. I mean letters andthings. Don't you know, Eunice, that Marjorie was secretary to her clublast winter, and what a lot of writing she had to do?"

"Who to?" persisted Edna. "What do they have to write letters for? We'venobody to write letters to but Aunt Margaret and the rest. "

"Not to them, of _course_, " returned Cricket, somewhat impatiently, asshe did not at all know the duties of a secretary. "And the treasurertakes care of the money, of course, " she went on, quickly shifting thesubject to something she was sure of. 

"How are we going to get any money, will you kindly tell me?" pursuedEdna. 

"Keeping a peanut stand, " suggested Eunice, slyly. 

"No, don't let's, " answered Cricket, seriously. "It isn't really _much_fun, and you don't make very much, anyway. First, let's take up acollection to buy the paper with, for we've got to have that. And, well, if we should have any money in any way, the treasurer would be all readyto take care of it. Don't you see?"

"Ye-es. I nominate Cricket for secretary and treasurer, then--"

"I'll second the motive--Cricket, that doesn't sound right. "

"It is, " said Cricket, positively. "When I went to that meeting withmamma, they kept saying that--'I'll second the motive. '"

"All right, then, I'll second the motive, but then Edna will have to bethe editor. "

"No, no, " cried Edna, looking alarmed. "I'll nominate myself forsecretary and treasurer, and we'll have Cricket for editor. There won'tbe any letters to write, and I'm sure there won't be much money to takecare of. "

"It will be lots of work to be editor, " meditated Eunice. "Wouldn't thisbe better, girls? Let each be editor in turn. "

"Yes, that will be best, " said Cricket. "I'd just as lief be firsteditor, though, if Edna doesn't want to. "

"And I'd _lievser_ you would, " said Edna. "Shall I be secretary andtreasurer, then? All in favour say aye;" and Eunice and Cricket saidaye, loudly. 

"What do we do now the officers are all chosen?" asked Edna. 

"Make rules and by-laws, " answered Cricket, promptly. 

"What _are_ by-laws?" asked Edna, again. 

"Why, they are--by-laws. I don't know just exactly what they are, " brokeoff Cricket, honestly. "But I think they sound very interesting andgrown-up-y. Do you know what they are, Eunice?"

"N--o, not exactly. Do you suppose they are the laws about buyingthings? or who must buy them, or anything like that?"

"Why, of course!" exclaimed Cricket, with an air of conviction. "You seethen, we'll _have_ to have by-laws to see about buying the paper, won'twe?"

"And what sort of rules do we have?" went on Edna, in the pursuit ofinformation. 

"Oh, everything! Let's begin to make them now. You write them down, Edna, for your handwriting is so nice and neat. Take the last leaf ofyour blank book. "

Edna obediently opened her book, and took up her pencil. 

"Write 'Rules for the Echo Club' at the top of the page, " directedCricket. "Now, Rule One, " when this was down in Edna's carefulhandwriting. 

"How would this do for rule one? 'We make ourselves into a club calledthe Echo Club. '"

"That's good. Now for rule two. 

"'Every two weeks we will print a paper called the _Echo_, '" saidCricket. "Edna, you make up rule three. "

"'The secretary shall be excused from writing stories, '" laughed Edna. 

"You lazy, lazy thing. That sha'n't be a rule at all, " answered Eunice, laughing also. 

"How would this do, then, for rule three? 'The Echo Club will not doanything in very hot weather, but sit under the trees and embroider andread, and none of the members shall be allowed to make the others go onlong walks and things when it's so roasting hot that nobody wants tostir. ' That's a beautiful rule, " said Edna, mischievously. WhereuponCricket flew at her, and rolled her over on the sand, till she cried formercy. 

"Will the meeting please come to order, " announced the president. "Let'shave the third rule about our ribbons. We'll choose one colour. I votefor pale-green. "

"Blue, " said Edna, and "Pink, " said Cricket, in one breath. Thechildren looked at each other and laughed. 

"I'd just as soon have pale-green, " said Edna, amiably. 

"So would I, " agreed Cricket. "Eunice is president, so let's vote forpale-green. How would this do? 'The club will have pale-green ribbon totie its pencils round its necks. '"

"'Round its necks' sounds funny, " commented Edna, writing. 

"Round its neck, then. But that sounds as if we had only one neck. "

"Say, the club will have pale-green ribbon to tie their pencils roundtheir necks, " amended Eunice. 

"That will do. Now rule four, " said Edna, waiting, with pencil raised. 

"Shouldn't we have a by-law now?" asked Cricket. "For instance, By-lawone: 'The club will buy foolscap paper to print on, and will take up asurscription of five cents to buy it with. '"

"_Sub_scription, " corrected Eunice. "I should think that would do. "

So Edna wrote, neatly:

"Buy-law I. The club will take up a subscription of five cents each, and buy foolscap paper, as much as it needs. "

"That's good. Do we need any more by-laws? What else have we to buy?"

"Ain't those enough rules?" asked Eunice. "I can't seem to think of anymore rules we want to make. "

"When will we have the paper?" asked Edna. 

"Depends on when you send in your stories. This is Wednesday. Have youyour stories nearly done, girls? I guess it will take some time to printthem all out carefully. "

"I can finish mine to-morrow, " said Eunice. 

"Mine's a horrid little thing, but I wasn't born bright, " sighed Edna. "I'll get it done by Friday. I can't think up more than five lines aday. "

"Mine's all done, " said Cricket. "But, oh, girls! a newspaper ought tohave ever so many more things than stories in it. We ought to havejokes, and advertisements, and deaths, and marriages, and all that. Andpuzzles, too. "

"Oh-h!" groaned Edna. "Then you'll have to make them up, that's all. Ithink it's the editor's business, anyway. "

"We'll each do a few. That won't be hard, " suggested Eunice. 

"Suppose nobody dies, or gets married, that we know of?" asked literalEdna. 

"Make them up, child, " answered Cricket, with a funny air ofsuperiority. "In a paper you can make up _any_thing. It doesn't have tobe true. Don't you know how often papa says 'that's only a newspaperstory?'"

"Making them up is just the trouble, " persisted Edna. "If anybody reallydied, or married, or anything, it would be easy enough to write of it, of course. How silly people are who make real newspapers. Why do theyever make up anything, when real things are happening all the time?"

"It's more fun to make things up, " answered Cricket, from the depths ofher experience. "But we can write about that old red hen, and about poorlittle Wallops"--referring to a little black cat, lately deceased. "Theneach of you must send me in some things besides your stories, and I'llmake some up myself. Let's appoint next Tuesday for a meeting, if I canget the paper done. If I don't, we'll have it as soon as I can get itready. "

"Shall that be a rule?" laughed Eunice. 

"No, miss. But suppose we make this a rule--how many rules have we now?"

"Three, " said Edna, referring to the constitution. 

"Then rule four: 'The paper shall be read on Wednesday afternoons, atthree o'clock, in Rocky Nook. ' Why, girls! I made up that name justthen!" interrupting herself, in her surprise. 

"It's a splendid name, " the girls said. 

"We might call it 'Exiles' Bower, '" laughed Edna, teasingly, for theboys had given that name to Bear Island since the girls' imprisonmentthere. 

"If you like, " said Cricket, the unteasable, serenely. 

"Don't you think that the next rule ought to be that we won't tell theboys?" asked Edna. "I just know they will tease us out of our senses. "

So rule five was duly registered, to the effect that strict secrecy wasto be observed, and that they would tell no one but grandma and AuntieJean. 

"There must be another by-law, " put in Cricket, reflectively, here, "for we must have some badges, like Marjorie's society. "

"What are they?" asked Edna. 

"Marjorie took a dime and had the jeweller rub it off smooth, and putsome letters on it. We could have E. C. Put on ours. Then he put alittle pin on it, and she wears it all the time. Don't you supposeauntie would see about them for us?"

"I'm sure she would. She would lend us the money, I guess, and let usmake it up from our allowances. "

So the next regulation read:

"Buy-law two. We will have badges, made of dimes, with E. C. On them, and will ask mamma to let us have the money for them. "

"Doesn't that look club-by?" exclaimed Cricket, enthusiastically, surveying the neatly written page, with its rules and "buy-laws. "

"You ought to be the first editor, Edna, for you do write_beau_tifully. "

"You write my stories, and I'll print the paper, any time, " said Edna, brightening. 

"No, I won't. I won't let you wiggle out of writing your stories, Edna, if I print _all_ the papers. Come, girls, I'm nearly dead with sittingstill so long, " added Cricket, springing up. "Let's go to ride. "

"No, I thank you. This is all I want to do, this hot day, " answeredEdna, stretching herself out on the sand, with her head in Eunice's lap. 

"Oh, lazybones! I'm going to find old Billy, and take him to ride. Good-by!"

CHAPTER XI. 

"THE ECHO. "

"Girls, we forgot one very important thing, " said Cricket, suddenlypausing in her work of copying out carefully, in print, on legal cap, the much-interlined and very untidy looking manuscripts that had beenhanded in. The three girls were sitting cosily in one end of the broadpiazza, Edna lying back in a bamboo steamer chair, reading, Eunice inthe hammock, while Cricket, at the table, with both feet curled up onthe round of her chair, worked industriously. 

"What did we forget?" asked Edna, languidly. 

"We forgot to choose names for ourselves, as Jo and the rest did. Idon't want to sign just plain Edna Somers to your piece. "

"I'm sure I don't want you to, " said Edna, with sudden energy. "I justhate my name. I wish mamma hadn't named me till I could choose formyself. "

"What a good idea!" said Eunice, admiringly. "I never thought of that. What name would you choose?"

"Hildegarde Genevieve, " answered Edna, promptly. "Those are my favouritenames. And I wish my last name was Montague. "

"Hildegarde Genevieve Montague! That's a beautiful name!" exclaimedCricket. "Have that for your club name, Edna. Now you choose, Eunice. "

"Let me see!" considered Eunice. "I think Esmeralda is just splendid, and I _love_ Muriel. Esmeralda Muriel would do. "

"And have Le Grand for your last name, " begged Cricket. "I thinkanything with a _Le_ in it is so--so stately. But Muriel is one of myfavourite names, too, Eunice. What shall I choose? Do you like Seretta?"

"That isn't a real name, is it, " asked Edna. 

"I made it up the other night, and I think it's sweet. I'll be SerettaCarlillian. I made that up, too. So that's settled, " said Cricket, resuming her work, and signing, "Hildegarde Genevieve Montague, " verycarefully. 

The rest of the family had, of course, noticed the sudden literary bentof these young women, and were all curiosity to know the reason of it. The boys gave them no peace, and though the girls stuck to their secretvaliantly, Will and Archie managed to worm it from them at last. To therelief of the girls, however, they did not tease, but, on the contrary, quite approved, and even offered to contribute, an offer which the smalleditor would not accept unconditionally. 

"You may write things, " she said, rather dubiously, "and _if_ I likethem I'll print them. But I'm not going to put in any nonsense. This isa really-truly paper, and the girls have written beautiful stories. "

She was sole judge of the production, however, for the other girls hadagreed that it would be more fun if nobody but the editor knew thecontents of the paper till it was read. It proved to be a great deal ofwork to copy all the paper neatly in printing letters, but Cricket stuckto it faithfully. Auntie advised that she should work regularly, onehour in the morning, and one hour in the afternoon, till she got itdone, and Cricket, who, at first, felt obliged to work at it all themorning, very willingly followed her suggestion. Auntie had alsoundertaken to advance the money for the badges, which a little localwatchmaker had promised to have done before Wednesday. He kept hispromise, and three prouder little girls never walked than these three, when they fastened on these round, shining pins, with "E. C. "embroidered on them, as Cricket said. 

Would my little readers like a glimpse of this "really-truly" paper of"really-truly" little girls?

Well, then, the club meeting was held, by common consent, on the piazza, instead of in "Rocky Nook, " for the boys insisted on being present, andAuntie Jean hinted that an invitation to herself and grandma would bemuch appreciated. 

"You mustn't anybody laugh, " said Eunice, finally, in some trepidation. 

"We'll be as sober as--crocodiles, " promised Will, "and I don't knowanything more serious than a crocodile. "

So, when the audience was duly assembled on the piazza, the "Echo Club"marched out of the house, headed by President Eunice, the secretary andtreasurer following, while the editor, all in a flutter, carrying theprecious paper laid flat in an atlas, brought up the rear. The presidentsat down, gravely, in a big chair reserved for her, while the secretarytook a seat by her side, though she cast a longing look at the hammock, which was regarded as undignified. The editor, vainly trying to controlher smiles and restrain her dimples, stood behind the table, and began. 

"I copied the top part of it from a real newspaper, auntie, " she said, opening the sheet. "Now, boys, remember, if you laugh the least bit, I'll stop. And, oh, auntie, I forgot to say that the boys wrote some ofthe atoms. "

"Atoms?" repeated Auntie Jean, puzzled. 

"_Atoms!_ Miss Scricket, oh, ho!" called Archie; then, recollectinghimself just in time, he clapped his hands over his mouth. 

"That's what you said they were, I thought, " said Cricket, anxiously. "Don't you know, auntie, those little things that come between thestories, and all that? General atoms. I have written it down. "

"Items, dear, " said auntie, soberly. 

"Items--atoms, " repeated Cricket, thoughtfully, comparing the sounds. "Yes, of course. How silly of me. I'll change it right away. Well, theboys wrote most of them, anyway. Now, I'm all ready, " and Cricketcleared her throat, and began. 

 The Echo. 

 SERELLA CARLILLIAN, _Editor_. 

 NO. 1. _Marbury, Wednesday, July 15th, 18--. _ VOL. I. 

 DELL'S COMPOSITION. 

 "Oh, dear!" sighed Dell Ripley, "next Friday is Composition Day, and I've got to write a composition. What subject shall I take, mamma?"

 "Are there not any subjects in your school composition-book?" asked Mrs. Ripley, a pleasant looking lady of apparently thirty-five. 

 "Yes'm, but not any I want. Oh, it seems to me that I saw a book up-stairs in the garret with something about compositions in it, " and, shaking back her floating curls, the little girl bounded from the room. She ran up the garret stairs, and then began to look for the book. At last she found it, and eagerly opened it, and, as she opened it, a paper fluttered to the floor. 

 She picked it up, and saw the name "Amy Willard" on it. "Why, " she thought, "it's something of Aunt Amy's, " and she read it. It was a composition. 

 "Joan of Arc, " cried Dell, "splendid subject, and splendid composition. I wish I could write one as nice. "

 "Why not take this one?" asked the tempter. Then there was a very long struggle in Dell's heart, but the tempter conquered, and Dell carried the composition down to her own room to copy it. When she had finished it, she read it over, trying to think that it sounded just like any of her own, and that no one would ever know it. 

 "It sounds just like mine, " she said, trying to get rid of that uneasy feeling. "I guess I'll just change this sentence and that one. "

 "Have you written your composition, dear?" asked Mrs. Ripley, pleasantly, as Dell came slowly down-stairs, and out on the piazza. 

 "Yes'm, " answered Dell, very low. 

 "You look tired, dear. "

 "I am. "

 "What shall I do if I am found out?" thought Dell. 

 When she went to bed that night she was very unhappy. Her conscience troubled her very much. She wished she had never found the composition, and almost made up her mind to confess, but, alas, only almost. 

 She turned and tossed till nearly ten o'clock, and then fell asleep, and dreamed that, just as she was reading the composition before the school, her Aunt Amy appeared, and claimed it as her own, thus showing her niece's wickedness. She awoke with a scream that brought her mother to her bedside. Dell's first thought was to tell her mother all, and, without waiting a moment, she confessed her sin. 

 After that, Dell's compositions were her own. 

 ESMERALDA MURIEL LE GRAND. 

 * * * * *

 POLLY'S NECKLACE. 

 "Oh, mamma, " exclaimed little Polly More. "To-morrow is my birthday, and what are you going to give me for a present?"

 "What do you want?" asked Mrs. More. 

 "I should like a necklace of some sort. Oh, papa, " bounding toward her father, "are you going to give me something?"

 "What would you like me to give you?"

 "Oh, anything, " said Polly. 

 So the next morning, Polly found by her bedside, when she woke up, a pretty little coral necklace, and a red purse with seventy-five cents in it, and a penknife. 

 Three or four weeks after, Polly went to visit her uncle, who lived in the country. He was a farmer, and it was haying time, and he was getting in the new hay, and Polly liked to play in the hay with her cousin May. One day, as they were playing there, her coral necklace came unclasped and fell into the hay. She hunted a long time, but could not find it. 

 Polly went home the next week sorrowing, but the next spring, when the cows had eaten up all the hay, the news came that May had found the necklace, and Polly was happy again. 

 HILDEGARDE GENEVIEVE MONTAGUE. 

 * * * * *

 POETRY. 

 TO MY MOTHER. 

 (_A Lament. _)

 Oh, mother dear, why hast thou gone, And left thy Cricket all alone? The tears flow often from my eye, And oft, indeed, I almost cry. 

 Should danger chance to come to thee, While thou are sailing on the sea, With sorrow would our hearts be torn, And we would be here all forlorn. 

 Perhaps thou may fall from the deck, Before papa thy fall could check, Perhaps they could not rescue thee, And then, alas! what grief to me. 

 Of course papa might pull thee out, Or else some burly sailor, stout. Oh, dear mamma! I pray thee, strive To keep thyself, for us alive!

 And dear papa, we miss him, too, Almost as much as we do you. We long to see his dear old face, And fold him in our close embrace. 

 And Marjorie and Donald, too, We miss you all, but mostly you. Oh, hurry and grow very strong, That we may have you back ere long. 

 SERETTA CARLILLIAN. 

 * * * * *

 Miss Zaidee and Miss Helen Ward have decided that they will patronize the ocean hereafter for their daily bath, rather than the tanks in the cheese factory. 

 * * * * *

 A SAD ACCIDENT. 

 The other day our editor, and one of the valuable contributors to this paper, were seated on two posts, playing the manly game of bean-bag. The bag was coming to the editor, but somehow, when he grabbed for it, it fell on the ground. Our editor immediately sprang after it, but, in doing so, his dress caught on the post, and he hung up there. He was rescued by Miss Le G. He is now doing well. 

 * * * * *

 POOR PATTY. 

 Little Patty looked very poor indeed. She sat on a rough stone that was used as a door-step, with her head resting on her hand. Her beautiful golden curls fell way below her waist, over her white neck and shoulders, which her ragged dress did not hide. 

 Patty had been stolen by gypsies three years before, when she was seven years old. She was very pretty, and because of that the gypsies had stolen her to sell. One night she ran away from the gypsies, and during the day she wandered on till she came to a large town. When it was night again, she was tired and hungry, and she sat down on a door-step and fell fast asleep, and here she was found by Mrs. Bruce, who took her home, thinking she could make her useful in running errands. 

 So Patty was sitting on the door-step when a rough voice called from inside the house, "Be off with you, you lazy thing! Didn't I tell you an hour ago to be off for the milk? Be off with you, I say. "

 Poor Patty got off rather slowly, for she didn't feel well, and ran down the street and didn't stop till she got to the store. But coming home she didn't run so fast, for her head ached, and when she got home Nan Bruce scolded her. In a few minutes Patty went up-stairs to her poor garret, where she slept, and threw herself upon the bed, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up she had a high fever, and in a short time she was delirious. Nan was much alarmed, and sent for the doctor, who said she had scarlet fever, and he got a good nurse for her. For three months no one expected she would recover, but after that she began to get well. 

 One morning, when she was nearly well, she said suddenly to the doctor, "Doctor, it seems to me as if I had seen you before. "

 "You have, I guess, " said the doctor, laughing. "I have been here every day for three months. "

 "I don't mean that, " said Patty, "but I feel as if I had seen you before those people took me off. "

 "How old were you when they took you off?" asked the doctor, who knew she had been stolen. 

 "I think I was seven, for it was on the very day after my birthday, I remember. "

 "Why, _I_ had a little girl that was stolen the very day after she was seven years old, " said the doctor. "She was carried off by gypsies. "

 "Why, the gypsies were the very people that carried me off, too. "

 "Patty, would you like to go and live with me?" asked the doctor. 

 "Oh, yes, I would. Perhaps I am your little girl, for I am not _hers_. "

 "Perhaps so. I will see if I can find out about it. " The doctor asked Nan Bruce, and she told him all she knew. He then made arrangements to take Patty home with him, for he knew now she was his own little girl. So Patty went to live with the doctor, and she had lovely dresses of porcelain to wear, and a servant to stand _in statu quo_ behind her chair at dinner. 

 SERETTA CARLILLIAN. 

 * * * * *

 MARRIAGES. 

 Hopvine--Woodbine. On the 21st, Mr. Hopvine, to Miss Woodbine, both of Marbury. No cards. 

 DEATHS. 

 On the first of June, little Robin, only child of Mr. And Mrs. Redbreast, aged two months, four days, and three hours. 

 Little Robin, thou hast left us, We shall hear thy chirp no more; Very lonely hast thou left us, And our hearts are very sore. 

 On the 7th of June, two little kittens, in the barn of Mrs. Maxwell. We grieve greatly at recording the deaths of these loving and lovely twins, so sad and unexpected. They had a large circle of admirers and friends, who feel greatly overcome that these beautiful young twins are called away. 

 * * * * *

 Also, Wallops, older brother of the above, departed this life on June 10th. He was found dead on the seashore. 

 Poor little Wallops, Died of eating scallops. (He really ate crabs, but crabs wouldn't rhyme. ) We'll see him frisk no more, For we found him on the shore, All stiff and cold, expiring in his prime. 

 * * * * *

 TOWN TOPICS. 

 Miss Cricket Ward has decided to sell out her peanut stand at cost. 

 Mr. Will and Archie Somers have cleaned the _Gentle Jane_, and they are now prepared to take out parties at reasonable rates. Come early and often. 

 Mr. Kenneth Ward has nearly recovered from a serious wound he received when he was eloping with his aunt's watch. The path of the transgressor is hard. It was the stones in this case. 

 Miss Hilda Mason, of East Wellsboro', is expected soon to spend a week with her friend, the editor. 

 * * * * *

 WIT AND HUMOUR. 

 ["None of the wits are original, auntie, " put in Cricket, here. "The boys sent some of them in, and they _said_ they were, but I don't believe them, and I copied mine, anyway. "]

 How to get along in the world. Walk. 

 A little girl visiting the country for the first time, saw a man milking. After looking a few minutes, she asked, "Where do they put it in?"

 When is a man thinner than a shingle? When he's a-shaving. 

 What was the first carriage Washington ever rode in? When he took a _hack_ at the little cherry-tree. 

 What did Lot do when his wife became a pillar of salt? He got a fresh one. 

 "Mike, " asked a man, addressing a bow-legged friend, "are them legs of yourn natural or artificial?" "Artificial, me lad. I went up in a balloon, and walked back. "

 * * * * *

 GENERAL ITEMS. 

 Letters were received from Dr. Ward and family, that they are enjoying themselves in the Swiss mountains. Mamma is better. She says they have such funny little boys there. 

 Mr. Billy Ruggles is going to have a new shiny hat. Kenneth sat down on his other one, and it got all flattened out, and it looks like fury, and grandma says he can't wear it any more. 

 Bridget has a new dishpan. 

 Luke says he has forty-eight chickens. 

 Maggie Sampson's little donkey can't go nearly as fast as Mopsie and Charcoal Ward. 

 Mr. Simon has his summer stock of fresh red and white peppermints in. He won't have any chocolates till August, because he bought such a large stock in May. 

 There is to be a church sociable in the Methodist church. I wish auntie would condescend to let us go, for we haven't ever been to a Methodist sociable. I never went to any kind of a sociable. 

 Miss Hildegarde Genevieve Montague wishes to say that, if she was a boy, she doesn't think it would be any fun to cut up pieces of whalebones, and put them under the sheet in his sister's bed. 

 There will be a special and _very_ private meeting of the E. C. In some _very_ secret place, to decide whether we will let the boys be honorary members or not. If they are elected honorary members, we will turn them out any time that they don't behave themselves very well indeed. 

 * * * * * * * * * FAME. * * * * * * * * *

 THE END--FINIS. 

The tail-piece was Cricket's ambitious flight of fancy. She drew a longbreath and sat down, amid vigorous applause. 

"That's very creditable, my little authorlings, " said auntie, encouragingly. "Cricket, you did more than your share, I think, if youcopied all that, and wrote a story and a poem beside. "

"I had them all thought before, auntie. I made up the poetry the day Iwas caught on the mud-flat. I love to think out stories. "

"Oh-h!" groaned Edna. "How any one can think out stories just for fun, I_don't_ see. I'd almost rather fight skeeters. Mine's the stupideststory that ever was, but I don't believe I slept a wink for threenights, while I was making it up. You don't catch me writing anystories, girls, when I am editor. "

"I am afraid you weren't intended for an author, my dear, " said hermother, laughing. 

"Somebody must _read_ the stories, " said Edna, defensively. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE HAIRS OF HIS HEAD. 

The Maxwell family were coming home from church along the sandy, sunnyroad. Eunice and Edna, arm in arm, were ahead, laughing and talking oversome profound secret. Will and Archie mimicked them behind, whilegrandmamma and Auntie Jean, under a generous black sun-umbrella, strolled slowly along some distance in the rear. Cricket, in the miseryof a dainty organdie, which she _must_ keep clean for another Sunday, and with the unhappy consciousness of her Sunday hat of wide, whiteLeghorn, which, with its weight of pink roses, flopped uncomfortablyabout her ears, walked along by herself, in an unusually meditativeframe of mind. She refused, with dignity, the boys' proposal to walkwith them, and told the girls it was too hot to go three abreast. 

Presently, down a cross street, she spied a familiar figure, tall andbent, with a head of bristling hair, and a high silk hat, --it was Billy, and she instantly ran to meet him. Billy could never be induced toattend the little Episcopal chapel where Mrs. Maxwell went, but"favoured his own meetin'-'us, " he said, which was the little whiteUnitarian church by the post-office. 

"Folks didn't set easy in Mrs. Maxwell's church, " he often said, "and hedidn't like to see a minister in a white petticoat, with a black ribbundaround his neck. " It didn't seem respectful to him to have so much to dowith the service. But Billy was very devout in his own way, and nevermissed service nor Wednesday evening prayer-meeting in his own church. 

"H'lo, Billy!" cried Cricket, beaming. "Don't you want to carry myprayer-book? I want to get those wild roses. "

Billy was only too delighted. 

"Had a good sermon?" pursued Cricket, in very grown-up fashion, as theywalked along, side by side, after the roses were secured. 

"Oh, very decent, very decent, " answered Billy, who always nodded fromthe text to "Finally. "

"What was it about?" went on Cricket, feeling that she must give aSunday tone to the conversation. 

Billy took off his hat and scratched his head, to assist his ideas. 

"'Bout--'bout very good things, " he said, vaguely. "We sang a prettyhymn, too. "

"Did you? What was it?"

"That hymn about 'Hand Around the Wash-rag. ' I've heard you a-singin'it. "

"Hand around the _wash_-rag! Why Billy Ruggles, what can you mean?"

"Yes, " insisted Billy, who had a good ear for music in his poor, crackedhead. "You was singin' it las' night. "

"I can't imagine what you mean, Billy. When we were on the piazza, doyou mean? We didn't sing anything about wash-rags, I'm sure. We didn'tsing but three things, anyway, because grandma had a headache. "

"It was the first thing you sang, " persisted Billy. 

"Oh--h! 'Rally Round the Watchword, '" and Cricket, regardless of herSunday finery, sat down on a stone to laugh. "You _funny_ Billy!"

Billy grinned, though he did not see the joke. 

"That's as bad as what Helen insisted they sang last Christmas, in theinfant class, something about 'Christmas soda's on the breeze!' I don'tknow what she means, " said Cricket, forgetting that Billy would notunderstand. It was such a relief when any one else, even old Billy, mispronounced words, and thus gave her a chance to laugh at them. It washer heedlessness that made her make so many mistakes, for her quick eyesflashed along the page, taking in the meaning and general form of thewords, without grasping the exact spelling. 

"Hope you heard a good sermon, " said Billy, making conversation in histurn. 

"Oh, _yes_, very. I listened to almost all of it. Mr. Clark saidsomething about something being as many as the hairs of your head, andthere was a bald-headed man who sat right in front of us, and he onlyhad the teentiest bit of hair, just like a little lambrequin around hishead. So I thought I could easily count his hairs, because they were sostraight and so long, and so few of them, anyway. And, Billy, do youknow, I got so interested that I began to count right out loud once, andI stood up, right there in church, Billy, while the minister waspreaching, to see round his head better, and Eunice pulled me down. Iwas _so_ ashamed. "

Billy looked so shocked that Cricket hastened to add:

"There weren't very many people who saw me, though, for we sat prettyfar back. I _did_ listen to the sermon after that, though. I had onlycounted up to two hundred. I just wonder how many hairs a person has onhis head, anyway. I mean a person with the regular amount. "

"Three hundred?" hazarded Billy, hazily. 

"No, indeed; more than that. Many as a thousand, I guess. Oh, Billy, youhave a splendid lot of hair! S'pose I count it this afternoon?"

Billy chuckled assent. 

"Let's go out in the orchard, back of the beach. It's all quiet andshady there. The girls will be down by the rocks, and the boys are goingfor a long walk. So there will be nobody to interrupt us. It will takemost all the afternoon, I guess, but I've always wanted to know how manyhairs grow on a person's head. I'll come for you after dinner, Billy, don't forget!" and, having arrived at the house, Cricket skipped up theporch steps, and went up-stairs to relieve herself of the bondage of herpink organdie as soon as possible. 

After dinner, Cricket found her willing slave waiting for her on thepiazza. 

"Let's go right off before the others come out, for we don't want awhole raft of children after us, " she said, and so they went around thehouse, through the side gate, into the orchard. 

"Here's a lovely, shady spot. You sit right down on this hummock, Billy, " ordered Cricket. "Your hair is just _fine_ for counting, " shewent on, taking off Billy's shining beaver. 

Billy looked much flattered. He certainly did have a good crop for thepurpose. His hair was rather coarse, very wiry and bristling, about twoinches long, and as clean as a daily scrubbing in soap and water couldmake it. 

"Now, where shall I begin? You see you haven't any part, Billy, andthere's no place to start from. "

"Seem's if my hair wouldn't stay parted, " said Billy, meekly, lookingtroubled by the fact. 

"I'll part it right in the middle, and you put your hand up and holdthis side down, while I count the other. I'll begin right in front. One--two--three--there, Billy, you moved your hand a little, and some ofyour hair slipped right up again, and I've lost my place. "

"I didn't go to do it, " said Billy, pressing his hand down harder onthe rebellious hairs. "Is that all right now?"

"Yes, that will do. Now, hold still, " and Cricket began again. 

"Ninety-nine--one hundred--oh, _Billy_!" for an inquiring wasp camewhizzing near, and Billy ducked suddenly to avoid it. "Now I've lostthat, and I've got to begin again. Billy, you haven't any string in yourpocket, have you? Then I could tie up your hair in bunches when I get toone hundred, and count the bunches afterward. "

But Billy hadn't a string. 

"I'll run up to the house and get some, " said Cricket, darting away. Shewas back in a few minutes, with a small pasteboard box in her hand. 

"This is better than string, " she panted. "I got auntie's little box ofrubber bands. Now we can count. Never mind holding your hand up, for Ican begin anywhere. "

She gathered up a lock of hair, counted to one hundred, and twisted anelastic band around it, close to the roots. 

"That's one hundred. Now, for the next, " she said, with muchsatisfaction. She counted on, industriously, and soon poor Billy's headbristled with queer-looking little bunches on one side. She was much tooengrossed to notice the effect at first. 

Some time later, grandmamma and Auntie Jean, strolling leisurely throughthe orchard, saw ahead of them a funny sight: Billy, sitting meekly on ahummock, his hands on his black broadcloth knees, while Cricket stoodbehind him, bending over his head, all over the top of which bristledplumy bunches of white hair, which stood up rampantly. 

"What in the world is that child doing, making Billy look like aporcupine?" exclaimed grandma, standing still in amazement, unseen bythe two. 

"Playing Horned Lady, I should think. But I dare say she has purpose inher mind. Listen. Why, mother! she's actually counting Billy's hair!"

At this moment, Cricket, pausing to snap another elastic band around thelast bunch, for the first time noticed the effect of her hair dressing. 

"Oh, Billy! if you don't look just as if you had a lot of little featherdusters growing on your head!" she cried, holding on to her sides asshe laughed. 

Billy looked disturbed. He decidedly objected to being laughed at. Heput up his hand to feel. 

"Don't take them down, " said Cricket, pushing his hand away. "I'm goingon. My! what a lot of hair people have. Let's see how many bunches Ihave. Twenty-two--twenty-three. That makes twenty-three hundred, andthere's lots more to do, yet. I don't wonder people mean so much whenthey say, as many as the hairs of your head, do you?"

"How many, Cricket?" asked auntie, laughing, as she and grandma drewnearer. 

"Who's that? Oh, auntie!" Cricket looked a little abashed. "I'm onlycounting Billy's hair, " she explained. "Mr. Clark said this morningthat, if we counted our mercies, we should find them as many as thehairs of our heads. "

"It might be easier to count the mercies, " said auntie, still laughing. 

"Yes, I thought of that coming home from church, " said Cricket, going onwith her work of gathering up wisps of Billy's hair into plumes, andfastening them by the bands, though without counting. "Then I didn'tknow exactly what my mercies are, excepting that 'Liza says it is amercy I'm not twins. "

"What had you been doing when she said that, Jean?" immediately askedgrandma, who never used her nickname. 

"Nothing, much, " said Cricket, "only 'Liza gets cranky sometimes, youknow. "

"That won't do, Cricket, " said Auntie Jean, scenting mischief. "Tell mewhat you did. "

"Really, it wasn't much. It was this morning, and 'Liza had Helen in thebath-tub bathing her, and I went into the nursery a moment, and Zaideewas in bed, and she said her leg hurt her, and 'Liza was going to rub itwith 'Pond's Extrap, '--that's what she calls Pond's Extract, you know, "taking breath, --"and I only meant to help 'Liza, really and truly. So Itook down the bottle and began to rub Zaidee's legs. I thought thePond's Extract seemed to have gotten dreadfully sticky, and it was allthick and dark like molasses, and I could hardly rub at all with it, andZaidee said she didn't like it, and she cried. But I thought it was thebest thing to do for her, so I told her a story to keep her quiet, tillI got both her legs all rubbed. Then 'Liza came in, and wanted to knowwhat made Zaidee's legs so sticky, and the sheets and her nightdresswere pretty bad, because she wiggled so that I spilled some. 'Liza justsnatched the bottle away, very unpolitely, when I only told her that Ihad been helping her because she was so busy, and Zaidee wanted her legsrubbed. 'It's Kemp's Balsam, ' she said, 'and I'm giving it to Helen forher cough, and it's not Pond's Extract, at all. ' But it _was_ a Pond'sExtract bottle, auntie, truly, so how should I know? And then she said, 'it was a mercy I wasn't twins, '" finished Cricket, looking muchaggrieved. 

Auntie laughed till the tears came into her eyes. 

"Kemp's Balsam, of all sticky things!" she said. "Poor Zaidee! did shehave to be scraped?"

"'Liza said she guessed she would have to scrape her, " admitted Cricket, reluctantly. "And the things on the bed, and her nightdress, had to bechanged. I kept thinking it was pretty funny looking stuff for Pond'sExtract, but I thought perhaps it was rancid. "

"Rancid Pond's Extract! Oh, what a girl!" laughed grandma, but pattingher head, consolingly, "Our little Jean is very nice, but I think I'mglad, myself, you're not twins. "

"There'd be two of us to fall through ceilings, then, " meditatedCricket, "for I suppose if I was twins we'd be always together likeZaidee and Helen. No, I'm glad there is only one of me. It's moreconvenient. I don't want to count any more, now, Billy, but would youmind keeping your hair that way for a day or two, so I could countwhenever I like?"

And if auntie had not interposed in his behalf, I do not know but Billymight still be walking the streets of Marbury with his cresteddecoration. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A WRESTLING MATCH. 

"That's it! Prime! Now, again!" shouted Will, encouragingly, andCricket, in her blue gymnasium suit, panting and laughing, put hershoulder to Archie's again, and stood in position. Will was giving her alesson in wrestling, at her particular request, and she was proving anapt pupil, for the slender, elastic little figure and supple musclesmade up for any lack of strength. 

"Good, good!" repeated Will, as Cricket, swaying and tugging, andbending backward almost double, came up like a steel wire. "Bravo! we'llsoon have you champion lady wrestler in a dime museum. At him again!good enough! hurray!" for Cricket, slipping through Archie's grasp likea knotless thread, took him suddenly unawares, and fairly and squarelytripped him up. 

"By jove!" ejaculated Archie, still on his back, too much surprised toget up. 

"Well done, Miss Scricket!" applauded Will. "Bet you can't do it again. "

"Come over here, and I'll try _you_, " offered Cricket, and Will, laughingly, put his arm around her waist. But his superior size andstrength soon told, and Cricket found herself down on her back. 

"But you do well, youngster, " said Will, patronizingly. "Try that twistonce more that you tripped Archie up on. That's a good one! Now, again!That would fetch anybody if they weren't expecting it. "

"I'm tired now, " said Cricket, throwing herself on the grass, for theywere in the orchard. "Let's rest awhile. " She clasped her hands aboveher head, and lay back on the grass. Archie drew himself up on to one ofthe low gnarled trees and balanced himself in a very precarious waydirectly over her head. 

"If you fall off that limb, you will come straight down and break mynose, " warned Cricket. 

"There isn't enough of it to break, miss, " said Archie, balancinghimself with care, as he tried to see if he could kneel upon ahorizontal branch without holding on. 

"You'll have to be of a very _equilibrious_ nature to do that, " saidCricket, rolling hastily out of her dangerous position, just in time, for Archie overbalanced himself, and came down with a crash. 

"Now, see what you've done, " said Archie, sitting up and feeling of hisback. "You spoke at the wrong time. I might have broken my neck. "

Cricket meditated a moment, then addressed the sky, thoughtfully. 

"Isn't it funny that when anything happens to a boy all by his ownfault, he always says to somebody, 'See what you've made me do. ' Anybodywould think _I'd_ made Archie fall there. "

"Well, didn't you?"

"When Donald can't find anything that he's gone and lost himself, " wenton Cricket, still addressing the sky, "he always says he wishes thegirls would let his things alone. Boys are the _funniest_. "

"If they're any funnier than girls, I'll eat my boots, " said Archie, firing green apples at a mark. "Girls are so finicky. There's Edna, squeals if you touch her. If I give her hair just one little yank, youwould think I'd pulled her scalp off. If I give Will a goodpunch"--illustrating with a resounding whack--"he doesn't squeal. "

"No, but he hits back, " said Cricket, laughing, as Will levelled Archie, by a vigorous thump. "If Edna should hit you a few times like that, youwouldn't tease her so. "

"And she's always so careful of her clothes, " went on Archie, ignoringthis point; "can't do this, because she'll spoil her apron, can't dothat, because she'll muss her hair. "

"Boys ar'n't talked to about their clothes as girls are, " said Cricket, with a sigh. "If you just heard 'Liza talk when we tear our clothes! Shehas to mend them. Wouldn't I be happy if I could go around all the timein my gymnasium suit. I feel _so_ light and airy. "

"And girls are so affected, " pursued Archie. "You wouldn't walk with usyesterday coming home from church, and why not? 'Cause you had your bestbonnet on, and you carried your head too high. _So_ affected!"

"It wasn't affectedness, it was got-to-do-it-ness, " said Cricket, stoutly. "If you had to go to church with a great, big, flappy, floppyhat on, that joggled your ears all the time, 'cause the roses were soheavy, and if you had to be careful to keep your pink organdie cleanfor next Sunday, and if you had a teasy cousin, who, likely as not, would take hold of your arm, and crunch your sleeves all down, mostprobably you'd have walked all by yourself, too, and tried to keepyourself respectable so 'Liza wouldn't scold. But you're a boy, "finished Cricket, with a burst of envy, "and so you don't bother aboutclothes. And, anyway, boys will never admit they're to blame aboutanything, " returning suddenly to the original charge. 

"Because they never are, of course, " answered Archie, turning a backsomersault. "It's always somebody else's fault. "

"Did you hear auntie tell that funny story about Archie, last night, Will?" asked Cricket. 

"Funny story about me, miss? There never was any funny story about me. "

"This was a little bit funny, anyway. Auntie said you weren't but threeyears old, and she was visiting with you, at Kayuna. It was early onemorning, before breakfast, and the piazza had just been washed up, andwasn't dry yet. Papa was reading a newspaper, and you were running upand down the piazza, showing off. "

"Showing off!" repeated Archie, with a sniff of disdain. 

"Yes, sir, showing off. Auntie said so. She said you always liked to, even then. Stop firing apples at me. You nearly hit me that time. Youstood still just in front of papa, and gave a little kick at him, andyour foot slipped, and down you went on your back. And you got up, asangry as could be, and you said, 'Now see what you made me do, ' and yougave another kick at him, and down you went again. Then auntie said youscreamed out, 'Now you've done it again. You've done it again. ' And shesays that ever since, you always say that, no matter what happens toyou. "

"There comes grandma, " said Archie, changing the subject, immediately, since he knew by long experience that Cricket was apt to get the best ofhim, in such conversations. 

"She's been to see that sick woman, " said Cricket, jumping up andrunning to meet her. She had the most unbounded admiration for herstately, handsome grandmother, who by some strange attraction ofopposites, had an especially soft place in her heart for her hoydenishlittle namesake. 

Grandmother Maxwell was by no means an old lady yet, in spite of herflock of grandchildren, for she was only just sixty, and was as erectand vigorous, in spite of her snow-white hair, as a girl. Beauty-lovinglittle Cricket thought her dead perfection, and adored her. 

"What a hot little face, " said grandmother, lightly touching Cricket'scheek. Cricket put her arm about her grandmother's waist, which she wasjust tall enough to do, and walked along beside her. 

"The boys have been teaching me to wrestle, " she explained. "I'mlearning fast, grandma. It's just as easy. Get up, Archie, and let meshow grandma how I can throw you. "

"Throw me! well, I like that. I happened to stumble on a stone, grandma, and Cricket thinks she threw me. She couldn't do it again to save herlife. "

"Come and try, then, " said Cricket, invitingly. But Archie declined, onthe plea of its being too hot. 

"Isn't he lazy, grandma?" said Cricket, disdainfully. "But I can showyou, grandma, how we do it. Put your arm around me this way, and takehold of my hand. Now then, see. I try to get my foot around your ankle, quickly, and give a little jerk, and pull this way--"

And to the unbounded astonishment of all three, stately grandma suddenlyand unexpectedly measured her length on the grass, with Cricket on topof her. Cricket's illustration had been altogether too graphic. 

"Jean!" gasped grandma, as she went over. Cricket rolled over and sprangto her feet in a flash. 

"Oh, grandma! please excuse me! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I neverthought I could do it so quickly, for you're so large. I only meant toshow you. "

Will and Archie were bending over grandma, to help her rise. Her footwas twisted under her. 

"Wait, boys, " she said. "I'm lying on my foot. "

It is not easy for a large person who is lying on her back, with herfoot doubled up under her, to find her centre of gravity. It was severalminutes before she could be helped to a sitting position. She was verypale, although she laughed. 

"Children, I'm really afraid, --Jean, you absurd child! how did youthrow me over so quickly? I really _am_ afraid that my ankle issprained. I don't think I can step on it. See if you can help me tostand, boys, and I'll try it. "

"Oh, grandma!" groaned Cricket, in horror. "Have I sprained your ankle?"

"It probably isn't bad, dear, " said grandma, quickly. "At any rate, youdidn't mean to--Hush, Archie!" as that young man gave Cricket areproachful--

"Now you _have_ done it!"

Will and Archie, being stout, well-grown boys, easily raised grandma toher feet, or, to her foot, rather, for she immediately found she couldnot bear her weight on her left ankle, and she sat down rather suddenlyagain. 

"Dear me! this is a dignified position for a grandmother, " she said. "Never mind, dear. It was only an accident. Take off my shoe, please, for my foot is swelling, I think. Archie, go for Luke, and tell him tobring a piazza-chair, and I think you can manage to carry me in on that, can't you? Then tell Auntie Jean that I'm here, and have sprained myankle, and tell her to have some arnica and bandages ready when I getthere. Why, _don't_ cry, darling, " as two big tears welled up inCricket's gray eyes, and splashed over her cheeks, where her dimpleswere entirely out of sight, at the dreadful thought that she hadsprained grandma's ankle. 

In a few moments Auntie Jean came flying across the orchard, bandagesand arnica in hand, while the waitress came after with a water-pitcher. 

"_Mother!_" said Mrs. Somers, in greatest surprise. "How did you manageto fall and sprain your ankle on this perfectly level ground?"

"It's rather humiliating to confess that I was wrestling with mygranddaughter, and that she got the best of me, " returned grandma, patting Cricket's hand. "It's my first and last pugilistic performance. "

"It's my fault, " burst out Cricket, "and I ought to be put in jail. Willhad been showing me how to wrestle, and he had taught me such a goodtwist, that I caught Archie on, and I thought I'd just showgrandma--just barely show her, auntie, and I put my foot around herankle, and somehow, she went right over like ninepins, and doubled upher foot. Oh, grandma! can you ever walk again?"

Grandma's lips were getting rather white with pain from her foot, butshe laughed again, and said, brightly:

"Yes, indeed, little maid, I will be all right in a week or two. "

"A week!" groaned Cricket. "I thought you were going to say to-morrow. "

Auntie Jean had slipped off grandma's stocking, and was bathing herrapidly swelling foot with arnica. In a few minutes, Will, and Archie, and Luke appeared, bringing a piazza-chair, and two stout poles. AuntieJean bandaged the foot temporarily, and then Luke and Will helpedgrandma up in the chair. They slipped the poles lengthwise under thechair, and Luke stood ready to lift the front ends as Will and Archietook the rear ones. 

"Wait a moment, " said Aunt Jean, as the procession was ready to start. "Can't I fix a support for your foot, mother? It will hurt it dreadfullyto hang it down. "

"Put a stick across the poles, and the cushion on it, " suggestedCricket, quickly, "and lay her foot on that. " She picked up a stoutstick, and laid it in place, while Archie put the cushion on it, andadjusted grandma's foot on it. 

"That's a capital suggestion, " said grandma, approvingly. "That feelsvery comfortable. Are you sure you can lift me, boys?"

"Could carry a ton this way, Mrs. Maxwell, " said Luke. "All ready, boys. Hist all together, now. " And as they all "histed" the procession moved. Auntie Jean and Cricket walked on either side, keeping the cushion andstick in place. So grandma finally arrived, was helped up the piazzasteps, and into her own room, which was, fortunately, on the firstfloor. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

PLAYING NURSE. 

Poor Cricket went around with a face as long as her arm, all the rest ofthe day, dreadfully cast down by this unfortunate result of herwrestling lessons. For a while, she was almost ready to vow that shewould never do anything again that the boys did, but when she thought ofall the lovely things this would cut her off from, she couldn't make upher mind to go that length. 

[Illustration: "SHE BURIED HERSELF IN THE STORY FOR 'THE ECHO'"]

Auntie Jean soon assured her that the sprain was not at all serious, andthat the inflammation seemed to be going down already, but her heart wasvery heavy. She would not go sailing with the boys, nor sit under therocks with the girls, and at last she buried herself in her next storyfor the _Echo_. A very tragic and mournful tale it was, of a naughtylittle girl, who was left in charge of her small brother, but who ranaway, all by herself, up garret, to play, and when she went back shefound her poor little baby brother had fallen into the bath-tub, whichwas left half full of water, and was drowned. Picturing the remorseof her heroine, and how they finally brought the baby back to life, although he had been in the water all the afternoon, --of course Cricketdid not mind a little thing like that, --somewhat relieved her mind. Bysupper-time she had sufficiently recovered so that she could allowherself to smile. 

Will came in from the post-office, waving a letter that finished thework. It was from Hilda Mason, saying that she could come on Fridaynext, as Cricket, with auntie's permission, had written, asking her todo, to spend a week. 

"Goody! goody!" cried Cricket, dancing around, with her dimples quite inevidence again. "Won't we have fun! and she can write a story for the'Echo, ' too. "

"What bliss!" remarked Archie, bringing all her curly hair over her facewith a sweep of his arm. 

"It's a great honour to be a contributor to a paper, Mr. Archie, so, "shaking back her hair, and pulling his. 

"Especially for one that pays so liberally as the 'Echo, '" teasedArchie. 

"You're a model of sarcasticity, I suppose you think, " said Cricket, tossing her head. "Auntie, will you take us to Plymouth some day? Iknow Hilda will want to see Plymouth Rock. "

"Watch her that she doesn't carry it off in her pocket, " advised Archie. 

"And all the other interesting things in Plymouth, " went on Cricket, turning her back on him. "And we'll go over to Bear Island for a picnic, girls. "

"Yes, if you'll promise--" began Edna. 

"Goodness, yes! if you won't say anything more about it, " interruptedCricket, hastily. "And, oh, auntie! couldn't we have some charades? Somereal, regular charades, I mean, not little ones all by ourselves. "

"I'll be in them, if you'll have something I like, " offered Archie, condescendingly. 

"If we have any charades, you may be sure we won't ask you, " returnedCricket, crushingly. "I'll have Will, though. He's a very good actress, and he doesn't spoil everything, as some other people do. "

"Thank you, " said Will, making a bow, with his hand on his heart. 

"I'm out of it, then, " said Archie, "for I know I'm not a good actress. "

"Of course I meant actor. There isn't much difference, anyway. Just twoletters. Anyway, we'll have a beautiful time. You'll have Edna, Eunice, and I'll have Hilda. "

"What do you suppose would happen if it should chance to be a rainyweek, and I should have you all on my hands to entertain in the house, now, while grandma is laid up? Would there be any house left?" askedAuntie Jean. 

"The cellar, " said Eunice. "But I'd be sorry for you, auntie. "

"And I for myself. But I don't think it will rain, and you'll probablyhave a lovely time together. "

"Don't expect too much, " advised Will. "Anticipation is always betterthan reality, you know. "

"It wouldn't be, if people always had as good a time as they expected, "remarked Cricket, thoughtfully. 

There was a shout at this. 

"Exactly, little wiseacre. That's the trouble, " laughed auntie. "Writeto Hilda to come on the 4. 10 train Friday afternoon, and we'll all beready to help you both have as good a time as you anticipate. "

Cricket departed to write the following letter:

 "DEAREST OLD HILDA:

 "I was so glad to get your letter that I nearly jumped out of my shoes. We'll have the greatest fun that ever was, and auntie will take us to Plymouth, and I'll guess Will will sail us out beyond the Gurnet Light, and we can have a picnic on the island, perhaps. What do you think I've gone and done to-day? I expect you'll say it's just like me, and I'm sure it isn't like anybody else, and I'm awfully morterfied. I wrestled with grandmother, my grandmother Maxwell, when she didn't know I was going to, and I tipped her right over accidentally, without meaning to, and I've almost broken her leg!!! Isn't that _too dreadful_? I didn't quite break her leg, but I sprained her ankle, so she can't walk. I never knew anybody to do such terrible, morterfying things as I do. I do hope I'll get to be proper and good when I'm grown-up. It would be very nice to be born proper, and _very_ nice for my mother, but then I wouldn't have had so much fun. I want to see you so much that I can't wait, hardly. It seems a million years till Friday. Remember you're to stay a whole week, and we'll have _loads_ of fun. Auntie says come on the 4. 10 train, and we'll meet you. 

 "Yours very lovingest, "JEAN MAXWELL. "

The next morning, after breakfast, when grandma was up and dressed, withher sprained foot resting on a cushioned chair in front of her, Cricketpresented herself at the door. 

"I've come to be your legger, grandma, " she announced, "and I'll read toyou, or amuse you, or play dominos or halma with you, or anything youlike. Or we might play go-bang. That's very interesting. "

"Thank you, little granddaughter, " said grandmother, much amused, buttouched as well. "I'll be very glad to have a legger, but, after all, itwasn't my eyes that were sprained, so I can read very well for myself. Icouldn't think of keeping you in all this beautiful day. "

But Cricket begged to be allowed to stay with her, and stay she did. Adeft little nurse she proved. She initiated grandmother into themysteries of go-bang, and the "Chequered Game of Life;" she read in themorning papers the articles that grandmother pointed out, and letherself be taught checkers and backgammon, showing surprising quicknessin learning. At last she nearly paralyzed her grandmother by voluntarilysuggesting her going and bringing her knitting, to knit a little, "whilewe just plain talk for a change, " she said. 

So the little maid ensconced herself in a chair near grandma's largeone, with her wash-rag. Grandma took up her knitting, also, and theneedles clicked, socially. 

"Why couldn't you tell me a story? I always forget to talk while I'mknitting, so I can't be very entertaining, " said Cricket, laboriouslypushing her needle through her very tight stitches, and twisting herface into a very hard knot. The boys said Cricket knit as much with herface as with her fingers. 

CHAPTER XV. 

A KNITTING BEE. 

"What shall the story be about?" asked grandma, her needles flashing asthey flew. 

"When you were a little girl, " answered Cricket, promptly, in the usualformula. "Oh, grandma! I have an idea! haven't you a box of old thingsthat I could look over, and select something for you to tell me a storyabout, like that dear old grandma in 'Old-Fashioned Girl?'"

"Yes, Jean, I have the very thing, and it's a good idea. Bring me thatlittle table that stands in the corner. That's right. Put it closebeside me. Now, open these drawers--yes, pull them way out. Now, liftthat dividing piece. You see the bottom is inlaid. Touch the second oneof the little black inlaid circles. "

"A secret drawer!" cried Cricket, excitedly. "Oh, grandma! how book-y!"

"Yes. Grandpa brought this table from China, years ago. It is full ofsecret places. "

Cricket touched the spring, and the supposed bottom flew up, showing abox below. The little stand was really more of a cabinet than a table, though it had a flat top and rolled easily on its castors. In the boxthus opened were all sorts of things. 

"They are all old keepsakes, " said grandma. "Find something you want tohear about. "

Cricket lifted a string of oddly carved beads. 

"This, grandma. Isn't it funny? Has it an interesting story?"

Grandma took the beads in her hands, thoughtfully. 

"It's an old keepsake, to be sure, and I used to be very fond of it whenI was a girl, and I wore it a good deal, but I don't know that there isany story connected with it. But I'll tell you how I got it. It taughtme a bit of a lesson. I'll tell you the story, and you can guess thelesson for yourself, if you can. 

"You know I lived in Boston when I was a girl. I went to a privateschool there, of, perhaps, twenty girls. It was kept by Miss Sarah andMiss Abbie Cartwright. We all loved Miss Sarah, but none of us likedMiss Abbie, and I don't wonder at it when I think how little sheunderstood girls. 

"We used to recite seated in a semi-circle around the teacher, and allwhispering was strictly forbidden during the recitation. One day--but Imust stop here, and tell you that we all wore white stockings and lowshoes then. We never had any high shoes at all. Our white stockings mustalways be fresh and clean, of course, and I always put on a clean pairevery day. A soiled stocking would have made us feel simply disgraced. Coloured stockings were perfectly unknown as far as I remember, and Ishould have felt dreadfully mortified to wear anything but white. "

"Oh, I know! like Ellen in the 'Wide, Wide World, '" broke in Cricket. "Don't you remember her horrid aunt, who dyed all her white stockingsgray, and she felt so badly? I never knew why. Wouldn't I feel _silly_in white stockings now!"

"Yes, but if everybody wore them, it would be different. There was onegirl, Phoebe Dawson, in my class, who was a very untidy girl. Shealways had hooks off her dress, or a hook and eye put together that didnot mate, or her dress was broken from its gathers. _Her_ stockings werealways grimy around the ankles. Ours were always smoothly gartered up, but hers wrinkled down over her shoes. "

"Yes, " nodded Cricket, "Sort of mousquetaire stockings. "

Grandma laughed. "That exactly describes it. I know now there was someexcuse for her getting her stockings so dirty, for she had a much longerwalk to school than any of us did, as she came from Charlestown, --over along, dusty road. 

"So, one day, as I was saying, the recitation was just over, and MissAbbie was talking about something just to fill up the time till theclass bell should ring. Phoebe Dawson sat just opposite me in the halfcircle. I can see her now. The part in her hair was as uneven aspossible--what we used to call a 'rail-fence' parting, and her braidsstraggled unevenly down behind her ears. She had forgotten the broochthat should have fastened her collar. The facing of her dress was rippedand was hanging down, and her pantalets were actually dirty. "

"Pantalets, grandma?"

"Yes, we all wore pantalets, beautifully starched and ironed, that camenearly to the tops of our village-ties, as we called them. We had veryfancy ones for Sundays, and plainer ones for every day, but we were veryparticular about them. Phoebe sat with her feet crossed and actuallysticking out in front of her--which was considered very bad manners--andher stockings were very grimy. 

"I forgot about the rule of no whispering, and I said, suddenly, toDolly Chipman, who sat on the other side of me, 'Pearl-gray stockingsare the latest thing from Paris. You can always depend on PhoebeDawson to set the style--pig-sty-le. '

"Instantly Miss Abbie's cold, gray eyes were on me. 

"'Did you speak, Miss Winthrop?' for we were all called, very formally, by our last names. 

"'Yes'm, ' I answered, very meekly. 

"'Very well, then, we will hear the remark you made, and judge if it wasnecessary enough to excuse you for breaking the rule. '

"I fairly gasped, for nothing would have made me repeat the remark, andhurt Phoebe's feelings. In spite of her untidiness, we all liked her, for she was always good company. Besides, we really respected her, forshe was one of the best scholars in the class. 

"'Please excuse me, Miss Abbie, ' I said, getting furiously red. 'It wasa silly little remark I made, and I had no business to make it. '

"'We will be the best judge of that, Miss Winthrop, ' she said, in herseverest tones. Just then the class bell rang outside the room. Thishappened to be the last class of the morning. Some of the girls got upto go, but Miss Abbie motioned them down. 

"'If you choose to keep the whole class waiting, ' she said to me, 'itwill not be pleasant, but we can wait. I hope you enjoy feeling we areall waiting for you. '"

"How perfectly horrid of her!" cried Cricket. 

"I really think it was, myself. Well, the girls groaned softly, andfrowned at me, and motioned 'tell, ' with their lips, but nothing wouldhave induced me to have repeated my silly little speech, and make themall laugh at Phoebe. 

"I was ashamed of myself already, for saying a mean thing of one of myclassmates, even to one girl, and I certainly did not intend to repeatthe remark for the benefit of the whole class. 

"'I can't tell you before them all, Miss Abbie, ' I said, desperately, 'but I will tell you all by yourself. It was something I had nobusiness to say. '

"'If it was fitting to be said to one girl, it is fitting to be heard byall, ' she said, inexorably. I have always thought that she was very dullnot to see that it must have been some uncomplimentary personalremark--possibly about herself, for all she knew. "

"Oh, I wish it had been!" broke in Cricket. 

"I am very glad it wasn't. But we were well-trained girls in those days, and rarely thought of grumbling at anything our teachers did. We mightnot like them, but I don't remember talking about them much. 

"'We are waiting, ' she said, again, after a moment. 

"'I _can't_ tell you before the class, ' I repeated, obstinately. 'ButI'll tell you by yourself. I'm ashamed I said it, anyway. '

"Perhaps Phoebe had noticed me glance at her, or perhaps she knew, more than we realized, that we sometimes made fun of her untidiness, forshe suddenly said, good-naturedly:

"'Do tell what it is, if it's anything about me, I sha'n't care. I'dmuch rather go home and get my dinner. '

"'Was it about Phoebe?' asked Miss Abbie, instantly. 

"To this point-blank question, I had to say 'Yes. '

"'Tell it, ' urged Phoebe, good-naturedly. 

"'Well, then, ' I began, desperately, --but I could not say it. Ihesitated, and then added, quickly:

"'I said I wondered how Phoebe Dawson always managed to keep herselflooking so nice!'

"A little surprised look, then a laugh, went around the class. Every oneknew that I was not speaking the truth, and I dare say Miss Abbie knewit herself. She cast a very sharp glance at me, but, nevertheless, dismissed the class. Every one surrounded me in the cloak-room, laughing, and teasing me about what I had said. But I only waited tillMiss Sarah was at liberty, and then I went to her and told her thestory. I was very angry, and in a state of great indignation againstMiss Abbie, and finally I burst out with, 'She made me tell that lie, herself!'

"'Hush! my dear!' Miss Sarah said, gravely. 'If you think, you will seethat the trouble was that your sense of politeness was stronger thanyour sense of truth. Again, if you hadn't broken the rule aboutwhispering in class in the first place, nothing would have happened. SoI think we won't blame Miss Abbie. I will tell her about it myself, andnothing more will be said about it to you. '

"I thought Miss Sarah was very good and kind, but my conscience troubledme very much. Phoebe Dawson, too, made me feel thoroughly ashamed ofmyself. When she came to school the next day she brought me this lovelystring of beads, which she said her uncle had brought her home fromIndia. 

"'You had all that trouble on my account yesterday, ' she said, in hergood-natured way, 'so I brought you these to make up. My uncle brings mequantities of things, so you must take these, to please me, ' for, ofcourse, I protested against taking them. 

"'You needn't have minded about telling what you really did say, ' shewent on. 'I know I'm dreadfully untidy, but if I had a mother, or asister, or any one to look out for me, I'd be different, perhaps, ' andher eyes filled with tears. 

"Well, I grew very fond of Phoebe Dawson after that, and soon I wentto see her. She had a lovely home, full of beautiful things, buteverything was as untidy and uncared for as she was herself. Phoebe'smother had died when she was a baby, and her father was a great scholar, who was always buried in his books, and the two servants managed thingsas they liked. But Phoebe improved very much as she grew older, and weremained friends always. "

"Is she living now?" asked Cricket, turning over the beads withinterest. 

"No, she died several years ago, and she was the grandmother of yourlittle friend, Emily Drayton. "

"_Was_ she? How funny! And what was the lesson you learned, grandma?"

"You may guess that for yourself, " said grandma, smiling. "Will youchoose again?"

CHAPTER XVI. 

TWO LITTLE RUNAWAYS. 

Cricket dived into the box again. 

"What's in this paper?" she asked. 

Grandma took the folded sheet, and carefully opened it. There were twosoft curls of bright gold hair, fastened to the middle of it by sealingwax. 

"These are two little curls I cut from the children's heads when theywere small. _My_ children, I mean. Your mamma's and Auntie Jean's. Itwas the first time their hair was ever cut, and how badly I felt, tohave to have it done!"

"But why did you do it?" asked Cricket. 

"Naughty little things! I had to. "

"Oh, _do_ tell me about that. I just love hearing about mamma when shewas naughty!" begged Cricket, turning over the soft gold curls. "It'sjust exactly like Kenneth's and Helen's, isn't it? And mamma's hairisn't very much darker, now, is it? What a shame you had to cut it!"

"Indeed it was. I was so proud of their lovely hair, and they were suchlovely children, everybody said. They were little things. Auntie Jeanwas nearly five, and your mamma was three. I was visiting my sister inPhiladelphia with them both. It was in May, but it was very warm. Thechildren were still in the habit of taking an afternoon nap. One daythey were put to bed, as usual, about two o'clock, and my sister andmyself went down-town for some shopping. I had a new nursemaid, whom Ileft in charge, of course. But she was careless, I suppose, and probablywent down-stairs to gossip with the other servants. 

"Presently the children woke up, and as they found there was no one withthem, they slipped off the bed by themselves. They were entirelyundressed and in their little night-clothes, with bare feet. They ranaround up-stairs for a while, and then, finding nobody about, they randown-stairs. The front door stood ajar, so out they slipped, andpattered away down the street. They were always independent children, and not a bit afraid of anything, so when they found they were out allalone by themselves, they decided to go and 'see uncle. ' They had beentaken to his office down-town several times. My sister lived in what wasthen a very quiet part of Philadelphia, and near their home were severalvacant lots. The children strayed in here to pick some grasses andweeds, which they thought were flowers. 

"Unfortunately, a lot of burdocks grew there, and, of course, thechildren picked them, and stuck them together, with great delight. Probably some of them got caught accidentally in the hair of one ofthem, for, as far as we could make out from their story afterwards, theytwisted them in each other's curls, till there was just a mat of burs, all over their heads. Then, of course, when they tried to take them out, they only made matters worse, so they gave it up and trotted on. Presently they came to a grocery store, where all sorts of things stoodoutside of the door. 

"Strawberries were in the market, so these little wretches instantlyplunged both hands into a box of them, and stuffed them into theirmouths. Next they sat themselves down in a corner made by some bigboxes, and quietly helped themselves to a box of strawberries apiece. You can imagine the state of their little night-dresses, when they werethrough with this feast, just a mass of strawberry stain. They were sosmall and so quiet, that no one in the store noticed them for some time, and no one chanced to pass. At last a lady came by, and spied them. Ofcourse she instantly saw they were runaways, and spoke to them. 

"'We isn't yunning away, ' Jean insisted, 'we is only going to seeuncle. '

"'But where is your mamma?' persisted the lady. 

"'Her's gone to see uncle, too, ' said Jean. The lady knew they hadprobably run away from some neighbouring house, so she went into thestore to ask a clerk to come and see if he knew them. But while she wasgone, the children slipped away down the side street. The clerk told usall about this afterwards, for it was a store where my sister oftenwent. 

"Then the little ones probably wandered around a good deal, though wenever knew where, except that they came to some water in a gutter, somewhere, and took to it like ducks. They must have paddled in it forsome time--'washing their feets, ' Jean told us afterwards, as an excuse. 

"Of course, by this time they had collected a crowd around them, forjust imagine what they looked like! Nothing on but whitenight-dresses--I mean, of course, that were originally white, --but nowspattered a foot deep with muddy water, and stained all over withcrushed strawberries; and they were barefooted, with their golden curlsstuck full of burs, till they looked like little porcupines. "

"_Grandma_! how funny! and to think that was mamma, " broke in Cricket, in great enjoyment of the picture. 

"They must have looked as badly as Zaidee and Helen did when they camein from swimming in the tanks at the cheese factory the other day. "

"Worse, if anything, because the strawberry stains made them look as ifthey had been through the wars, poor little mites. At last a policemantook them in charge. "

"Think of mamma being actually arrested! That's worse than anythingthat's ever happened to me, " said Cricket. 

"That's your good fortune, " laughed grandma. "Your wash-rag isn'tgetting along very fast, is it? I thought you were going to knit as Italk. "

"Oh, I am! I am!" cried Cricket, scrabbling up her wash-rag, which shehad entirely forgotten. "Go on, grandma. "

"So a policeman took them in charge. He said the children didn't seem abit frightened, but took everything very coolly, insisting all the timethat they were on the way to see uncle. 

"'Who is uncle?' asked the policeman, and Jean said: 'He's UncleDarling, and he lives on Wide Stweet. '

"'But what's his name?' asked the policeman, thinking the children werecalling him by their pet name. 

"'Uncle Darling, ' Jean kept repeating. 

"'We'll take them to the station, and report at headquarters, ' said thepoliceman, finally. "

"Think of mamma's actually being taken to the lock-up, " murmuredCricket. 

"But the children were very determined little things, and insisted thatthey were going to Wide Stweet to see uncle. Presently a gentlemanpassed, and asked the reason of the commotion. 

"'Runaways, ' somebody answered, whereupon Jean instantly piped up, 'Isay I _isn't_ yunning away. I is goin' to Wide Stweet to see UncleDarling. '

"'Darling?' said the gentleman. 'I know Darling of Broad Street. Theselittle scraps must have slipped away from his house. Call a cab, policeman, and we'll go and see. '

"So a cab was called, and the policeman mounted the box, and the man gotinside with the children, and off they went to Broad Street, which Jeancalled Wide Stweet. 

"Imagine your great-uncle's feelings, when suddenly his office dooropened, and a gentleman appeared leading those two ridiculous lookinglittle creatures. 

"Their faces were grimy, their hair bristling with burs, their feetsplashed with mud, their little straight night-gowns stained withstrawberry juice from neck to hem, --looking startlingly like blood atfirst sight, --but in spite of all, the most beaming of smiles, for theyhad had a beautiful time. 

"'We has tum to see 'oo, ' said Margaret, giving him a very burry hug, for as she threw her arms around his neck, the burs in her hair caughtin his heavy beard. Margaret screamed as her hair pulled, and they hadsome trouble to get her disentangled. 

"'We hasn't yunned away, Uncle Darling. We has came in a carriage, ' saidJean. 

"The gentleman was a business friend of your great-uncle's. He deliveredthe children over into his charge, telling him the story. Of course hestarted home with them immediately, knowing how frightened we would beif we got home and discovered that they were missing. 

"Fortunately for my peace of mind, we had been detained later than weexpected to be, and so just as we got out of the horse-cars in front ofmy sister's house, a cab drew up at the door, and out got your uncle, and with him two of the most disreputable looking little objects youever saw. We could hardly believe our eyes. 

"'We has tum home aden, ' Margaret called, cheerfully, as she saw us. 

"Well you can imagine how quickly we got both those children into thehouse, and into the bath-tub, where we satisfied ourselves that theywere not bleeding to death. 

"We had to get the first coating of dirt off before we could undertaketo disentangle those dreadful burs. My heart sank at the sight, I mustsay. I was so proud of their beautiful golden hair. They each had somuch of it, and it was as fine as floss; but this only made it the moredifficult to get those sticky burs out. My sister and I each took achild, and began at the burs. We worked at them a long time, but theywere so hopelessly twisted in, and the fine silky hair was so wound upin them, that at last I had to get the scissors, very sorrowfully. Wayunderneath, close to their necks, we found these little locks, that bysome work and careful snipping we managed to get quite free of burs, soI cut them off to preserve. I simply cut the rest off, in any way, asbest I could, to do for the night, as it was too late to take them tothe barber's that afternoon. 

"What dreadful looking little things they were then! Did you ever see asheared sheep? Well, they looked just like that, for I had snipped theirhair here and there, as best I could, and it stood up in little, rough, jagged, irregular tufts all over their heads. I almost cried as I lookedat them. 'I had thought I had two pretty children, ' I said, mournfully. Their heads looked so comically small, and their necks like littlepipe-stems. 

"Of course the barber clipped their hair smooth the next day, but I feltfor a long time as if I could not let people see them. Their heads weresimply lost in every hat and bonnet they had. "

"To think of my mother having been such a little _scallawag_, " murmuredCricket, in an awestruck tone. 

"Poor little things! They had a sad time the next day, for their feetwere so swollen and cut that they couldn't get on a shoe. I can'timagine how they managed to walk so far on the hot pavements with theirtender little feet. "

"I know. The palms of your feet get dreadfully hot and sting-y when yougo barefoot. I've tried it. Did they ever run away again?"

"No, never, I believe. That one experience was enough. And now, my smallmaid, will you go and ask Luke to harness Mopsie for you? I would liketo send a note over to Mrs. Carter, if you would please take it for me. "

Cricket sprang up with a bound. 

"Would you really like me to go? Oh, thank you! I mean, of course, Ilove to stay with you, but--"

"Yes, " said grandma, smiling, "and I enjoy my little maid's companyextremely, but I think she had better have some fresh air, this lovelyday. "

Cricket gave a hop, skip, and jump. 

"Thank you so much for your stories, grandma, dear. I'd love to go withyour note. Oh, George W. , you bad, bad cat! You've gone and snarled yourAunt Zaidee's wash-rag all up while I was listening to a beautiful storyabout your Grandma Ward. Look, grandma! he's made it just as worse asburs!"

"I'll put it in order, while you're gone, " said grandma, taking the veryhopeless looking knitting. 

"Hand me my writing things, and I'll have the note ready when you comeback for it. Really, I shall be tempted to sprain my ankle again, Jean, if it brings me such a dear little nurse. "

"We've had a lovely time, I think, " said Cricket, giving her dear, comforting grandma a prodigious hug. "Let's have a knitting bee again, sometime, grandma. Perhaps, I'd get my wash-rag done this summer if wedid. "

[Illustration: HILDA'S ARRIVAL]

CHAPTER XVII. 

HILDA ARRIVES. 

Of course, Cricket went with Auntie Jean to the station on Fridayafternoon to meet Hilda. 

Hilda had never stayed at the seashore before, for her mother was veryfond of the mountains, and went every summer to the Catskills. Therefore, there was everything to show her. Think of it. She had nevereven been in bathing in the ocean! This fact interested Cricket morethan anything else, and so the very first morning she got Hilda up earlyto get a dip before breakfast. 

"Ouch!" squealed Hilda, shrinking back, as the cold waves touched herbare toes. "Why, Cricket! it's cold!"

"It won't be as soon as you're fairly in, " urged Cricket. "Just make adash, and go in all over. Wade out to the raft, and dive off. You don'tknow what fun it is to go slap-dash into the water and get all gurgled, "which was Cricket for choked. 

"But I'll get all _wet_, " objected Hilda, "besides, it's _so_ cold, Cricket, " and she drew back further up on the beach, and stood pokingher toes into the warm sand. 

"Get wet?" said Archie, politely. "No, you wouldn't. We keep dry waterfor any one making a first attempt. "

"And if you _should_ get wet, what would it matter? A bathing-suit isn'ta party dress, Hilda, " urged Cricket. "We usually expect to get wet whenwe go into the water, anyway. "

"Mother, may I go out to swim?" sang Archie, teasingly. 

"Come on, Hilda. Just go right forward, ker-chunk, " and Cricket made arun and threw herself full length in the shallow water. She rolled overand over, and came up sputtering, and laughing. "Don't be afraid, yougoosey girl. "

"I'm not a goosey girl. Suppose I should go out there and get drowned?"

"You _can't_ drown. Archie, and Will, and I, all can swim, and we'llsave you. Will taught me this summer. It's lovely, " and Cricket ledHilda, hanging back and protesting, into the water, ankle deep. 

The truth really was, that Hilda did not want to wet her pretty newbathing-suit. She was such a careful, orderly little person, that shedid not like the idea of doing anything so untidy. Besides, Cricket'sdripping, clinging skirt looked very uncomfortable. 

Just then, Will and Archie, at a private signal, threw themselves, splash, into the water on each side of her, spattering her well, andCricket, seizing the opportunity, cried out:

"Now, you're a little wet, you must go under right away, or else you'lltake cold, " and Hilda yielded very unwillingly, and protesting that shewas freezing to death. She squealed and choked as the boys ducked herunder the water, and she really thought for one dreadful minute that herlast hour had come. 

"If _this_ is bathing, I think it's _awful_, " she said, with emphasis, as soon as she could speak. The boys had piloted her as far as theswimming raft, and, imitating Cricket's example, she climbed up on it, trying to rub off her wet face with her wetter sleeve, and lookingperfectly miserable. "Archie, I've got to have a handkerchief, or atowel, or something, to dry my face. Please bring me one. "

The boys both laughed at her. "Oh, certainly, " said Archie. "I'lltelephone to the laundry to send down a cartload right away. We usuallyhave Luke put a supply of clean ones on the raft, all ready for us. Hemust have forgotten it this morning. "

"You needn't laugh at me. I do hate to have my face stay wet. "

"Dive again, then, " advised Will, setting the example. "Come, Cricket, race me to the rock and back again. "

Cricket promptly dived, but Hilda could not be coaxed off her perch tillthe others were ready to go in. So, altogether, the first bath was not agreat success, and Hilda almost made up her mind that she would nevertry it again, for it was, by no means, such fun as it was reported tobe. But over Sunday she had time to forget her sensations, and whenCricket sprang up early Monday morning, as usual, Hilda finallyconcluded she would try it again. To her great surprise--perhaps it waspartly because the first newness was worn off her bathing-suit--shefound that she enjoyed it a great deal more than the first time. Sheactually waded around with the water nearly up to her shoulders, andhalf learned to float, with Will supporting her. The next morningcompleted the lesson, and she began to feel very independent. 

On Monday morning Auntie Jean drove the four girls over to Plymouth, tosee the sights there. Hilda was full of eagerness and curiosity to seethe famous Rock on which the Pilgrim Fathers landed. 

"What! _that_ little thing?" she exclaimed, in surprise and disgust, when a small affair was pointed out to her, a rock not even very nearthe water, but well up on the land, with a stone canopy over it. "Howcould they land on that little thing?"

"Archie says they came up on stilts, " said Cricket. "Of course they hadto land on Plymouth Rock, 'cause the histories said they must. "

"I never believed that, " said literal Edna. "How could they get thestilts?"

"Oh, _Edna_!" cried Eunice, while the rest laughed. 

"Then they cut a piece off, and carried it up in front of Pilgrim Hall, and put it in front of it, and built a railing round it, the first thingthey did, " went on Cricket. 

"But there wasn't any Pilgrim Hall, then, " persisted Edna. 

"Edna, you're a goose, " said Eunice. "Now auntie, can we go and see theStatue of Faith, and the Pilgrim Hall, and the burying-ground, and all?"

They had a merry day in the quaint old town, with all its relics andcuriosities. They went all over Pilgrim Hall, and saw the famous swordof Captain Myles Standish, the cradle of Peregrine White, --the littlebaby who was born at sea on that famous voyage, --and hosts of otherinteresting things. 

Then they did a little shopping, and bought some candy to eat on the wayhome. This was always part of the fun. 

"When will they have Captain Myles Standish's statue up?" asked Eunice, with her mouth full of caramels, as they passed Captain's Hill. 

"Very soon, I believe, now. The pedestal is nearly done, and the statueis already there. "

"Yes, I know, " nodded Cricket. "We walked over there one day last week. Hilda, the statue is there waiting, and it's all boxed up like achicken-coop. You can see the statue right between the slats. And, oh, auntie! Archie made such a funny joke. Will had just asked Eunice why itwould be the highest statue in the world, but she knew theanswer--'cause it's Myles above the sea, of course. Then Archie stoopedover and poked a stick through the slats, and said: 'Let's tickle hisfeet and see if he smiles. ' Wasn't that good?"

"I don't see a bit of sense to it, " declared Edna, "and I didn't then. Eunice and Cricket just laughed and laughed, mamma. Of _course_ a statuecouldn't smile. "

"Edna, you wouldn't see a joke if one walked up and _bit_ you, " saidEunice. "Archie said: 'Let's tickle his feet and see if he's-Myles. '_Don't_ you see?"

"If he's Myles. If he smiles. Oh, _yes_!" cried Edna, looking reallyexcited. "I see! you can take it in two ways. "

"Edna, it's easy to see your great-grandfather was a Scotchman, " saidMrs. Somers, when she could speak for laughing at her very practicallittle daughter. 

"Why, I don't see what that has to do with it. People laugh at suchsilly things, mamma. Eunice and Cricket just double up over some thingsthat are too stupid for anything. "

"That's your misfortune, dear. If there was a School of Jokes I shouldcertainly send you to it. "

"Well, for instance, " went on Edna, "I'll leave it to Hilda if thiswasn't silly. That day when we all walked over to Captain's Hill, we allsat down on some stones to rest. Nobody happened to be saying anythingjust then, and Cricket began to sing. Archie listened a moment, then hejumped up and started off on a run, as fast as he could go, all aroundthe top of the hill, and came back all puffing and panting, and he said:'Cricket, I've run all around the hill, and I can't catch that tune. 'The girls thought it was awfully funny; what, do _you_ think it wasfunny, too?" for Hilda went off in a peal of laughter, as well asauntie. 

"Of course, " went on Edna, "he couldn't tell the tune if he didn't stayand listen to it; and, perhaps, he wouldn't have known then, " she added, thoughtfully. 

Cricket grew very red, as she always did when any slighting allusion wasmade to her singing. 

"Archie is a very funny boy, _I_ think, " she remarked quickly, to turnthe attention of the others from this sore subject. "He isn't as nice asWill, but he's generally funnier. He gets so mad when Edna says, 'What'sthe sense to that?' when he makes a joke. "

"Like yesterday, Mrs. Somers, " said Hilda, "when Archie asked us aconundrum, 'How does a sculptor die?' do you know it? The answer is, 'Hemakes faces and _busts_. ' And he got so mad when Edna only told him that_busts_ wasn't correct. He ought to say, 'He makes faces and _bursts_. '"

"Well, he ought, oughtn't he, mamma? Nobody says busts. "

"Edna, you're hopeless, " answered her mother. "And here we are at homeagain. "

At the supper-table Will announced that he and Archie and the _GentleJane_ were all ready to take a sailing party to the Gurnet Lights thenext day, if the party so desired. By the clapping of hands it wasjudged that the party did so desire. 

"But about grandma?" asked Mrs. Somers, when she could make herselfheard. "I can't go and leave her for all day when she is so helpless. "

Cricket coloured at the allusion, but she instantly said, bravely:

"If you will go with the others, auntie, I'll stay with grandma. "

"If you stay, Cricket, I'll stay, too, " said Hilda, quickly. 

"But you _can't_, Hilda. You're the party, don't you see? We've allbeen to the Gurnet, and we're going to get up this picnic on purpose foryou. You've got to go. "

"Yes, you've got to go, " struck in Archie. "It's like the man who was onhis way to be executed. He saw people all running along the street, andhe called out to some one, 'No hurry, friend. It can't go on till I getthere. I'm the man to be hung. '"

"Then, since Hilda is the man to be hung she'll have to go. That'scertain. And besides, children, you can't go to-morrow, for we must givecook a day's notice if she is to provide luncheon enough to last youentirely hollow young people for a whole day. Then I'll see Mrs. Emmons, and perhaps she will come and spend the day with grandma on Wednesday, and we'll set sail then for the Gurnet Lights. Will that do? I'll goover directly after supper and see her, so you can put your minds atrest. "

Mrs. Emmons would be delighted to come and spend the day with grandma, it proved, so the plans for Wednesday instantly began, as if they didnot have a whole day before them. The hour of the start must be settledat once. As it would be low tide at eleven, they must be off at eightin the morning, to get well over the mud-flats before they were exposed. They would go outside the point for a little cruise, if it was not toorough, and then come back and land at the Gurnet, and show all thesights there to Hilda, and eat their luncheon either before or after, asthey liked. 

The boys were both good sailors, and understood a boat perfectly. Theirgrandfather Maxwell had trained them well from the time they were weebits of boys, and even before his death, three years before, he hadtrusted them to go out alone. 

But the next day the excitement began in earnest, and there was hurryingto and fro, and consultations over what to take, and what to wear, andwhat to do, and proposals for this, and objections to that, till thewhole house was in a whirl. 

"Children, you couldn't make more preparation if you were going toEurope, " cried distracted auntie, finally, as all the girls burst intoher room for the fortieth time, as she was trying to take a nap thatafternoon. "I don't know where your sketch-book is, Edna. Yes, wearyour sailor caps. Of course you'll wear your sailor suits, and notginghams. Yours is torn, Edna? Then, my dear, please go and mend itdirectly. Your fishing-tackle is in the lobby, by the side kitchen door, Cricket. You left it in Billy's room, and he brought it over. Yes, Itold cook to make some chocolate cake, Eunice. Now scamper, every one ofyou. I'm going to lock my door now, and don't anybody dare to come anddisturb for an hour. "

But within five minutes a small voice called through the keyhole, imploringly:

"'Scuse me, auntie dear, but _couldn't_ we take George W. ? he's justbegging to go, and I know he'll be good. "

"Scat!" cried auntie, and Cricket scatted. 

"Sha'n't we take some books, in case we get becalmed?" suggested Eunice, as they all finally rested on the piazza, and tried to think ofsomething else to get ready. 

"Of course. Sometimes we are becalmed for an hour, Hilda, and it'sawfully stupid. "

"I'll take 'Jack and Jill, '" said Cricket. "And, oh, girls, let's takeour blank books and pencils, so we can write on our stories for the'Echo' if we want to. "

"I won't, and that's flat!" said Edna, decidedly. "Going on a picnicfor fun, and writing stories! What do you think I'm made of, Cricket?"

"Sugar and spice, and all that's nice, " returned Cricket, cheerfully. "Did I tell you, girls, that Hilda is going to write a story for ournext 'Echo?' 'Our estinguished contributor, Miss Hilda Mason!' Doesn'tthat sound fine? And she's written some poetry, too! Isn't she lovely?"and Cricket hugged Hilda in a sudden burst of affection. 

"This is the first poetry I ever wrote, " said Hilda, trying not to lookconscious. 

"And it's lovely!" said Cricket, approvingly. "Read it to the girls, please, Hilda. " And Hilda, waiting for a little urging, though she wasreally dying to read it, produced her "poem, " and read:

 "It was Christmas eve, now remember, And out in the cold world alone, A cold night, too, in December, There wandered a poor little one. 

 "Waiting in sorrow and weeping, Waiting out there in the cold, Why should she have cause to sorrow? Why, her mother lay there in the mould. 

 "And where was the child's own father? Was he in the cold ground, too? No, her father was in the billiard-room. I pity the poor child, don't you?"

"That's too sweet for anything, Hilda! All you girls are clever but me, "sighed Edna, half enviously. 

"I've just decided that I'll be a poetess like Mrs. Browning, when Igrow up, " said Hilda, calmly. "I never tried writing poetry before, butit's just as _easy_. It would be very interesting to be a poetess, "added Hilda, who was given to day-dreams, in which she was alwaysfamous. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A SAILING PARTY. 

It was not long after dawn, early as that was, when the younger fry wereall astir in the Maxwell household. The boys were up to see thateverything was in order about the boat, and to transport the necessarynumber of cushions and rugs for the comfort of their passengers. Cricketdragged reluctant Hilda, who dearly loved her morning snooze, out of bedalmost as early, though Eunice and Edna lazily turned over for anotherscrap of a nap. Still, they were not long able to withstand the generalbuzz of excitement, and long before seven they also were up and about, gathering together their various belongings. Cook had the generousluncheon-baskets all packed, with provision sufficient for a smallregiment. Before breakfast everything was on board, the luncheon waspacked away in the little locker, and cushions and extra wrappings wereall in place. 

Breakfast was a hasty ceremony, for the boys were eagerly watching thetime, and tide, and breeze, and so would hardly give the rest time toeat. It was not quite eight when they mustered their party on the dock. At the last moment Cricket appeared with a small bundle, carefullywrapped in newspaper, the contents of which she absolutely refused toreveal. 

"You'll know by and by, " was all she would say, "and you needn't try tosolve into the mystery now. "

The breeze favoured the start, and the swelling sails swept the _GentleJane_ along at a scudding pace. Hilda, who had never been sailingbefore, was delighted at the swift motion. The sky was as blue as bluecould be, with flecks of white clouds all over it, the water wassparkling and clear, and dashed with a delightful little swish againstthe bow. 

"But what do you do if the breeze stops?" she asked. 

"We stop, too, " said Archie, "unless somebody gets out and drags theboat along. "

"Really? could any one drag this heavy boat along? would they swim? oh, you're teasing me!"

"Yes, of course he's teasing you, " said Edna; "we have to row, if thebreeze stops. Do you see these long oars? Why, boys! you haven't broughtbut one oar!"

"Yes, we have, " answered the boys in chorus. Then they looked at wherethe oars should be, and then at each other. "I thought you brought theother oar, " said Archie. 

"And I thought you did, " said Will. "Never mind. It looks as if we'dhave a good breeze all day. "

"But will the breeze turn for you to come home again?" asked Hilda. "Forif the breeze blows us out, how can it blow us back again?"

"Tack, young woman, tack, but not with a hammer or nails. You'll see, coming home, if this breeze holds out. "

"I'll bet you anything that the breeze _won't_ hold, because you'veforgotten the other oar, " said Edna. 

"Then we'll put Cricket up in the bow, to whistle up a breeze. Thatalways brings it. "

"It's so funny I can't whistle, when I'd love to, so, " said Cricket, meditatively, for whistling was one boyish accomplishment which shecould not manage. 

"You needn't wish to, " said Edna, who, strange to say, could whistlelike a blackbird. "You would only have people always telling you, it isnot ladylike. I don't know I'm whistling half the time when mamma tellsme not to. It just whistles itself. "

"Why _don't_ I whistle right?" asked Cricket, dolefully, for thehundredth time. "I pucker my lips up so--and I blow--_so_--and I cangive one straight whistle, but I can't make it go up and down. Itdoesn't twinkle as Edna's does. "

Edna broke out into a perfect bird song of twittering and chirping andtrilling. 

"There, I just enjoyed that!" she said, at last, stopping breathlessly. "When I'm way out at sea, mamma lets me whistle all I like. "

"Isn't it getting near luncheon-time, auntie?" asked Eunice. "I'mdreadfully hungry. "

"Luncheon-time, dear child! It's only nine o'clock, " said auntie, consulting her watch. 

"Don't get mixed up in the time as you did last summer, when you wentblackberrying and came home at ten o'clock in the morning and thought itwas six at night. Hard-a-lee!" as the boom swung around and they changedtheir course. Hilda, not realizing what this meant, did not duck herhead in time, and consequently got a smart rap. Her hat was knocked off, but, being Hilda's, it did not go in the water. She never had anyaccidents. 

"You must duck, instanter, when you hear me call, " said Will. "Sometimesthe boom has to go around very suddenly, and you have to look out foryourselves. Archie, you steer now for a while, " and Archie took thehelm. 

The little sailboat skimmed along over the glittering water, and nowthey were well past Clark's Island. As they came near the Gurnet lightsthey decided that they would touch there first, and show Hilda thelighthouse, and then they could take as much time as they liked fortheir cruise outside. 

The tide was out, and they could not get the little boat up near enoughthe shore to land dry-shod. So Will and Archie, having anchored theboat, pulled off shoes and stockings, rolled up their trousers, andjumped overboard. 

"What are they going to do?" asked Hilda, watching with much interestthese preparations, which the rest seemed to take as a matter of course. 

"They will carry us ashore, because we don't want to get our feet wet, "said Edna. "They often do. "

"_Carry_ us! why, I'd be scared to death!" exclaimed Hilda. "Are youreally going to let them take you, Mrs. Somers?"

"Yes, indeed, and they know just how to manage, " said Mrs. Somers. "I'llgo now, children, so they can take the heaviest weight first. "

Will and Archie, knee deep in water, stood up by the boat, and Willeasily lifted his mother from the side of the boat, where she wasstanding. Then Archie got hold of her also, in some mysterious way, and, in a moment, she was safely sitting on a "lady's chair, " made by theboys' clasped hands. They went carefully up over the rocks and stones, and deposited her, dry-shod. Then they came back for the girls. 

"I can take these kids better alone, Arch, " said Will, taking Eunicelike a baby. 

"I'll take Cricket, " said Archie. 

"No, you won't, sir, not one step, " said that young lady, sitting down, resolutely. "I know you. I'd find myself in a crab hole in about aminute. I'll wait for Will. "

"Come on, Hilda, then. That's a base libel, you know. "

But it ended by Will's carrying them all in. 

"There are drawbacks to being so popular, " said Will, setting down Edna, who was the last, and wiping his face. 

A lighthouse is always an interesting place to visit, and many times asthe Somers children had been there, they always enjoyed the trip. Cricket and Eunice had never been there but three or four times before. The good-natured keeper took them all over and showed them everything, from the twin-lights at the top to the life-boats, for Hilda's benefit. 

When they had seen everything that was to be seen they went down to theshore again, to reëmbark. It was easier getting back, for the boys madea lady's chair for each passenger, and together carried her safely overthe shallows, where the water was beginning to rise. They sailed outsidethe bar for a short distance, and then it was time to eat theirluncheon. 

The luncheon was a royal banquet in point of plenty and variety, forMrs. Maxwell's old cook knew, by long experience, just what sort ofappetites the salt air made, and there were seven hungry mouths to feed. They feasted and chattered, until Auntie Jean suddenly announced thatit was time to turn about, and go in. 

"It's too early, " said Edna. 

"Not with this wind, " said her mother. "We'll have to tack all the way, and I want to get in by five or six. "

"It's such fun, " sighed Cricket. "I hate to go in. I love the water outhere, when it's all rough and rock-y. I'd like to keep right on to CapeCod. " She stood in the bow of the boat, with one arm around the mast--itwas a catboat--with the breeze fluttering her curly hair about, and herdress blowing back stiffly. 

"Cricket, please don't stand there any longer, " called Auntie Jean. "Youmake me nervous. You'll be overboard in a minute, I know. "

"No, I won't, auntie, I've stood here heaps of times. I do love to feelthe wind on my face. It makes one feel so _gay_. "

"No, come back, please, dear. I feel safer with all my birds under mywings, " answered auntie, for she knew Cricket of old. 

Cricket turned, reluctantly, and at the same moment Will called"Hard-a-lee!" as the boom swung over, and the boat obeyed her helm, andcame round. Cricket was still facing outward, and, as the boat keeled, she suddenly lost her balance, grasped at the mast which she had let go, missed it, and disappeared over the bows with a great splash. The boatswung away from her, fortunately, otherwise she might have beenseriously hurt. 

"Take the helm, Archie, " shouted Will, as he tore off his shoes, and wasover after her in a twinkling. Cricket rose to the surface, and struckout bravely, but her clothes hampered her, and she could do little morethan keep herself up. In a few moments Will reached her, and Archiebrought the boat around, so there were but a few strokes to swim beforethey could reach the oar which Edna and Eunice had seized and held out. By this they drew themselves up to the gunwale of the boat. 

It all passed so quickly that in five minutes from the time when AuntieJean had first spoken to Cricket, the dripping adventurers were in theboat again. There had been no real danger, for Cricket could easily havekept herself up till one of the boys could come to her, but the childrenfelt very much excited, for all that, over the "rescue, " as they calledit. 

In the small quarters of a little catboat, it is not exactly pleasantto have two dripping individuals as members of the crew, and the othersbegan to draw themselves, feet and all, up on to the seat. 

"Now, water-babies, " began Auntie Jean, but Archie interrupted:

"Do pitch them out again, and let them swim home. They'll swamp the boatdirectly. Here, bail out, Edna, " tossing her the sponge, which shecaught and threw at Cricket, saying, "I can't get down in all thatwater. Your feet are wet, already, Cricket. "

"It's too bad, " said Cricket, meekly. "Couldn't you really tie a ropearound me, auntie, and drag me along? I wouldn't mind. I couldn't swimall the way in, for I'd get tired, but I wouldn't mind being tied onbehind. "

"You're pretty bad, but we won't make a tow of you this time, " saidauntie, merrily. "I can't say what I'll do next time, though. Now wemust get off those wet clothes, and wring them out, and hang them up todry. You can put on your mackintosh. "

Mackintoshes and shawls always formed part of the equipment of an allday's sail, since at any time a squall might come up. Edna and Euniceand Hilda held up a long shawl in a triangular fence around Cricket, while she got out of most of her clothes. Auntie rubbed her dry, andwrung out what she still had on, as best she could with another shawl, and then she put on her mackintosh. Will had also been getting rid ofsome of the superfluous water, but a boy's sailing dress is sobeautifully simple that a wetting more or less does not matter. He tookoff his stockings, and hung them over the boom to dry, and presentlyCricket's dress and petticoats fluttered beside them. 

"Regular canal-boat style. Family wash drying on deck, " said Archie, andthen he hooted at Cricket as she appeared from behind the shawl. Alittle figure draped in a mackintosh is not a model for an artist. 

"That's very becoming, young one, " said Archie. "You look as fat as amatch. "

"A match for you, then, " returned Cricket, serenely, for Archie had theproportions of a hairpin. 

"I want to call a meeting of the Echo Club, immediately, " said Will, standing up, "and I put the motion as president _pro tem_; that on anyexpedition in the future, of which Miss Jean Ward, usually calledCricket, is a member, that a wringing-machine be furnished and carried, at the club's expense. "

"Who would you have to poke fun at, if you didn't have me?" demandedCricket, quite undisturbed. "But I'll second the motion about thewringing-machine. I wonder why you didn't get as wet as I did?"

Another shout at this. 

"I only got a little damp on the outside, " said Will, politely. "I'llsoon evaporate. "

"You needn't all laugh, " said Cricket, defensively. "I was in the waterlonger than he was, and so I didn't suppose he'd had time to get as wetthrough. "

"I didn't, " said Will, "only as far as my skin. I'm not porous. "

They had been tacking all the time, back and forth, much to Hilda'samazement, who could not understand how that crab-like motion would everbring them home. They were now coming past the Gurnet Lights. 

"We can put in there, mother, if you like, " suggested Archie, "and getthe mermaid dried off, if you think best. "

"It's really not necessary. Cricket is rubbed pretty dry, and onerarely takes cold in sea-water. Keep down in the bottom of the boat, Cricket, out of the breeze as much as you can. "

"I'm just thinking to myself, " said Will, "that in five minutes you'llbe hunting for a breeze to sit in. It's certainly dying down. "

"Will, if you becalm us out here in this broiling sun when you'veforgotten to bring the other oar to row with, I'll never forgive you, "exclaimed Edna. 

"I haven't the least desire to do it, my lady, " said Will, scanning thenow cloudless sky, "but I think it's what we're in for. Have youanything left to eat in case we make a night of it, mother?"

"A night of it?" cried Hilda, in dismay. "Where would we sleep?"

"All curled up in little bundles in the bottom of the boat, " cut inArchie. "It's not bad. Only it takes some time next day to get the kinksout of your legs. "

"He's teasing you, my dear, " said Mrs. Somers. "We won't be here allnight, but it often happens that we are becalmed for several hours, andI really don't enjoy the prospect. Come, Will, whistle up the breeze. "

"It's Cricket that does that, " said Archie; "she always scares the windinto coming up immediately. There's a puff now. The very mention ofCricket's whistling does the business. "

But the wind only freshened for a moment, then died down, and in tenminutes more they lay motionless on a glassy sea. 

"Now here we'll stay, " said Edna with a sigh, "until the sea-breezesprings up this afternoon at four or five. What time is it now? Twoo'clock! Think of it!"

"The tide takes us along a little, " said Mrs. Somers. "If we only hadthe other oar now!"

"Scull, " suggested Edna. 

"Too much work, " said Archie; but, nevertheless, he adjusted the oar atthe stern, and sculled a little. The boat moved very slowly forward. 

"If we go six feet in an hour, how long will it take us to go sevenmiles?" propounded Eunice. 

"Those questions are too difficult to be answered off-hand, " said Will, sculling in his turn. "Sounds like Alice in Wonderland. If two boys eata turkey at Thanksgiving, how many girls will eat a plum-pudding atChristmas?"

"I know a better one than that, " put in Archie. "Two men set outsimultaneously, at different times, on a journey, both being unable totravel. For two hours they kept ahead of each other, and then asnow-storm came up, and they both lost their way. Query: Which got therefirst?"

"How silly!" said Edna. "How could they set out simultaneously, atdifferent times, mamma?"

"That's the question for your deep brain, Miss Wiseacre, " said Archie. "Perhaps you're equal to this. If three men work all day on a fertilefarm, what is the logarithm?"

"The lager-in-'em?" echoed Cricket. "Depends on how much they drank. "

Whereupon Mrs. Somers and the boys laughed themselves sore, and thegirls clamoured to know the joke. 

"Cricket's a born joke, " said Will, resuming his sculling. "You'll bethe death of me, young one. "

"I always see jokes when there are any to see, " Cricket answered, withdignity. "You know I do, Mr. Will. I'm not just as worse as Edna. "

"Just as bad, you mean, " retorted Edna. 

"Let's play some games, children, " Mrs. Somers said, coming to therescue. The children were all fond of games. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

BECALMED. 

"What shall it be first, then?" went on Auntie Jean, adjusting thecushions behind her back and resting her umbrella against the rail. 

"Teakettle, " suggested Edna. 

"What _is_ teakettle?" asked Hilda. 

"Don't you know? We play it lots. Somebody goes out--"

"Into the water?" put in Archie. "Then Cricket is 'it, ' I say. "

"Well, of course, Archie, I was thinking of dry land. Somebody shuts upher ears, then, and we choose a word. It must be one with two or threemeanings. Then, whoever is 'it, ' begins to ask questions, and we answer, only we put the word 'teakettle' in place of the real word. We can say'teakettling, ' you know, or 'teakettled, ' if we want to. Who'll be 'it'first?"

"I'd just as lief, " said Eunice, going to the bow, and putting herfingers in her ears, and burying her head in a cushion. 

"What shall we choose for a word? It must have two or three meanings, you know. "

"_Sail_ would be very appropriate, " suggested Will, who was stilllaboriously sculling. 

"Oh, yes. See, Hilda? There's to sail, and taking a sail, and a sale ofthings. "

"And the sail of the boat, " said Archie. 

"All ready, Eunice. Touch her, Archie. Begin, Eunice. "

"The hardest part is to think of questions, " said Eunice, turning aroundand meditating. "Let me see. Auntie, when do you think we will gethome?"

"When we are on a teakettle, it is never safe to say, " answered auntie. 

"On a teakettle--on a boat--that doesn't fit, " meditated Eunice. "Will, why don't you make Archie scull now?"

"Because he's such a lazy beggar. When he goes teakettling, he won't doanything else. "

"Edna, is the moon made of green cheese?"

"What a hard question, " groaned Edna. "What shall I say? If weteakettled up there, perhaps we could find out. "

"I can't guess it yet, " said Eunice, thinking over this answer. "Cricket, if you weren't a girl, what would you rather be?"

"I know--a boy, " said Archie, quickly. "Wouldn't you, Miss Scricket?"

"No, I wouldn't, Mr. Archie. I would rather be a pig than a boy. A nicefat pig, and then nobody would laugh at my 'knitting-needles. ' That'swhat papa calls my legs, always, auntie, you know, because they're _not_fat, I know. He always wants mamma to knit with them, and all thatnonsense. It seems to amuse them very much, " added Cricket, with a boredair. 

"You haven't teakettled once, child, " said Eunice. "Oh, auntie, I mustjust stop to tell you a funny story about Cricket. It was such a joke onher. Once we were playing 'She comes, she comes. ' You know that, don'tyou? Somebody says, 'What does she come with?' and then you give thefirst letter of the thing you've thought of. It was Cricket's turn, andshe--well, she _was_ rather a little girl--gave 'N. N. ' for theinitials. We guessed and guessed, and had to give up, finally, and thenshe piped up, 'It's what papa calls my legs, ' and she meant'knitting-needles. '"

"I was _very_ little, " said Cricket, blushing and apologising. "It wasas much as three years ago. I haven't answered your question yet, Eunice. I b'lieve I don't want to be a pig, after all, for in the fallthe farmer has a teakettle, and sells his pigs, and I'd have to go tothe butcher and be killed, and be cut up for sausage. "

"I don't seem to get hold of it, yet, " said Eunice, wrinkling herforehead. "Hilda, how do you like Marbury?"

"I think it's perfectly lovely, " declared Hilda, enthusiastically. "Oh, I forgot to teakettle. I think teakettling is lovely, even if you do getbecalmed. "

"Teakettling--sailing! Sail is the word, " exclaimed Eunice, instantly. "You gave it away, Hilda. I guessed it on you, so you'll have to goout. "

"I'll never be able to guess it in the world, " said Hilda, lookingdisappointed. 

"I'll take your place, " said Will, instantly. "It's about time thatArchie sculled. Take hold, old boy, and keep at it. "

"Choose a hard one, " said Eunice, when Will had duly stopped up hisears. "How would _steal_ do?"

"Yes, or we might have _oar_ and _ore_, " said Hilda. 

"Scull and skull, " said Archie, pensively. 

"That's good, " said auntie. "Or else bough, and bow of the boat, andbow, to make a bow. "

"Let's take that, for there are so many meanings, " said Cricket. 

"All right. Ready, Will, " said Archie, kicking him. 

Will uncovered his ears and began. 

"Edna, how many sandwiches did you eat for luncheon?"

"I ought to make you a teakettle for asking me such an easy question, "laughed Edna, "I ate two--I think. "

"Whopper!" said Will. "Eunice, why is a crocodile like the North Pole?"

"Because there's a B in both, " answered Eunice, promptly. "Will, asksensible questions, or I'll get a teakettle when I get home, and hit youwith it. "

"That might be a stone, but stone won't do. Cricket, now think carefullyover your answer. If three men work all day on a fertile farm--"

"I'll get Archie to throw you over the teakettle this minute, if youdon't stop, " threatened Cricket. 

"Throw me over the teakettle--over the side--stern--bow. Bow. That's it, young lady. Caught you on that. "

And so the game progressed, till they had sufficiently teakettled. 

"What next?" asked some one. 

"Suppose we have tableaux, and begin with Cricket for Venus, " saidArchie, looking at her with his head on one side. 

"You needn't make fun of my looks, Mr. Archie. I know this mackintoshisn't _very_ becoming, but I don't care for looks, anyway. "

"You might as well intermingle a few looks if you can, " said Eunice. "And you do look too funny. Your clothes are dry, now, anyway. Hadn'tshe better put them on, auntie?"

So the shawl screen was again put up, and the display of dress andpetticoats disappeared from the sail of the _Gentle Jane_. 

"I feel more respectable, " teased Archie, "now the weekly wash is takenin. Hated to be taken for a canal-boat. "

"No, we'd rather be taken for a tow, " said Cricket, smartly, and Archiefell back, rigid with mock admiration. 

"Now, if we only had pencils and paper, " said auntie, "there are manygames we might play. "

"Oh, wait! wait!" exclaimed Cricket, jumping up suddenly and tumblingover auntie in her excitement. She dived into the tiny hold, andtriumphantly brought out her mysterious newspaper package. 

"I thought perhaps the girls would like to write on their stories forthe 'Echo, '" she explained eagerly, "so I brought all the blank booksand pencils. You can tear some leaves out of the back of mine and usethem. "

There was much applause at Cricket's forethought. 

"Wise child, " said auntie, approvingly, "I am glad to see that 'thoughon pleasure you are bent you have a'--literary mind. We might illustrateproverbs. "

"Oh, I can't draw, " said Eunice, quickly. 

"So much the better. You need not draw well, for it's much more fun ifyou don't. I'll tear these leaves in two, Cricket, to make them long andnarrow. Now, we must each illustrate some proverb at the bottom of theslip, or some line of poetry, if you prefer. Only label it, which itis. When we are all done, we each pass our slips to the next one, whowrites what she thinks it is, and folds back the writing, and passes iton. When we have each written our comments, they are opened and read. Most of the fun comes from the different guesses, so you see you mustn'tdraw _too_ well, and make your ideas too plain. Now, to work, all ofyou. Here are your slips. "

They all fell industriously to work, interrupting themselves with many agroan and protest. When all were finished they passed on their slips tothe next one. There was much giggling at the first sight of some of thevery remarkable drawings. 

"Now, " said Auntie Jean, when the slips had all passed around, and hadreturned to the hands of their respective artists, "each of you unfoldyour papers, and read the comments aloud for the benefit of the company. Cricket, you're the youngest. Suppose you begin. "

Cricket giggled. Her picture consisted of a scraggy tree, with severallong wavy lines near its foot. In the branches of the tree were twogood-sized attempts at fowls of some description, while a third hugecreature was flying near. She read the comments in order. 

 "There were three crows sat on a tree, And they were black as crows could be. " AUNTIE. 

 "The breaking waves dashed high, Caught the pilgrims on the fly. "

("Couldn't think how that last line goes, " murmured Archie, "but I'msure those are pilgrims on the fly. ")

 "Two's a company, three is none. " EDNA. 

 "Good-morning! do you use Pears' Soap?" WILL. 

 "Early bird catches the first worm. " (Guess those things down there are worms. ) HILDA. 

 "Two birds in the bush are worth one in the hand. " (I had to make the proverb fit the drawing. ) EUNICE. 

"And it's just as plain, " announced Cricket, contemptuously. "Birds of afeather flock together. "

"Ho! what are those water streaks doing down there, then?" asked Archie. "The things I thought were breaking waves. "

"_I_ thought they were curly worms, " added Hilda. 

"They're not worms or water either. I just put some lines there to fillup. I think I meant them for grass. How silly you all are. Now, auntie. "

Auntie's picture was beautifully simple. It was nothing but an inclinedplane, with a round thing rolling down it. Of course everybody hadwritten, "A rolling stone gathers no moss. "

"Not at all, " answered auntie, coolly. "I thought you would all thinkthat, but it really is, 'Things are not what they seem. ' It looks like astone, but it isn't. Now, Eunice. "

Eunice had a remarkable sketch of a darkly-shaded spot, with a houseshowing dimly through, and at one side a spiky sun was rising above aquavering line, evidently meant for the horizon. There were variousguesses. "Any port in a storm. " ("Which is the same as saying, anyguess, if you can't make the right one, " murmured Will. )

"Rising Sun Stove Polish. " "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. ""Every cloud has a silver lining. " ("That house is behind a cloud, isn'tit?" asked Cricket. )

"It's a _very_ easy one, too, " said Eunice. "'It's always darkest justbefore dawn. ' Don't you see the sun just coming up?"

Archie, who drew beautifully, had made a really very clever littlesketch of a Spencerian pen, mounted on two thin legs, furnished with anequally thin pair of arms, and a face as well, engaged in a boxing matchwith a very plump and well-developed sword. In a second picture, thesword was flat on the ground, while the pen was dancing away, grinning. Of course this could be only, "The Pen is mightier than the Sword. "

Hilda had drawn simply two long lines in perspective. As nobody couldmake anything of them, the guesses were wild. 

"Why, don't you see? Those two lines are a lane. 'It's a long lane thathas no turning. ' That's the long lane. It has no turning, " explainedHilda. "I thought you would guess it the very first thing. "

When the last of the guesses were read, auntie rose to rest herself froma sitting position. 

"Isn't there a bit of a breeze coming up?" she asked, shading her eyeswith her hand, to look across the glassy sea, in search of the faintestsign of a ripple. 

"Sorra a bit, " said Archie. "Here, Will, you scull a while, and rest afellow. Hello! we're really getting along. See how far the Gurnet Lightsare behind us. "

"Yes, but look at the distance ahead of us, to be sculled over yet, "said Auntie Jean, "and here it is four o'clock, " consulting her watch. "Come, Archie, it's time to whistle up the wind. "

"I will!" said Edna, breaking out again into her blackbird whistle. 

Cricket listened in rapt admiration. 

"Why _can't_ I do it?" she sighed. 

"But, Mrs. Somers?" broke out Hilda, in amazement, "can they reallywhistle up a breeze?"

"No, indeed, dear. It's only an old saying about sailors. The childrendo it for fun when we're becalmed sometimes. Well, there's no signs ofit yet. I'll tell you what I'll do, children. While you're whistling upthe wind, I'll write an adjective story for you. "

"Oh, that will be fun!" exclaimed one and all. All, that is, but Hilda, who asked again:

"Now, what _is_ an adjective story?"

"I write a little story about anything, " explained Mrs. Somers, givingher pencils to Will to be sharpened, "and I leave a space before everynoun. When I have written it, you each give me adjectives in turn tofill in the spaces, and I write them just as you supply them. Of coursethey never fit, and a very funny hodge-podge is the result. Now, whileI'm writing you must all be thinking up a good supply of adjectives, forI shall want a quantity. "

So Auntie Jean took Cricket's blank-book and began to scribble; shewrote busily for ten or fifteen minutes, and then announced she wasready for the adjectives. 

"I call it the 'Tale of the Shipwrecked Mariners, '" she said, when allthe adjectives were duly written in. "And now for the tale. "

"Once upon a time, in the pathetic town of Marbury, there lived a greenand scrumptious lady with a wriggling troop of fantastic grandchildren, who made her life miserable. First of all was the eldest, the awful andweird William, who was quite intolerable. Next to him was the cute andsublime Archie, who was always jolly and superstitious. They had asullen and sarcastic sister, the entrancing Edna, whom they delighted totease. One summer their delightful and sarcastic cousins, the mournfuland flowery Eunice, and the melodious Cricket ["Auntie! you put thatthere on purpose, " came reproachfully from the last-mentioned youngwoman. 

"No, I didn't, my dear. It really happened so. "]

"The melodious Cricket, arrived to spend a long time with the dingySomers family, much to their enjoyment. After various adventures, theirecstatic friend, the lively Hilda Mason, came to spend a few days. Toentertain her, one day, they took her out in a wizened boat to sail overthe garrulous bay. They dragged their silent auntie" [a howl] "withthem, promising her a talkative day. All went well at first, butsuddenly a gruesome storm arose, and beat upon their inky boat, whichbegan to leak. The musical crew were all much frightened, and tried tobail out the ugly water, but it rose too fast, and soon the monkeyishboat began to sink. After it had sunk through the water about a mile, itstruck plump on a rock, and then it glided into a dwarfish cave at thebottom of the sea. The grumpy and genial Cricket immediately fell out ofthe boat, in her surprise. Cunning Will jumped after her. The sugaryparty had come to a mountainous spot down below the sea, and they founda minute garden there, full of curly fruits. The aggravating Hilda, theindefinite Eunice, and the smooth Edna, seeing the proper Cricket"[another howl] "struggling in the water with the contrary Will, immediately jumped out after them, leaving the rough Archie and forlornauntie in command of the boat. Suddenly a bold gnome popped up hisdainty head from behind a rock, saying, 'Welcome, Englishmen! You are inthe cave of accident. Look out for yourselves. ' As he spoke, his wateryhead fell off. He felt around but could not find it, since his eyes hadgone with his head, so he said, politely, 'Will some of you immense, rawpeople pick up my jealous head for me, and kindly put it on?' Snub-nosedHilda" ["Ah, you've caught it now, young lady, " from Archie] "beingnearest, handed him his head, which had rolled to her idolatrous feet. The hysterical gnome immediately clapped it on--wrong side before. 'Never mind, ' he said. 'Now I can go _to_ school, or _from_ school, justas I like, and nobody will ever know what I'm doing. ' The dumpy partythen went on their way exploring, leaving the squealing Archie anduncanny auntie calling after them, and weeping unmixed tears of terror, lest by some accident they should never come back. The noble gnome wentalong in front of them, when suddenly he began walking right up, in thewater. When the others came up to the same place, to their surprise, they found themselves doing the same thing. They couldn't possibly stayon the ground. 'I don't want to go up, ' said erratic Cricket, kicking, and shamefaced Will called to the sparkling gnome, to know what was thematter. 'Nothing at all, ' he called back, cheerfully, 'only gravitydoesn't happen to act just there. Sometimes it doesn't and then you'rejust as likely to go somewhere else. '

"'Let's go back!' said prim Eunice. 

"'Very well. There's nowhere to go but back, ' called back the ricketygnome. 'Stand on your heads, and go the other way. '

"The humble party upset themselves, and got along very nicely, and soonfound themselves on the ground again. 

"'I don't like to walk all sorts of ways, ' said flighty Hilda. 'I liketo go on my grateful feet best. ' So they decided to go back to the boatas best they could. But when they came to the suave boat it wasn'tthere, for the ground had opened accidentally, and cowardly Archie andgenerous auntie had fallen right through the earth, to China, probably, if nothing happened to stop them. This was quite a disappointment to thenaughty party, who didn't know what to do next. So they decided to donothing at all, and, as far as the present dramatic and inconvenienthistorian knows, that is just what they are doing at the present time. Here ends the swaggering story of the mellow and gruff shipwreckedmariners. "

"Is that all?" "What fun!" "Didn't the adjectives come in funny!" "Writeanother one!" came the various comments. 

"Hurrah for Mumsey!" shouted Archie. "You're a regular Alice inWonderland. "

"I wish I were, and I would raise the wind, " said Auntie Jean. 

"Slang, madam!" both her sons instantly announced. 

"Is it? Then I beg its pardon, and yours, and everybody's, " answeredAuntie Jean, promptly. "No, Edna, I will _not_ write another one, tillthe next time we are becalmed. Isn't there a sign of a breeze, Will?"

"None yet, but we are making way slowly, with the sculling and thetide. We're half across the bay now. "

"Guess this rebus, " said Cricket, presenting a paper on which she hadbeen drawing for a moment. There was a capital letter B, --a very wildand inebriated looking letter it was, too, --and beside it was another B, with beautiful, regular curves, lying flat on its back. 

"It's one word, " hinted Cricket. 

 "'How doth the little busy B Improve each shining hour, '"

suggested Auntie Jean, instantly. 

"No, that's good, but it isn't right; it's what we are now. "

"B-calmed, " said Archie. "And you're right. That B needed calming badly, you little Gloriana McQuirk. " For every separate hair of Cricket's curlycrop, having been wet in her involuntary bath, and afterward rubbed dry, stood out in a separate and distinct curl from all the others, making averitable halo around her head. 

"This is the way you look, Cricket, " said Archie, seizing a pencil, andin a moment his clever fingers had drawn a head in which nothing was tobe seen save a very wide smile, and a cloud of hair. 

"I look very well, then, " said Cricket, calmly. "It's like all thosepictures in papa's 'Paradise Lost, ' where the angels all have halos, youknow. It would be very convenient to have a halo, really, wouldn't it, auntie? A saint could fry his own eggs right on his halo, for instance, if he wanted to, couldn't he?"

"That _would_ be a practical use for a halo, " laughed auntie. "And thatbrings up a suggestion of more lunch. Let us eat up the fragments. It'sfive o'clock. "

"And here's a bit of a breeze coming, " said Will, suddenly, wetting hisfinger, and holding it up. "Whoop-la! She's coming! Let's give her thecall!" And all the vigorous young lungs joined in a wild salute of"Wah-who-wah! wah-who-wah! Come, little breezes! wah-who-wah!"

"I'll stop sculling, and eat in comfort now, " said Will, shipping hisoar, and taking a sandwich. "She's safe to come, now. "

And the breeze did not belie his confidence, for in ten minutes more thesail began to flap, and then to fill. The boat instantly responded, andArchie took the helm. The breeze steadily freshened, and in two minutesmore the _Gentle Jane_ was skimming along like a bird. And so, not longafter six, they landed at the dock. 

CHAPTER XX. 

A NEW HIDING-PLACE. 

The four girls were in an unusually energetic frame of mind the nextday, owing to so many hours confinement on the sailboat. 

"Let's do something wild to-day, " said Cricket, at the breakfast-table. "I'd like to ride a crazy horse. "

"Are you tired of this world?" asked Will. "If you are, I'll go andborrow Mr. Gates's Josephus, --his new horse. He's only half broken, andthat's the wrong half. "

"Cricket, I put my foot down on your doing anything of the kind, " saidauntie, in alarm, not feeling at all sure of Cricket. "Remember you'restrictly forbidden to mount anything but Mopsie. "

"And the sawhorse?" broke in Archie. 

"Yes, I'll except the sawhorse, " conceded his mother. 

"Why, auntie, I rode Columbus all around the field, bareback, the otherday, " said Cricket. "I didn't know you didn't want me to. "

"_Columbus!_ you crazy child! He's not at all safe even for a man toride him. Understand, my dear, that's tabooed. "

"Oh, auntie!" cried Cricket, clasping her hands, tragically, "If you'veany filial affection for me, you won't say that! I do so love to ride ahorse bareback. Mopsie is dear, but I like something _fiercer_. "

"If you have any filial affection for _me_, my dear, " returned auntie, laughing, "you will say no more about it. You know I've undertaken torestore all you children, as uninjured as possible, to your father andmother. Riding half-broken horses bareback is not exactly the safestthing in the world. "

"What let's do, then?" asked Edna. 

"I'm going to take grandma for a nice long ride after breakfast. Supposetwo of you come with me, and the other two ride or drive Mopsie andCharcoal, " proposed auntie. 

"All right. Suppose you and I go in the carriage, Eunice, " said Edna, "and let the children take the ponies. "

"The children, indeed!" said Hilda, bridling. "I'm as old as you, Edna. "

"Cricket's the only trundle-bed trash, " said Archie, pulling her hair. 

"Goodness me, auntie, if you'd whipped him a little when _he_ wastrundle-bed trash, he might have been very much nicer now, " saidCricket, pulling away, and, by her hasty movement, upsetting her glassof milk. "There, now! I've done it again. _Please_ excuse me, auntie. "

"It was not your fault, dear. It's that bad boy of mine that must beblamed. I read a story a little while ago of a plan where all the smallboys were put into a barrel when they were six, and fed and educatedthrough the bung-hole, and not let out till they were twenty-one. Wouldyou like to live there?"

"Oh, how lovely!" sighed Edna. "Let's go there! Think of having no oneto tease you. "

"Or pull your hair, " said Cricket, feelingly. 

"Or call you names, " said Hilda, severely. 

"Or hide your things, " added Eunice, reproachfully. 

"Or take you sailing, or teach you to wrestle, or write things for yourold 'Echo, ' or harness the ponies when Luke is not round, and look outfor you generally, " said Archie, in a breath. "If boys are barrelled inthat place, girls ought to be--"

"Hung, " said Edna, sweetly. "Please pass me the syrup. "

"Since you've settled that question, " said auntie, smiling, "shall wearrange it that Eunice and Edna go with us, and Cricket and Hilda ridethe ponies? Or would you rather drive, Hilda?"

"I'll ride with Cricket, please, " said Hilda. 

"We'll have a splendid scamper, then, " said Cricket. "Oh, Hilda! do youknow, I've found out lately how to make Mopsie go up on his hind legsand walk around with me on his back. It's lots of fun and I don't falloff a bit, auntie. "

"That seems rather dangerous, my dear, " said auntie, looking disturbed. "When did you learn?"

"There's really not any danger, I think, mother, " said Will. "Mopsie'ssuch a gentle little chap and so well trained. He walks around on hishind legs as smoothly as Charcoal on four, and comes down so gently thatyou'd hardly know it. He knows just how. "

"And if I fall off, " said Cricket, "there isn't very far to fall, youknow. "

"Oh, girls!" said Eunice, suddenly changing the subject, "don't forgetthere is the meeting of the 'Echo Club' at three this afternoon, toread the 'Echo. ' Do you want to hear it again, auntie?"

"To be sure I do. I want to know all about your budding geniuses. And itwill amuse grandma, too. Meet on the piazza. And can't you make the hourfour o'clock to suit us old ladies, that like a nap after luncheon?"

"Of course we will. I'm president, and I'll appoint the meeting at four. Can we be excused now, auntie? We will be round somewhere when you'reready to go to ride. I've got to do a little work on the 'Echo' yet. Itisn't quite finished. "

Even the long scamper on the ponies, of two or three hours, failed toexhaust Cricket's energy, and when they returned she wanted Hilda to gofor a row with her. Hilda flatly refused. 

"You _are_ the most untiresome creature, " she said. "I should thinkyou'd be ready to drop. I am, I know. I'm going to get into the hammock, and I'm not going to stir till dinner-time. Do come and sit downyourself, and rest. "

"Sit down and rest, " repeated Cricket, with much scorn. "As if a littleride like that tired me. Well, if you won't go to row, come to walk!"

"I'm going to sit still, I say, " returned Hilda, firmly, seatingherself comfortably in the hammock. "I'll row this afternoon, perhaps, if it isn't too hot. Here come Eunice and Edna. Do sit down, Cricket, and be sensible. "

"If I sat down I'd be insensible, " answered Cricket, trying to sitcross-legged on the piazza-rail. "There's old Billy! I'll take him for arow, " and Cricket, tipping herself sideways, alighted on her feet on theground below, and ran off. 

"Such a child, " sighed Hilda, with the air of forty years. "She isreprehensible!" aiming at irrepressible. 

Eunice and Edna joined her on the piazza. 

"Where is Cricket?" Eunice asked. 

"She's rampaging off, " said Hilda. "I'm so hot that I don't know what todo, and there's Cricket calmly going out on that scorching water. Lookat her, now!"

The girls followed Hilda's indignant finger, which pointed to whereCricket, having adjusted old Billy to her satisfaction in the stern, waspushing off the boat. The tide was nearly out, and in another half-hourthe flats would be bare. 

[Illustration: "CRICKET SAT DOWN ON THE BEACH WITH THE CHILDREN"]

"I wonder if she'll get stuck again, " said Edna, with interest, shading her eyes to look. "Cricket! Cricket! don't--forget--the--tide!"she called, making a speaking-tube of her hands. 

"No, " called Cricket, in reply, "I'm only going a little distance, justfor exercise. "

"For exercise!" groaned Hilda, sinking down in her hammock. 

"For exercise!" echoed Edna, subsiding at full length in asteamer-chair. 

"For exercise!" said Eunice, briskly, looking half inclined to followher, when Edna pulled her down beside her. 

"No, you don't want to go at all. Cricket will be back in a few moments. She can't go far, on account of the tide. "

"I must finish my 'Echo, ' any way, " said Eunice, remembering hereditorial duties, and vanishing into the house to get her materials. 

It was not long before Cricket turned and pulled in. The children wereon the beach with Eliza, and Cricket sat down on the sand with them, after landing, digging and laughing, as if she were six years oldherself. Presently they all jumped up, and ran laughing and shoutingafter her. 

"Come on, girls, and play 'Tick-den, '" called Cricket, as she passed. 

"Come and sit down, " chorused the girls, but Cricket laughed and ran on, the twins tagging after her, and Kenneth struggling in the rear. 

"Tick-den" is a local variation of the time-honoured "hide-and-go-seek. "There is not much fun in it when there are only three playing, especially when two of the three have very short legs, but Cricketseemed to find a certain amount of amusement in it, as she did ineverything. The other girls made remarks of withering scorn to her, asshe flew by, but Cricket only laughed and tossed back her curly head, and ran on. 

At last there was a longer disappearance than usual. After a time Zaideeand Helen, with Kenneth lagging after, came disconsolately around to thefront piazza. Zaidee's soft, silky, black hair lay in wet streaks, plastered down on her forehead, while Helen's golden locks were astightly curled as grape-tendrils. 

"We can't find Cricket any more, for she's runned away, " announcedZaidee, aggrieved. 

"We've hunted and hunted, " said Helen. "We heard her calling once, butwhen we got where she was, she wasn't there any more. "

"She'll be back in a moment, " said Eunice, mopping off the little hothead with a practised hand. "You sit still and get cool. Really, 'Lizaought not to let you run around this way, in the hot sun. "

"Just what I came out to say, " said auntie, appearing in the doorway. "Icame down to tell you, my dear little girls, that it is much too hot torun around this way any more. You must sit down and rest till afterdinner. Where's Cricket?"

"She's hided, and we can't find her anywhere, " repeated Zaidee. 

"She will come out presently, when she finds you aren't looking for herany more, " said auntie, sitting down. "How fares our noble editor?"

"Your noble editor has most finished, " said Eunice, surveying, withpride, her neatly printed pages. "If you could only stay next week, Hilda, we'd let you print a number. "

"I would just as soon as not, " said Hilda. "I can print very nicely. I'dlike to. I'd put big, beautiful fancy capitals for the 'Echo, ' and thenames of the stories in fancy capitals also, and I'd draw tail-pieces. "

Eunice and Edna exchanged glances. 

"It's a very great pity you can't stay, " said Edna, with markedpoliteness. "We can't do tail-pieces. " The two little girls, Hilda andEdna, were just enough alike to clash very often, though Edna was nevergiven to bragging, as Hilda sometimes was, and she was much moreunselfish. 

"I can draw very well, " said Hilda, serenely, and with perfect truth. Like Edna, she had a dainty touch. 

The minutes passed by, and still Cricket did not appear. Presentlyauntie raised her head, and listened. 

"I thought I heard Cricket calling, " she said, "but I don't hear itagain. "

A moment later, Eunice suddenly said:

"There certainly is some one calling. Is it Cricket?" She stood up tolisten better. A muffled cry was certainly heard. 

"Children! Eunice!"

Eunice shot off the piazza. 

"Yes, Cricket, where are you?" running around the house. In a fewmoments she reappeared from the other side. 

"Where can she be? I ran all around the barn, too. Hark! there it isagain! Cricket! where are you?"

And again every one heard the same muffled cry, "Eunice!"

"Now it sounds _in_ the house, " said Mrs. Somers, going in. 

They all joined in the search, running in every direction, and trying tolocate the indistinct sounds. She was evidently in trouble, but theycould not imagine why she did not tell them where she was. Somebodysuggested the garret, and they all trooped up there and searched everycorner in vain. Then closets, even to the rubbers-closet under thestairs, were investigated. If they stood inside the house, her callseemed to come from outside. If they went out, she seemed to be callingfrom inside. After the barn and woodshed were searched, there was reallyno place for her to conceal herself in. 

"This is certainly the strangest thing!" said Auntie Jean, at last indespair. "Cricket, dear child, where _are_ you?" looking up at thetrees. 

"I don't know!" wailed a voice so near them that they all jumped. Theywere near the open cellar window, where the coal was put in. 

"Down cellar!" cried Eunice, darting away. "She must be caughtsomewhere!"

But down cellar, the sounds, though still audible, were more vague thanever. 

"It really sounds in the furnace, " suggested Eunice, hopefully, goingforward. She threw open the door, rather expecting to see Cricketcrouching in a bunch in the fire-box. But no! it was guiltless ofCricket, as every other place had been. 

"This is getting positively uncanny, " exclaimed auntie, when suddenly atremendous pounding that seemed to come from their very feet was heard. Hilda grew pale, Edna clung to her mother, Zaidee began to roar, andHelen to whimper, while Eunice sprang forward, listening intently. 

"Do that again, Cricket, " she said, and immediately the pounding wasrepeated. 

"If I had ever heard of an underground passage here, I should think shewas in that, " said auntie, looking puzzled. "If it were GovernorWinthrop's house, all could be explained. Cricket, in the name of allthat is weird, where are you?"

"I don't know, " came in sepulchral tones. "I seem to be walled up!"

"Oh!" shrieked Hilda, clutching Mrs. Somers' other hand. 

"Are you underground? Shall we dig you out?" called auntie. 

Eunice stood turning her head from side to side, like a dog. Then shemade a rush for a large closet at one side of the cellar. It was nearlyempty except for a few stone jars. 

"I looked in there once, " said auntie, but as Eunice opened the door, the pounding began again, apparently directly back of it. 

"But the back of the closet is against the cellar wall, " said AuntieJean in new bewilderment, but at the very moment, Cricket's voice, clearer now and more distinct, announced, "I'm here, " with a vigorouskick, to emphasize her words. "_Can't_ you get me out? I'm nearly dead. "

"But _what_ are you in, and how in the name of wonder did you getthere?" said Auntie Jean, more puzzled than ever, surveying the blankboards before her. "Eunice, run and find Luke, and tell him to comehere. Are you against the cellar wall, Cricket?"

"I don't seem to know where I am, " answered Cricket, half-laughing. "I've fallen into something. "

In a few minutes Eunice returned with Luke. The moment he looked in atthe open closet door, he burst into a loud guffaw, slapping his thighwith his hand. 

"She's in the cold-air box, by gosh!"

"The cold-air box!" echoed everybody in varying intonations. It was evenso. The old house had an unusually deep cellar. When the furnace hadbeen put into the house a few years before, the cold-air box had to goin as best it could. It happened to be more convenient to build it downthe back of an unused closet which already had an opening for a windowat the level of the ground. So the back of the closet had been partionedoff for it, and it was continued under the cemented floor to thefurnace. Luke had lately been doing something to it, so both the coverthat shuts off the cold air was out, and also the wire-netting, thatwent over the window. 

Cricket seeing the window from the outside, took it for granted that itopened into the coal-bin, and, in her heedless fashion, backed hastilythrough, as she was looking for a good place to hide in, meaning toswing down by her hands, and drop on her feet. She _did_ drop, what toher surprise seemed about to the middle of the earth, and it really wassome distance. The cellar, as I said, was unusually deep, and Cricketwas only four feet high. Every one knows how surprising it is to comedown even a foot or two lower than we expect, and the swift, long drop, when she thought she must be already near the cellar bottom, not onlystartled, but slightly stunned her for a few moments. When she openedher eyes after the black, dizzy whirl that lasted for several minutes, she could not imagine what sort of a place she was in. The light aboveher showed her a square, well-like tunnel, set up on end, and about twofeet square, with the window ledge five feet higher than her head. Atfirst she tried to climb up the wall by bracing herself on oppositesides of it, but her muscles were not quite equal to this. It was notuntil it slowly dawned on her that she could not possibly get out by herown efforts, that she began to call. Of course her voice was carried bythe furnace pipes all over the house, making it impossible to locate thesound. 

"There's a big hole down by my feet, " Cricket called out, when she heardthem debating as to the best way to get her out. "Can't I crawl throughthat and come out somewhere?"

"You'd come out in the furnace, Miss, " said Luke, "and you'd get stuckin the bend. I'll haul you up from the outside. "

They all went outside, while Luke tried to reach down to her, but theirhands could not make connections. 

"Let a ladder down, " said Eunice, but there was not room for both aladder and Cricket, even if one could have been put down. 

"Let a rope down, and tie it around her waist, " said Luke, "and I'llhaul it up. "

"I'm afraid that would hurt her, " said auntie, anxiously. 

Just then Will and Archie arrived on the scene, and joined the grouparound the window. 

"What's up? caught a burglar down there?" asked Will. 

"Yes, one caught in the very act. Question is, getting it up. "

"Will, is that you?" called a forlorn voice from the depths. "Do, forgoodness sake, get me out of this hole. "

Archie instantly poked his head through the opening, and looked down ather. 

"Cricket, by jingo! How's the weather down there?"

"Don't tease now, Arch, " begged Cricket. "Get me up, for I'm nearly deaddown here. "

"Why don't you knock away some of the boards from the partitiondown-stairs?" asked Will. "It wouldn't take a moment. Where's the axe, Luke?"

"Will, you're the Lady from Philadelphia, " exclaimed his mother. "Ofcourse we can. "

And in ten minutes more Cricket was a free individual again, and quiteready to attack their belated dinner. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

BILLY'S PRAYER. 

A little procession trailed slowly across the orchard, towards thecottage of the poor old woman in whom grandma was so much interested. The procession consisted of Hilda and Cricket, the latter walking verysedately along, because she had in charge a dish of something good toeat for the old woman; then the twins, with their arms tight around eachother's necks, as usual; then old Billy, shambling along, his gauntfigure a little bent forward, and his hands clasped behind his back, under his coat tails, as he generally walked. Last of all came GeorgeW. , stepping daintily along, his tail arching high over his back, hishead cocked a little on one side, like a dog's, and his ears brisklyerect. 

George was not an invited member of the party, but from his favoriteperch, the roof of the well-house--for George W. Was always of anaspiring mind--having seen the party set out, he immediately scrambleddown and trotted after. It was some time before he was discovered; not, indeed, till an apple, tumbling down from a branch of a tree, chanced tohit the very tip of his little gray nose. Thereupon he uttered asurprised "me-ow, " with an accent that belonged to George W. Alone. 

"There's that cat, coming along, too, " observed Hilda, "isn't he alittle tag-tail?"

"See how pretty Martha looks waving over his back like an ostrichfeather!" said Cricket, in reply, making a dive for her pet with her onefree hand, and nearly meeting with an accident, for George W. Preferredwalking on his own four legs just then, and darted past her. 

"There! you nearly lost your blanc-mange off the dish!" cried Hilda, rescuing it. "I knew I'd better carry it!"

"It's all right, " said Cricket, hastily straightening it. "I'll carryit. We go this way now, " as they turned out of the orchard into a lane. Grandma's poor woman, "Marm Plunkett, " as the whole neighbourhood calledher, was a forlorn old creature, nearly crippled with rheumatism, wholived in a tiny cottage in the fields, half a mile from anybody. She hada daughter who had to go to work nearly every day to earn money tosupport them both, so the old mother was alone most of the time. Shehad worked a good deal for Mrs. Maxwell, when she was strong, and Mrs. Maxwell did much to make her comfortable now. Edna had often been there, and lately the twins had been over with Eliza, to take things to her, since grandma had been disabled, but it chanced that Cricket had neverbeen over there before. 

The poor old soul was delighted to see them coming. The cottage was insuch a lonely place that few persons came within sight of the windows. 

"You're as welcome as the flowers in May, " quavered the thin old voice, as the children went in. "I've been a-settin' here just a-pinin' fersome one to come along to visit with me a spell. Take cheers, won't you?Leastways, take what cheers there be. "

There were only two to take, and one of them was seatless. Hilda droppedinto the whole one. Billy sat down on the doorstep. The twins sat uponthe board edge of the bottomless chair. Cricket remained standing, withthe blanc-mange still in her hand. All of them, shy, as children alwaysare in the presence of poverty and sickness, stared helplessly about. 

"We've brought you some blanc-mange, marm--I mean Mrs. Plunkett"--forgrandma did not like them to use the village nickname--said Cricket, after a moment, "and Auntie Jean will be here to-morrow. "

"An' it's a pretty-spoken lady she is, " answered Marm Plunkett. "Butit's Mis' Maxwell that I allers wants ter see most. When'll she git tosee me agin?"

Cricket coloured furiously. 

"Grandma's lame, now, " she said, speaking up bravely. "I was wrestlingwith her, and I threw her, and sprained her ankle. She can't stand on itmuch yet. "

"Good Land o' Goshen! a-wrestlin' with Mis' Maxwell! you little snip ofa gal! and throwed her! for goodness' sake! deary me! throwed her!"

"Yes, " said Cricket, with the air of confessing to a murder, as she setdown the blanc-mange. "I _don't_ see how I could have done it. I justtwisted my foot around her ankle. I was just as much surprised as ifthe--the church had tumbled over. It was a week ago Monday. "

"Jest to think on 't! I never heerd the beat o' that! An' nobody hain'ttold me of it, nuther. 'Lizy was here yestiddy, and she hain't neverlet on a word. "

"I guess grandma told her not to, " said Cricket, blushing again. 

"Let me see, " said the old woman, suddenly, bending forward and peeringinto her face. "Which one be you? You ain't Miss Edny. Be you MissEunice?"

"I'm Cricket, " said that young lady, quite at her ease now. "Mostprobably you've never heard of me before. We're all grandma'sgrandchildren, and are spending the summer here. At least, we're allgrandchildren but Hilda. She's visiting me. She is going home to-morrow, and I'm awfully sorry. "

Marm Plunkett paid no attention to the end of this speech. She wasbending eagerly forward, looking at Cricket through her big steel-bowedglasses. 

"Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket! Have--I--seen--her!" came slowly from theold woman's lips, as she clasped her hands over her staff, still gazingat her as if she were a rare, wild animal. Cricket felt somewhatdisconcerted. 

"Yes, I'm Cricket, " she repeated, uncomfortably, feeling guilty ofsomething. She felt as if she were confessing to being an alligator, for instance. 

Mrs. Maxwell had often amused the old woman by tales of hergrandchildren, and as Cricket always had more accidents and disastersthan all the rest of the family put together, she had naturally figuredlargely in her grandmother's stories. 

"Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket!" repeated the old woman, stretching outher hand as if she wanted to touch her to make sure she was flesh andblood. Cricket went towards her, rather reluctantly. Marm Plunkett laidher shaking claws on her hands, felt of her arms, and even laid thepoint of her withered finger in the dimple of the round, pink cheek. Cricket winced. She felt as if she were a chicken, which the cook wastrying, to see if it were tender. 

"I--I--didn't know you knew me, " she said, trying to be polite and notpull away. 

"I--_have_--seen--Miss--Cricket, " declared Marm Plunkett, triumphantly, at last. "Who'd 'a' thought it! She's come to see me. Won't Cindy beglad an' proud to hear of this honour. "

"Dear me!" said Cricket, trying not to laugh. "I'd have come before, ifI'd known you'd wanted to see me so much. "

"Would you really, my pretty? Now, ain't that sweet of her?"admiringly, to Hilda. 

Hilda sat looking on in dumb amazement. She was so accustomed to feelinga little superior to Cricket, on account of her orderliness andgenerally good behaviour, that she was struck with surprise at the oldwoman's joy over seeing her little friend, while she sat by unnoticed. She did not know how many a laugh and pleasant hour the stories ofCricket's mishaps had given the lonely old woman. 

"Yer favour yer ma, I see, " said Marm Plunkett, still holding Cricket'ssleeve. "Dear! dear! she was a pretty one, that she was! You've gotshiny eyes like her'n, but yer hair's a mite darker, ain't it? My! ain'tthem curls harndsome!" touching very gently one of the soft rings ofCricket's short hair. It was never regularly curled, but had a thoroughbrushing given it by Eliza every morning, and, five minutes after, thedampness or the summer heat made her like a Gloriana McQuirk. 

Cricket looked dreadfully embarrassed, and hadn't the least idea what tosay to this peculiar old woman, who repeated, softly, with no eyes forthe rest:

"Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket!"

Fortunately, here a howl from Zaidee created a diversion. She had pushedherself too far back on the bottomless chair, and had suddenly doubledup like a jack-knife into the hole. As Hilda and Cricket hastily turned, nothing was visible but a pair of kicking feet, for her little shortpetticoats had fallen back over her head, entirely extinguishing her. Helen instantly lifted up her voice and wept. 

Cricket seized Zaidee's feet and Hilda her shoulders, and together theytried to pull her up. But she was a plump little thing, and was sofirmly wedged in, that the chair rose as they pulled her. 

"Billy, come hold the chair down, please, " called Cricket. So, withBilly to brace his huge foot on the round of the chair, and to hold downthe back with his hands, Cricket and Hilda, with another vigorous pull, managed to undouble Zaidee. 

Marm Plunkett had been sitting in a state of great excitement, while therescue was going on, and leaned back with a sigh of relief when thelittle girl was finally straightened out. Zaidee took it veryphilosophically. 

"Stop crying, Helen, " she said, "you are such a cry-baby. This is avery funny chair, Marm Plunkett. How do people sit down on it? Do youlike it that way? I 'xpect I'm so little that I can't keep on theoutside of it. I guess I don't want to sit down any more, any way. "

Marm Plunkett cackled a thin, high laugh. 

"Ef children don't beat the Dutch! Wisht I hed some a-runnin' in an' outto kinder chirk me up a bit when Cindy's away. "

"I want a drink, please, " announced Zaidee. 

"Bless yer leetle heart! You shall hev a drink right outen the northeastcorner of our well, where it's coldest. Take the dipper, Billy, an' givethe leetle dears a good cold drink all around. "

"I want one, too, " said Cricket, and all the children trooped afterBilly. 

The well had the old-fashioned well-sweep. 

It was always a mysterious delight to the children to see the waterdrawn from one of these, as the great end went slowly up and the bucketdipped, and then came down again with a stately, dignified sweep. 

Cricket darted forward. 

"I've always wanted to ride up on that end, " she said, to herself, "andnow I'm going to. "

Quick as a flash she had jumped astride the end, grasping the pole withboth hands. George W. Instantly sprang lightly up in front of her, justout of her reach, poising himself with "Martha" arching over his back. The twins and Hilda, hanging over the edge and looking down on the mossystones, did not notice her. 

"Get it out of the northeast corner, she said, " ordered Zaidee. "Whichis the northeast corner, Billy? Is it where the water comes in? Billy, there aren't any corners. It's all round. "

Billy was tugging at the slender pole that held the bucket. 

"Goes down hard enough. Seems to want ilin' or suthin'. Land o' Jiminy!"He chanced to turn his head and saw Cricket calmly ascending as the polewent higher and higher. It was a wonder he did not lose his hold. 

"Don't let go, Billy, " Cricket screamed. "If you do, I'll go_kerflump_. "

Billy grasped the pole tighter. 

"You'll--you'll fall, " he stammered. 

"Course I will if you let go. Go on! Let the bucket down. I'm having afine ride. Do you like it, George Washington?"

George Washington walked a step or two further down the beam. He was notat all sure he _did_ like it. As there did not seem to be room enoughfor him to turn around and run back to Cricket, as he very much wantedto do, he stood still, mewing uncertainly. Billy, in agony of soul, butobedient as ever, lowered the pole carefully, casting reproachfulglances over his shoulder. Hilda and the twins stood in fascinatedsilence, looking at Cricket getting such a beautiful high ride. As forGeorge Washington, as the pole slanted more and more, making his headlower and his rear higher, he made a few despairing steps forward. Lowerwent the bucket, and George W. 's Martha lost her proud arch, and Georgestuck his claws deep into the wood. 

"Oh-ee!" squealed Cricket, suddenly beginning to feel slightlyuncomfortable herself. The ground looked very far below her, and shebegan to feel as if she were pitching headforemost. She held on with herhands, as tightly as George Washington did with his claws. Then thebucket hit the water, splash. Dipping it made the big pole dance alittle. 

"Oh-ee, " squealed Cricket, again, clinging tighter. "Hurry up, Billy, bring me down. "

"Miau-au, " wailed George Washington, suddenly, giving a mighty spring ofdesperation. Alas! he missed his calculation, if he had time to makeany, and disappeared from the eyes of the children into the dark depthsof the well. Cricket, forgetting her own precarious position, involuntarily gave a little grasp after him, thus losing her own hold, lost her balance, and over she went, --and if she had fallen that fifteenfeet to the hard ground below, it might have brought to a sudden end hersummer at Marbury. 

As it fortunately happened, however, she caught at the pole as she wentover, grasped it, and hung suspended by her strong little hands. Frightened Billy had been holding the smaller pole all this time, in avise-like grip. 

"Let me down!" screamed Cricket. "Carefully, Billy!" and Billy, stiffwith terror, nevertheless had the sense to obey. He raised the smallpole steadily, lest the other, with Cricket's added weight, should comedown too fast. In a moment more she was near enough to the ground todrop lightly down. 

A tremendous splashing and mewing had been going on in the well, but thechildren had been too much absorbed in Cricket to notice it. 

"'Tisn't as much fun as I thought it would be, " was all she said, asshe darted forward to look down the well after her pet. "Let the bucketdown again, Billy, and see if he'll cling to it. Oh, you poor, poorGeorge Washington. Billy, do hurry up! Why, he'll _drown_. "

But Billy had given out. He was so thoroughly frightened when hediscovered Cricket on her lofty perch, that, now that she was safelydown, he was shaking like a leaf. Cricket pushed him unceremoniouslyaway, as she peered down. 

George Washington looked like a good-sized muskrat, as they saw himclinging to the wet, mossy stones, meowing pitifully. He was either toofrightened or too cold to make any effort to climb up. Perhaps he couldnot have done so anyway. Cricket lowered the bucket again herself, tillit struck the water. The splash seemed to frighten George Washingtononly the more, for his cries were redoubled. 

"What a _stupid_ cat!" cried Hilda. "Why doesn't he take hold and comeup?"

"He's frightened to death down there in the cold. He's _never_ stupid, are you, George W. ? I'm _so_ afraid he'll die of getting wet and coldbefore we can save him!" cried Cricket, anxiously, flopping the bucketabout. "Do take hold of it, George! dear George, do!"

But Cricket's most coaxing tones availed nothing. George only meowed andmeowed in accents that grew more pitiful every minute. 

"Do run and tell Marm Plunkett that the kitten's in the well, Hilda, "said Cricket, at last. "Perhaps she'll know something to do. Look out, children! don't lean over so far, else the first thing you know you'llbe down there, too. Oh, George Washington, please take hold!"

Hilda ran off, and came back a moment later with rather a scared face. 

"I told her, Cricket, and what do you think she said? That we must besure not to let it die there, 'cause it would poison the water! Sheseemed dreadfully frightened about it, and tried to get up, but ofcourse she couldn't, and then she said--she said--she'd _pray_ for us. "Hilda's voice sank to an awed whisper. Cricket looked blank. 

Billy caught up the word eagerly. 

"Yes, yes, children, that's right o' Marm Plunkett. It's allers good topray, " and down went simple old Billy on his knees. "You keep ona-danglin' that ere bucket, and I'll pray fur ye, young uns. That'llfetch him. " He clasped his hands and shut his earnest eyes. 

The children stood in awed silence. Billy, swaying back and forth in hiseagerness, began in a high-keyed voice, sounding unlike his ordinarytones:

 "'How dothe the little busy bee Improve each shining hour; And gather honey all the day From every fragrant flower'--Amen. "

Poor old Billy! this scrap of a rhyme, learned in his far-away boyhood, was the one bit that had stuck in his clouded mind all these years, andhad served this pious soul for a prayer ever since. Every night, kneeling reverently by his bedside, he had said it, and every morningwhen he arose; only then he added the petition, "God bless Mrs. Maxwell, and make Billy good. "

Cricket and Hilda, too much amazed to speak, but too much impressedwith Billy's earnestness to laugh, stood stock-still as they were; Hildain the act of stretching out her hands to draw Zaidee back from thewell-curb, --where she hung, in imminent danger of following GeorgeW. , --and Cricket, still grasping the pole, and looking back over hershoulder, and Helen staring with her great eyes. 

As Billy ceased, there was an oppressive moment of silence. He remainedon his knees, swaying his gaunt frame slightly, with his eyes stillclosed. Suddenly Cricket felt the bucket lurch as it lay on the surfaceof the water below. She looked quickly over the well-curb. 

"Oh, Hilda! Billy, hurrah! he's climbed upon the bucket at last! He'sway up on it. Now, we'll have him!" and with Hilda to help, she begancautiously to raise the bucket. 

Billy slowly got up from the ground, and dusted off his trouser knees. 

"It's allers wuth while a-prayin' for things, " he remarked. 

In a few minutes the bucket was on a level with the well-curb, and whileHilda held the pole, Cricket drew out her dripping, shivering pet. 

Such a rubbing as he got in Marm Plunkett's little kitchen! He was verymuch exhausted with his cold bath, and I'm afraid that a very fewminutes longer in the icy water would have ended one of GeorgeWashington's nine lives. 

"All the curl has gone out of Martha, even, " remarked Cricket, mournfully, surveying his straight tail. 

"His tail will curl over again, when he begins to chirk up a bit, " saidMarm Plunkett, comfortingly. "He'd orter hev a dish of milk het up forhim right away, " she added. "Wisht I hed some to offer you. "

"I'll go right home with him, then, Marm Plunkett, and I'll run all theway. I'll borrow this little shawl of yours, if you'll let me, to keephim warm. Now, I'm going to run, but the rest of you needn't come sofast. Good-by, Marm Plunkett. I'll come and see you again, some otherday;" and off darted Cricket, followed more leisurely by the rest, leaving Marm Plunkett still murmuring, --

"Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket!"

CHAPTER XXII. 

HELEN'S TEXT. 

"Oh, dear me!" sighed Eunice, dolefully, the next morning at breakfast. "What dreadful changes there are going to be! Hilda goes to-day, theboys leave on Monday for their camp, and Edna goes on Tuesday to hergrandmother's. Cricket and I will be left all forlorn. "

"Yes, " added Cricket, pulling a long face, "and on Tuesday morningEunice and I will be wearing the garbage of woe. "

"Whatever you rig yourself up in, Miss Scricket, " said Archie, amid thegeneral laughter, "don't deck yourself out in _garbage_. You'd be apublic nuisance. Flowing 'robes of porcelain, ' like the heroine of oneof your stories, would be better. "

"You needn't tease me about that, for you know as well as anything thatI meant _percaline_. "

But Auntie Jean and grandma had to enjoy this alone, for the boys werenot equal to the fine distinctions of girl's apparel. 

As Eunice said, there was a decided scattering of their little party. Hilda left Saturday afternoon, the boys departed on Monday, for theircamp in the Maine woods, with a party of friends, and on Tuesday Ednahad to go for her usual fortnight's visit to her grandmother Somers, whoalways spent July and August at Lake Clear. She was a _very_ old lady, much older than Grandma Maxwell, and a good deal of an invalid. Ednamuch preferred staying with her cousins, but Grandmother Somers was verydevoted to her only little granddaughter, and this was the particulartime when she wanted her. Edna had never been there without her motherbefore, and really dreaded it. She had urged taking her cousins withher, but Auntie Jean knew this would be altogether too muchresponsibility for so old a lady to have, since she herself could notleave Marbury. 

"I hate to go like poison, " sighed Edna to Eunice, as they strolled upand down the station platform, while waiting for the train. "I wish Icould stay here. I wish grandma wasn't so fond of me. I wish you couldcome, too. I wish the two weeks were over. I wish--"

"Toot-to-toot!" whistled the approaching train. 

"Horrid old thing! I wish it would run off the track! Wish Mrs. Abbottwould forget to start this morning. She isn't here yet. _Do_ you supposeshe's forgotten?" with sudden hopefulness. 

Mrs. Abbott was a lady under whose care she was going. 

"No such good luck!" murmured Eunice. "There she is now. Write to meevery day, Edna. "

"And you'll have time to write some lovely stories for the 'Echo, '"chirped Cricket, encouragingly. 

"Yes, I will, and be glad too. It will be something to do. Think of mysaying I'd be glad to write stories! Yes, mamma--good-by, everybody, "and with hugs and kisses all around, Edna was put on the train and wasoff. 

The children were both very quiet on their return ride from the station, and Auntie Jean began to fear that they might be homesick, with alltheir playmates gone. But when they reached home again Cricket drewEunice into a quiet corner, and surprised her by flinging her armsaround her neck, with a gigantic hug. 

"I do love Hilda and Edna, " she said, "but there's nobody like my oldEunice, and I'm _so_ glad to have you all to myself for a little whileagain. I _don't_ want to be selfish, and poor Edna hasn't any sister, but--"

"Why, you poor little thing!" said Eunice, hugging her small sister, heartily. "I expect _I've_ been very selfish. I've never thought that, perhaps, you were being lonely when I was so much with Edna. You alwaysseemed so happy. "

"Oh, I am _happy_!" answered Cricket, surprised. "I always am, I guess. But I do love to be with you, all by your lonesome, and now let's havesome real old Kayuna times. Come down on the beach, and let's talk aboutit, " with another squeeze. And then, with their arms about each other'swaists, they ran down the yard. 

On the small sloping beach behind the big rocks, Zaidee and Helen andKenneth were playing by themselves. Helen and Kenneth were sitting upvery straight and stiff, with their little legs out straight in front ofthem, and their small hands folded in their laps. They were listeningwith intent faces, and round, wide-open eyes, to Zaidee, who, with smallforefinger uplifted, was telling them something, with a very seriousface. The girls crept softly near to see what they were doing. 

"And these _naughty_ chil'en, " went on Zaidee, "came out of the city, and they made lots of fun of Lishers, and they ran after him, an' keptcalling him names, an' saying, 'Go up, ole bullhead! go up, olebullhead!' An' Lishers got very angry--as angry as Luke did the otherday, when I asked him if he liked to have such mixed-up eyes, " (poorLuke was very cross-eyed, and very sensitive about it), "and he said, 'There's some gre-at big bears in these woods, 'n' I'll call 'em to comeand eat you chil'en up, if you doesn't stop calling names. Only badlittle chil'en, 'thout any one to tell 'em any better, calls names. 'But they didn't one of 'em stop, an' Lishers just whistled, an'forty-two bears came trotting right out of the woods, an'eated--up--every--one--of--those--bad--chil'en, quicker'n scat. 'Liza said so, herself. So, Helen and Kenneth, you mustn't ever callany one any names, an' _specially_ you mustn't call 'em 'bullheads, 'cause bears will come out of the woods an' eat you all up, and it'svery unpolite, too. "

Helen looked awed, and Kenneth unbelieving. 

"Ain't any bears, " he said, stoutly. 

"You mustn't inkerrupt the Sunday school, " said Zaidee, severely. "Anyway, there are crocky-dolls, if there ain't any bears. I saw a funny, long thing come out of the water the other day, and 'Liza said sheguessed it was a crocky-doll. "

"Tould it eat me up?" demanded Kenneth, hastily. 

"I don't think it could eat you all up at once, " said Zaidee, cautiously; "but it might take bites out of you. "

"What are you doing, children?" said Eunice, coming forward, andthrowing herself on the sand beside them, and pulling Helen, her specialpet, down into her arms. 

"Playing Sunday school, Eunice, " said Zaidee, sitting down, herself. "We're going to have a Sunday school every Tuesday afternoon, just thesame as you have the Echo Club, you know. Helen's going to make up thetexts. She makes up _beautiful_ texts, just like the Bible. "

"Why, Zaidee!" remonstrated Eunice, looking shocked. "You mustn't saythat anything is as nice as the Bible. What was it, pettikins?"

But Helen was shy, and needed much coaxing before she could be persuadedto give her "text, " which was a very practical one. 

"She who doth not what she is told, gets worse. "

"Bravo!" cried Eunice, laughing. "That _is_ a fine text. "

"She made it up all her own self, " said Zaidee, quite as proud of hertwin's performance as if it had been her own. 

"I don't want to play Sunday school any more, Zaidee, " said Kenneth, getting up. "I'd ravver play turch. I'm ze talking man, wiv white skirtson, " he added, standing on a stone, and waving his short arms about, forthe young man had made his first appearance at church the Sunday before, and had wanted to play "turch" ever since. 

"You were a naughty boy, " said Zaidee, reproachfully, "you talked outloud right in meetin'-church, and I was so 'shamed. "

"And you falled off the stool when all the people were kneeling down andsaying, 'The seats they do hear us, O Lord;' and you made a great _big_noise, " added Helen, severely, for her. 

"'The seats they do hear us, '" repeated Cricket. "What _does_ she mean, Eunice, do you suppose?"

"Why, don't you know, Cricket, " explained Helen, for herself. "When allthe people are kneeling down, and the minister keeps saying things, andthe people keep saying, 'The seats they do hear us, ' 'course they hearthem, 'cause they say it right at the back of the seats. "

Eunice and Cricket shouted with laughter. 

"She means, 'We beseech Thee to hear us, '" cried Cricket, choking, quiteas if she never made any mistakes on her own account. But other people'smistakes are _so_ different from our own. Helen, her sensitive feelingsdreadfully hurt, instantly retired under her apron, and refused to becomforted. They always had to be careful about laughing at Helen, whereas Zaidee never seemed to mind. 

"Never mind, pet, " said Eunice, kissing and petting her. "It wasn't avery bad mistake. "

"What's this?" said Cricket, to change the subject She had been plungingher arm down deep in the sand, and had struck something big and bony. She cleared away the loose sand. 

"That's our cemi-terror, " explained Zaidee; "we'd been having a frinyalbefore we had Sunday school, and we buried that thing. We finded it inthe field the other day. Let's pull it up now, Helen. We've had lots offrinyals, Cricket, and we've buried ever so many things in ourcemi-terror. Turkles and things like that, you know. "

Cricket, with some difficulty, extricated the object. It was a greatskull of a cow, bleached as white as snow. 

"'Liza says it was a cow, once, " observed Zaidee, poking her fingers inthe big holes where the eyes once were. "It was a pretty funny cow, _I_think. She says it has undressed all its flesh off, and we're all likethat inside. But I'm not, see?" and Zaidee opened her mouth wide andoffered it for inspection. "Mine's all red inside. "

"Mamma says we're made of dust, " said Helen, thoughtfully. "If we'remade out of dust, I don't see why we don't get all muddy inside when wedrink. "

"I guess that's why my hands get so dirty, " said Zaidee, suddenly, looking at her small, grimy palms with close attention. "I guess itsifts right through my skin. Course I can't keep clean when it keepssifting through all the time, and 'Liza says she _don't_ see _how_ I getmyself _so_ dirty, " with a funny imitation of Eliza's tones. "I'm goingto tell her I can't help it. If she keeps scrubbing me as fast as itcomes out, it may get all used up inside of me sometime, " went onZaidee, who was nothing if not logical. 

Helen thoughtfully squeezed Eunice's arm, trying to squeeze some dustout, she said. 

"Yours is all used up, I guess, " she concluded, as she met with nosuccess. 

Cricket set the skull upon the high stone which Kenneth had been usingfor a pulpit. 

"Look, Eunice! It looks just like an idol, sitting up there andgrinning. Oh, let's play we're idollers ourselves and worship it! We'llbuild a shrine for it, and we'll offer it sacrifices. Come on!" andCricket, with her usual energy, fell to work instantly, building stonesup for an altar. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE JABBERWOCK. 

"Let me help build up the shrime, too, " said Zaidee, bringing up stonesalso. "I want to offer sacrumfices. "

"You and Helen bring a lot of dried seaweed to decorate it, " saidCricket, working busily. "That's right, Kenneth. Bring all the prettyshells you can, and we'll put them all around the sides. Look, Eunice!doesn't it look fine already!"

They had built up the "shrime" to a large square pile, about two feethigh, on the top of which the grinning skull reposed. The dry seaweeddraped the rough stones, and Kenneth's shells were arranged about it. 

"Now we must begin to offer sacrifices, " said Cricket. "We _must_ havedishevelled hair, Eunice, as the women always do in stories. I can'tmuss mine up much more than it always is, " regretfully, "but you cantake your braid out, and throw your hair all around. Oh, that's_lovely_!" as Eunice loosened her heavy, dark braid, and threw thelong, straight masses all about. "How beautifully dishevelled you are!"

"I'm glad I don't have to offer sacrifices every day, " laughed Eunice, "for dishevelled hair is _not_ comfortable, at least as dishevelled asthis. Perhaps I wouldn't mind a little bit of it. "

"Come here, Zaidee, if you wish to join the procession, " and Eunicecaught her small sister, and rubbed her hands vigorously over her short, soft, straight hair, till it fairly stood on end. Helen's hair curledlike Cricket's, in a golden, fluffy mass. 

"Now, we're all ready. We must march up before the shrine, and lay oursacrifices at the feet of the idol, and bow down before it. "

"It hasn't any foots, " observed Zaidee. 

"Well, before its mouth, then. It's just as 'propriate, I guess. Comeover here, and get into line, Eunice. You go first and I'll follow, andthe children will come on behind. We must go up with weeping and wailingand gnashing our teeth, " said Cricket, getting Biblical. 

"How do you gnash your tooths?" inquired Helen. 

"I'll show you, " said Cricket, immediately rolling her eyes, andopening and shutting her mouth with such fearful snaps of her teeth, that Helen instantly retreated behind Zaidee for protection. "Clutchyour hair with both hands, this way, and get into procession. "

"Yes, but where's the sacrifice?" asked Eunice, suddenly recollectingthis important part of the ceremony. 

"I declare! I forgot all about it! What _shall_ we sacrifice?"

"We finded a little dead mouse in the woodshed after breakfast, " saidZaidee. "We were going to give him to George Washington for dessertto-day. We buried it in the cemi-terror to keep till it wasdinner-time. "

"That will do. Dig it up. George Washington can sacrifice his mouse. "

While Zaidee was unearthing George W. 's intended dessert, Cricket hadfound a shingle for a bier. They made a bed of seaweed on it, andstretched the little dead mouse thereon. 

"I've an idea!" exclaimed Eunice. "Let's call the idol the Jabberwock, and sing the Jabberwock song as we go up. "

"Splendid!" cried Cricket, clapping her hands. "How does it go?

 "'Beware the Jabberwock, my son, With jaws that bite and claws that catch. '

"Isn't that it?"

"That's the second verse, " said Eunice "Don't you remember, "''Twas brillig, and the slimy sea--?'"

"Yes, now I do. All ready. "

So the procession formed itself anew. Zaidee and Helen bore theshingle-bier in front, Eunice and Cricket came behind, tearing theirhair, and chanting in doleful tones how

 "The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!"

Then, with appropriate ceremonies, they offered up the mouse to theJabberwock, and then, joining hands, they danced around it, howling andshrieking. 

"More! more!" growled Cricket, in awful tones, that were supposed tocome from the yawning throat of the Jabberwock. The smaller children, bythis time, were wildly excited, and ready to offer up all theirpossessions. 

"You may have my Crumples, " screamed Zaidee, making a dive for a littlewhite china cat that lay near by with a pile of other playthings thatthe children had been playing with. 

"We must stone it to pieces first, " said Cricket, "and offer up theashes, " and soon the china cat lay in fragments, and its "ashes" wereoffered up. 

"Let's take this old rubber-baby of Kenneth's, " proposed Cricket. "Youdon't care for it, do you, baby? It has a hole in its head. "

Kenneth looked doubtfully at his beloved Jacob for a moment, and then, quite carried away by the excitement of the occasion, he cried out, valiantly:

"You may have Dacob for ze Dabberwock. "

One by one all the children's small possessions lay before the jaws ofthe Jabberwock. 

"Oh, Eunice! children! let's have a fire, and burn up all thesesacrifices to the Jabberwock. Think what a lovely thing he'd think thatis! Idols always love to have scenes of devastination and ruin allabout. "

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be safe, " said Eunice, hesitating. "Wouldauntie like it?"

"Oh, she wouldn't care. What harm? Nothing could get on fire out here onthe sands, could there? Of course, we wouldn't if it was near the houseanywhere. I'll go and get the matches, " and off she darted like a flash. 

"Oh, are we going to have a fire, and burn up the shrime?" cried Zaidee. "Goody! goody! what fun! they're going to burn up the shrime!"

Cricket flew back with a match-box in her hand. 

"Now, get lots of dry seaweed, children, " she ordered, "and we'll heapit around the pile, and tuck it under the pile of sacrifices, so they'llburn better. Oh, won't that make a blaze!" and Cricket danced about inanticipation. "There, Jabberwock! I hope you'll be 'tentified, ' asZaidee says. Stand back, children. Come, Eunice, and we'll march upsinging, and lay our offering of a lighted match down before him, " andCricket, chanting another verse of the "Jabberwock, " pranced up andstruck a match. 

The dry seaweed was instantly aflame, curling and leaping like a livething, around the pile of stone. The children, dancing around andclapping their hands, screamed in ecstasy at the sight. 

"Bring more seaweed, " called Cricket, piling on all she had, to keep upthe darting flames. The fire went springing up, licking the white bonesof the Jabberwock. In their excitement the younger children scarcelynoticed that their treasures were actually burning up, also, tillKenneth suddenly caught sight of his "Dacob, " writhing, and curling, andjumping about in the most uncanny way, as if in mortal agony. The poorbaby darted forward to rescue it. 

"It's hurted Dacob! He's all wiggly!" he cried, and he tried to snatchhis best beloved doll from the flames. Eunice caught him back. 

"Don't touch, baby. It will burn you. Jacob can't feel it, and I'll buyyou another. "

"He _does_ feel it. It's hurted him, " cried Kenneth, struggling to getaway. With the sudden spring he made, Eunice lost hold of him, and hemade a snatch at the burning sacrifice. A long tongue of flame leapedup, caught like a live thing the baby's linen dress, and in an instanthe was enveloped in flames. 

For one horrible moment the other children stood paralyzed with fright. Not to the longest day she lives will Cricket forget the awful terror ofthat moment, as the thought surged up that, whatever happened, it wasall her fault. Then, with a wild scream, to which all her previous oneshad been as whispers, she darted forward. Kenneth, blind with terror andpain, beat at the flames with his tiny hands, and ran shrieking down thebeach, fanning the fire to a brighter blaze. 

Cricket was upon him in a moment. She flung both her arms closely aroundhim, stopping his struggles, but the eager flames caught her own lightdress as she did so. Then away she dashed, down over the few steps ofbeach between herself and the incoming tide, and, with him in her arms, threw herself forward in the water. As she rolled over and over, thesullen flames hissed and died. 

Eunice was close behind her, shrieking for help. It was nearly hightide, and the beach sloped a little more abruptly there than in mostplaces. Cricket rose to her knees with Kenneth in her arms, stumbled andfell forward again, face downward, limp with the excitement and thestrain. Eunice, knee-deep in water, dragged them both up, and, betweenpulling and half carrying, got them to the water's edge, just as AuntieJean, and Eliza, and Luke, came running from different directions. Theflames, still fitfully shooting up from the smouldering seaweed, toldthe story. 

"Run for the doctor, Luke, " cried Auntie Jean, wasting no time inquestions, as she lifted little drenched, burned Kenneth tenderly in herarms, and flew with him towards the house, leaving Eliza to helpCricket. Kenneth's clothes were so badly burned that they fell off fromhim when she laid him down. He was a dreadful sight, with his goldencurls all gone, his face blackened with smoke and soot, which the waterhad only washed off in streaks. It was impossible for her to tell, atfirst, how much he was injured. Fortunately, the doctor came almostimmediately. 

It was an anxious hour that followed. Kenneth's most serious burns wereon his arms and body, for, while the golden curls were nearly gone, hispoor little face was, by some fortunate chance, only slightly burned, since, as he ran forward, his curls had blown back. Cricket was burnedquite severely on her arms and hands, where she had clasped and heldhim. 

After their wounds were dressed and bandaged, and Kenneth, a littlemummy-like bundle of old white linen, lay asleep, worn out with painand excitement, Auntie Jean found Cricket sobbing quietly under thesheet. 

"What is the matter, dear?" asked auntie, tenderly. "Are you in suchpain?" for she knew that Cricket was a little Spartan in respect tosuffering. 

"Yes, no-o, " sobbed Cricket. "The pain is bad, but I don't care forthat. My--conscience--aches--so--_here_. I--can't--stand--it, auntie. Iought to have been all burned up myself. I oughtn't to have had a fire. I knew better, only I just thought what fun it would be. To think thebaby is burned, and all through my horrid badness!"

"My poor little girl!" said Auntie Jean, pitifully. "That is the hardestof all for you to bear, I well know. But after all, dear, you cancomfort yourself by thinking that, but for your quickness, the littlefellow must have burned to death. You saved his life, after all. You didwhat should have been done, so quickly. "

"That isn't much comfort, " sobbed Cricket. "He oughtn't to be burned atall. _Any_body would have thought to throw him in the water. "

"I'm not sure of that. In excitement people do not always use theirwits--especially children. Even Eunice, thoughtful as she usually is, was behind you. "

"And I sprained grandma's ankle, too. I ought to be put in prison, " wenton Cricket, in a fresh deluge of remorse. 

"Nobody blamed you for that, dearie, though you _are_ rather athoughtless little body. But the ankle was purely an accident. When itcomes to the playing with fire, however, you really should have knownbetter than to do such a dangerous thing. But you have learned yourlesson, and now we must be thankful the consequences are no worse. "

Cricket raised a tear-stained face. 

"Yes, only--my dear baby! If only I could take all his burns! I'd setfire to myself and burn myself up, if he could be well. I did themischief, and he gets the worst of it. "

"Indeed, little Cricket, " said Auntie Jean, softly, almost to herself, as she bent and kissed her little niece, "you will learn, as you growolder, that that's not the least hard part of all the harm we do--we dothe mischief, and the one we love best often gets the burns. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

AFTER THE SACRIFICE. 

The next few days were not very happy ones. Auntie Jean had her handsfull. Grandma's ankle was much better, to be sure, but still it did notallow her to walk or stand on it but very little, so that she could notbe of much assistance in the nursing that followed. Poor little Kennethsuffered greatly from his burns, and his fever ran high, and the veryhot weather made it harder for him to bear. He cried continually for hismother. He had not fretted for her, especially, while he was well, butnow that he was sick he wailed constantly for "Mamma. "

Cricket was up and about, after a day or two. Her arms and hands werestill bandaged, and she was very helpless about dressing and undressingherself, but she felt better to be up. She longed to do something forKenneth, but this was impossible, with both arms in slings. These wererather dark days for the poor little girl, for, on account of theanxiety about Kenneth, she received less attention than she otherwisewould have had. She was very grateful, however, that nobody reminded herthat it was chiefly her fault. 

Unfortunately, her right hand, with which she had first clasped Kenneth, was much more seriously burned than the other. The left hand came out ofits sling at the end of three or four days, and while the arm remainedbandaged, she could use her fingers. 

"If it was only the other way, " she mourned, "I could write a lot ofstories and things for the 'Echo, ' and my time would not be _all_wasted. "

"Learn to write with your left hand, " suggested grandma. 

"Could I?" said Cricket, brightening. "Why, why not? It won't be likelearning to write over again. I've often tried it, only my left-handfingers don't seem to have any _push_ in them. "

"If you practise half an hour a day, you will soon do wonders, " saidgrandma, encouragingly. "I had a brother, once, who was left-handed, andhe learned to use his right hand equally well. He drew beautifully, andwould often work with a pencil in each hand. Not only that, but I haveoften seen him write with one hand and draw with the other. "

"Isn't that wonderful?" exclaimed Cricket. "I'll begin to practise thisminute, Eunice, if you'll get me paper and pencil, " she added, eagerly. 

She worked busily for a few minutes, in silence, after the materialswere brought her. 

"It looks exactly like Zaidee's writing, " she said, at length, indisgust, after her first few attempts. She wrote a firm, pretty hand fora girl of her age, and these shaky, disjointed letters, sprawling acrossthe page, were very discouraging. 

"It looks like the tracks of a crazy ant, " she said, half laughing. 

"If you practise faithfully for a few days you will find they will looklike the tracks of a very sane ant, " said grandma. "And, besides, thinkhow much easier it is to learn to write with your left hand than withyour toes. "

"With your _toes_, grandma, " came in a united chorus. 

"Yes, with your toes. I knew of a man, once, who was born without anyarms, and--"

"No arms at all? Not one?"

"Not one, " answered grandma, smiling on her eager questioner. "He wasthe son of a very poor woman here in the village. They lived in thatlittle red cottage on the Bainbridge road, where you turn by the fouroaks. "

"Without any arms! Did he have shoulders?" asked Cricket. 

"Oh, yes, indeed. I saw them often when he was a baby--bare, I mean. Theshoulder ended smoothly where the arms should be. He grew up a verybright little fellow. Running barefoot all the time, as he did, Isuppose he learned to pick up things with his toes very naturally. Atany rate, when he was eight years old he could even handle his knife andfork with his toes. "

"Ugh!" shuddered Eunice, "Did he sit on the table?"

"No, not quite so bad as that. He sat on a little low stool, and hisplate was put on the floor in front of him. He would pick up his knifeand fork, cut up his meat, and feed himself as deftly as possible. Itwas very funny. "

"Think of washing his feet before dinner, instead of his hands!" giggledCricket. 

"Could he get his feet right up to his mouth?" asked Eunice. 

"Yes, easily. He was very limber. "

Zaidee instantly sat down on the piazza floor and attempted theperformance. 

"It most cracks my back, " she said, getting up and trying to reacharound behind herself to rub it. 

"_I_ could do it, " said supple Cricket, who could sit on the floor andput her legs around her neck. 

"He went to the district school, " went on grandma, "and learned to readvery quickly, and his mental arithmetic was really wonderful. Longexamples that the others did on their slates, he did almost as quicklyin his head. One year, they had a very good, patient teacher, who, noticing how deftly he picked up all sorts of things with his toes, hadthe bright idea of teaching him to write by holding his pen between histoes. Now his toes, by constant using, had grown longer and slendererthan most people's, and in a very short time he could guide a pencilsufficiently to make very legible letters. Quite as much so as yourfirst attempts with your left hand, just now, Jean. "

"Think of it!" exclaimed Cricket. "I'm going to try it to-night when wego to bed, Eunice. "

"It was a funny sight to see him get ready for his school work. When hearrived at school his brother washed and dried his feet carefully, andput on him an old pair of loose slippers to keep them clean. His slateor paper would be put on the floor before him, and he would slip hisfoot out of his slipper, grasp his pencil, and begin. By the end of ayear, he really wrote wonderfully well. "

"Oh-h!" sighed Zaidee. "Helen and I practised lots, last winter, withmamma, and we can't write much now. We writed every day, too. "

"Where is the man now?" asked Eunice. "What became of him?"

"When he was a boy of fourteen or so, a travelling circus manager heardof him, and offered him a large salary to go with him to be exhibited, "answered grandma. "He got a large salary, and after that helped supporthis family. He learned to do many other things with his toes, later, people said. For instance, he drew beautifully, and could even hold aknife and whittle a stick. The family soon left here, and I never knewanything more about him. So, my little Jean, aren't you encouraged topractise writing with your left hand, with good hope of success?"

"Yes, indeed, grandma, " answered Cricket, taking her pencil, and goingto work again, awkwardly but energetically. And I may just say, inpassing, that she worked to such good effect, that in ten days' time herleft-handed writing, though it slanted backward, was firm and legible. 

"There!" exclaimed Cricket, with a long sigh, after her first half-hourwas over, as she rose to stretch her arm above her head, "I've writtenso long that I'm so tired that I can hardly put one foot before theother. "

"That would be a more appropriate sentiment if you were my no-armedman, " said grandma, smiling. 

"I'm just _wild_ with keeping still, grandma! Resting makes me _so_tired. I want to go rowing or riding or walking. I'd like to jump overthe moon, as far as my feelings go, but it makes my arm ache if I moveround much. "

"Read aloud to us, " suggested grandma, "and perhaps Eunice will holdthe wool for me while you do. "

Cricket liked to read aloud, and she got a book very willingly. 

"Here's a lovely story, " she said, "all about battles and fighting, andexciting things. 'How Captain Jack Won His Epauplets. '"

"Won his--_what_?" asked grandma, holding her ball suspended. 

"His epauplets. He was just a plain, every-day soldier, you know, tostart with. "

"Oh! won his epaulets, you mean, " said grandma, gravely. 

"Won his--oh, of course! how stupid of me!" looking more closely at theword. "Now I've always thought that word was epauplets, grandma, truly Idid. "

"Go on and begin, " said Eunice; "how did he win them?"

The reading proceeded quietly for a time. Eunice held the wool, grandmawound it off, and Zaidee and Helen played tonka on the piazza steps. Tonka was a little Japanese game on the order of jackstones, only, instead of hard, nobby stones, that spoil the dimpled knuckles, tinybags of soft, gay silk, half full of rice, are used. Six little bagsare made with the ends gathered, and one more, the tonka, is made flatand square of some different coloured silk, to distinguish it, as thegay little bags fly up and down. It was a very favourite amusement withall the children. Eliza was with Kenneth, and auntie was lying down, forthe poor baby had been wakeful and in much pain the night before, andauntie had had little sleep. 

Nearly an hour slipped by, when suddenly grandma stopped Cricket. 

"How quiet the children are. Are they there still?" turning to see. Eunice looked up also. 

"Dear me, I haven't thought of them for a long time. They've slippedoff. I suppose I ought to go and see what Zaidee's doing, and tell hershe mustn't, " and Eunice lay down her work. She had had to have muchcare of the younger ones these last few days. 

"I'll go, too, " said Cricket, getting up gladly. "'Scuse us, please, grandma, for leaving you all alone. "

Cricket had scarcely ever been ill a day in her life, not even withchildren's diseases, which she had always escaped, and, in all heradventures, she was very rarely hurt. Therefore, pain was a verydreadful thing to her. She bore it bravely, but it was strange to seeher looking so pale and heavy-eyed. But these few days of suffering wereteaching her many things. 

Eunice and Cricket heard the sound of the children's voices as theyturned the corner of the house. 

"Oh, they're all right, " said Eunice, relieved. 

Just back of the house, in a tiny little shed, built especially for it, stood a big barrel of kerosene. It was kept outside, because grandma wasvery much afraid of the possibility of fire. Once, in an unlucky moment, the waitress, Delia, in drawing the oil into a small can to be carriedinto the house, had yielded to Zaidee's entreaty, and had let her turnthat fascinating little spigot. After that the twins made severalprivate expeditions to the barrel, but as the spigot was kept locked, ofcourse they could not turn it. It chanced that this morning Delia haddrawn the oil in a hurry, and had forgotten to turn the catch in thespigot that locked it. 

Zaidee and Helen, prowling around for something to do, chanced to comepast the barrel, and Zaidee tried the faucet. To their rapture aspurting stream of oil instantly poured out. An old dipper, lying nearby, was immediately seized upon, as something to fill, and all theflower beds that were near by were well watered with kerosene. Next, they spied a small churn, which Bridget, the cook, had just put out inthe sun to dry. This was an opportunity not to be neglected, and thenext dipperful of kerosene went splash into Bridget's clean, whitechurn. Up and down went the dasher, worked by these eager hands, while, behind them, the kerosene still poured from the barrel. 

"Yes, they're all right, " repeated Eunice. "They're only working thechurn-dasher up and down. Probably Bridget left some water in it tosoak. "

"Come over here, " called Zaidee, hospitably. 

"We're making butter, Eunice. "

Eunice drew a little nearer, then, suddenly, she stopped, sniffed, anddarted forward. 

"Children, what _have_ you there?"

"Caroseme, " responded Zaidee, promptly. "We drawed it from the prettylittle fountain in the barrel. "

Eunice turned hastily towards the "caroseme" barrel, then flew towardsit. As the barrel had been lately filled there was plenty in it, still, and it was flowing merrily, while a pool of kerosene lay over the boardfloor. 

"Goodness gracious me! How shall I ever get in there to turn it off?"cried Eunice. "I _can't_ step in it?"

"Let Zaidee do it. She's soaking already with it. Zaidee, come here, directly, and turn this kerosene off. "

Zaidee came up cheerfully, and waded in, regardless of her shoes. 

"It's too bad to turn it off, when it looks so pretty, " she said, regretfully. 

"You are naughty children, " said Eunice, severely, arraying the guiltytwins before her, when this was done. "Whatever shall I do with you? Ican't take you, all dripping like that, into the house to Eliza, becauseshe's with Kenneth, and auntie's lying down, and I don't suppose Deliawould know what to do with you. "

"Hang them both up over the clothes-line to dry, " suggested Cricket, darkly eying the chief culprit. "Dear me! how you do smell!"

"I don't like it pretty well, " admitted Zaidee, sniffing at her hands. "I want to go in and get us washed off now. "

"No, stop, " commanded Eunice, as Zaidee was starting off. "You wouldruin everything you touched, I suppose. You're reeking wet. You can't gointo the nursery, for you mustn't disturb Kenneth. Auntie saidparticularly that we mustn't even make any noise around, so he cansleep. What _shall_ I do with you?"

"I'll tell you, " suggested Cricket, the ever-ready. "Take them down tothe Cove and put them in the water just as they are, and wash off theworst of it. Then you can take off their clothes and leave them downthere in the bathing-house, for 'Liza to look after when she can. "

"Perhaps that might do. I could put on my own bathing-suit and take themin, and wash off the outside, anyway. "

"Yes, let's, " cried Zaidee, scampering off in high feather at thedelightful possibility of going into the water all dressed, "just like adog. "

"Grandma wouldn't care, would she?"

"There's nothing else to do. You go on and I'll tell her. My arm achesso that I can't walk over there, " said Cricket, turning away, verydolefully. She didn't like to miss the fun of ducking those naughtychildren. She watched them out of sight. 

"But it isn't really a bit worse of Zaidee to turn that spigot, andplay with the oil, than it was for me to play with the fire, " she said, honestly, to herself, as she walked slowly back to grandma. "I can't saymuch. But it _is_ funny how much badder things seem in other people, when they're really just as worse in ourselves. "

And with this not very lucid statement of an undeniable fact, Cricketwalked up the piazza steps and informed grandma of the state of affairs. 

Half an hour later Eunice appeared, driving a pair of depressed lookingchildren before her, clad only in their little blue bathing-suits. 

She was hot and flushed, Zaidee cross and rebellious, and Helen tearfuland subdued. Eunice had found that the plan of washing oily children, with all their clothes on, was much easier in theory than in practice. And such a task as it had been to get their dripping clothes off! Wetbuttonholes refused to open, shoestrings knotted hopelessly, andeverything stuck flabbily together. 

Auntie Jean was with little Kenneth again, so Eliza was at liberty totake the children in hand, but before they went off, grandma said, verygravely, to them, that they were to go directly to bed for two wholehours, so that they might have a quiet time to think over the mischiefthey had done. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE END OF THE SUMMER. 

Two weeks later everything was running again as usual. Kenneth, quiterecovered, was as lively as possible, though he was a funny lookinglittle object, with his lovely golden curls, to everybody's great grief, cropped as close to his head as a prize-fighter's. 

"If it only will grow out a _little_, before mamma gets home, " mournedCricket. "He looks so ridiculous. He looks just like the sheep, after'Gustus John has sheared them. Even the little lambs don't know their ownmothers, sometimes, auntie, after they're clipped. Oh!" clasping herhands in horror at a new thought. "Do you suppose mamma won't even_know_ Kenneth?"

"He doesn't look much like himself, certainly, but I don't fancy thatthere's the least danger that his mother won't know him instantly, " saidauntie, comfortingly. 

"I'm so glad, " said Cricket, with a sigh of relief, "if you reallythink so. But, anyway, he's the _sheepiest_-looking child. "

But, fortunately, his burns had healed beautifully, and the doctorassured them that he would even outgrow every scar. Cricket was entirelyherself again, with only one deep scar across her right wrist to remindher of that unlucky sacrifice to the Jabberwock. 

Edna was at home, also, delighted to be back with her beloved Eunice. She proudly flourished, actually, two stories for the "Echo, " as theresult of her "banishment, " as she insisted on calling her visit. Shewas so proud of them that she wanted to carry them about with her allthe time, and was all impatience for the next number of the paper to beready. Eunice had been working at it, during Edna's absence, and it wasall ready, excepting to print Edna's story, for which space had beenleft. 

It was getting well into September now, and the children were lookingeagerly forward to the return of the travellers, who were to sail earlyin October. Letters said that mamma was improving so delightfully thatshe was quite as strong as ever, and that she was looking forward withquite as much impatience to seeing the children again as they couldhave to see her. The children didn't quite believe this, though. 

"She _couldn't_ be glad as I am, " said Cricket, positively. "If she wereshe would just simply burst. Of _course_ we're gladder to see her thanshe could be to see us, because she's _mamma_, and we're only just thechildren! I'm chock full of gladness!" and Cricket gave an ecstaticcaper as she waved the letter that definitely set the date of thetravellers' return. 

"Look _out_, Cricket, " said Eunice, hastily, "that's the second timeyou've nearly knocked my ink over, " rescuing, as she spoke, the fresh, fair copy of the "Echo, " to which she was giving the finishing touches, for the afternoon's reading. 

"Please excuse me, but I'm so happy! Oh, auntie, it's worth while tohave mamma and papa go to Europe and miss them so, when you are sogladder than glad when they come back. "

"Now, I really flattered myself that you had been tolerably contentedhere, this summer, " said Auntie Jean, pretending to look aggrieved. "I'mvery sorry that you've been so wretched. "

"Wretched! I _haven't_, " said Cricket, giving auntie a rapturous hug, and, at the same time, sending her heels kicking out behind, like alittle wild pony. "I've had an awfully good time. "

"Cricket!" shrieked Eunice, "you knocked over the ink at last!" Shesnatched up the "Echo" just in time to save it from an inky bath. "Handme that blotter, Edna. Never mind, auntie, for it's mostly on thenewspapers. Cricket, you _are_ the ink-spillingest girl!" scoldedEunice, scrubbing and cleaning as she talked. "Yesterday you knocked itout of the window, and only the other day you had it all over thepiazza-floor. "

Cricket looked much depressed, as she helped Eunice repair damages. 

"I rather guess you'll be too relieved for anything to see the last ofme, grandma, " she said, mournfully. "I never saw anybody like me. Inever mean to do things, and then I go and do them. I don't see howyou've stood it all summer, anyway, with such racketting childrenaround, I truly don't. "

"You've been a pretty obedient set, " said grandma, patting the hand thatstole around her neck. "And when children are obedient and truthful, onecan excuse a great deal else. Indeed, I shall miss my flockexceedingly, I assure you, in spite of your ink-spilling tendencies. "

"Even if I did sprain your ankle?" whispered Cricket, very softly, "andburn up Kenneth's hair? and break through the plaster in your ceiling, and lots of other things?"

"Yes, in spite of it all, " whispered grandma, back again, just assoftly. "Because I never knew you to do anything I told you not to do, and whatever you tell me, I know is exactly true. "

"You're such a beautiful grandma!" said Cricket, with a hug, and thenshe pranced off. 

Zaidee and Helen came toiling up from the beach, with their arms full ofdolls. Zaidee dropped down on the top piazza-step. 

"Auntie Jean, I'm all in such a pusferation, " she sighed. "It's so muchwork to take care of such a lot of children as I have. I wish I had alittle live nurse to help me. Couldn't I?"

"Take Cricket, " suggested Auntie Jean. "She wants something to do. "

"No, I thank you, " said that young woman, decidedly. "I'm glad _I_ don'thave to follow Zaidee up all day. "

"And I wouldn't have you, " returned Zaidee, with equal decision. "Youtooked up my Beatrice by the neck, and it hurted her. She told me so. Idon't want you for my dollie's nurse, or for my nurse, either. "

"_Your_ nurse!" exclaimed Cricket. "I wouldn't be 'Liza for anything!I'd as soon take care of a straw in a high wind, as take care of you. "

Auntie Jean laughed, and drew Cricket down into her arms. 

"Did you ever think, honestly, " she whispered, "that Zaidee is a little, just a little, like one of her older sisters?"

"Oh, she's not so bad, " responded Cricket, instantly. "But because she'slike me is no reason I like it any better. I like it all the worse. Besides, I don't set up to be a polygon. "

Hereupon Auntie Jean laughed until grandma demanded to know what thejoke was, and why they were talking secrets. 

"No secrets, " answered auntie, wiping her eyes. "Cricket was onlytelling me that she didn't set up to be a _paragon_. "

Cricket flashed a quick glance at auntie, caught her eye, and nodded herthanks. 

"There's George Washington, " she hastily remarked, changing thesubject. "Come here, sir, and play a little. You've been as sober as ajudge lately. I haven't seen you run after Martha for perfect ages. "

The September days slipped by, until the first of October was just athand. It was arranged that Auntie Jean should go and get the house intown in readiness for the family's return. At first she expected to goalone, but the girls begged to go with her, and finally she concluded totake them. 

Will and Archie had already gone back to Philadelphia, on account oftheir school, so this arrangement would only leave the younger ones andEliza with grandma for a few days longer. 

Then, oh, joy! that blessed Auntie Jean further decided that she wouldtake them all down to New York the day before the steamer was due, sothat they might have the earliest possible glimpse of the family. Wasnot all this enough to fill any little girl's cup of bliss tooverflowing?

For once, reality surpassed anticipation. Such excitement for the lastweek in packing up; such walks and rows and drives between times; such afine number of the "Echo, " to wind up with; such a funny farewellcall--laden with all manner of good things--to the old woman, who wasstill overcome by the thought that she had seen Miss Cricket; then suchparting hugs and kisses for dear grandma and the children; suchhand-shakings with old Billy, who distributed peppermints like a red andwhite snow. 

Then came the jolly three days' picnic in the empty house in town. Thethree girls thought that they rendered perfectly indispensable aid toauntie and the maids, in opening the house, getting off holland covers, and arranging everything, till it was all in apple-pie order for thehomecomers. 

Then came the last and loveliest treat, --the delightful trip to New Yorkin the night boat, and the vast importance of the thought of going tomeet their European travellers. They discussed them, as if they had beengone ten years, at least. Eunice wondered if she would know Marjorie, and if Donald's mustache would be as long as papa's, while Cricket was alittle afraid that they might have forgotten how to talk English. 

The steamer was not due till late in the afternoon, so that they had theday before them, and a day crammed with good things it was. Althoughthey had often been there before, the children immediately voted forCentral Park and the Metropolitan Museum first. Then they visited someof the great stores, and then lunched at Delmonico's. In the afternoonthey went for a long, lovely ride up Riverside Park, and then, at last, came the crowning joy of watching the steamer's arrival. 

"There's mamma!" shrieked Cricket, regardless of the crowd about her, asthe great steamer swung into her moorings, and in five minutes moreeverybody was being rapturously hugged by everybody else. 

THE END. 

Transcriber's Note:

Variations in spelling and hyphenation, and unexpected spelling found inthe original have been retained. 

The following changes have been made in this version:

Punctuation errors have been corrected without comment. 

Oe ligatures have been expanded as in Phoebe. 

page 76'adventures' changed to 'adventure': a new adventure. 

page 123'liitle' corrected to 'little': his poor little

page 165'sittingly' corrected to 'sitting': were sitting cosily

page 260'at at any' corrected to 'at any': at any time

page 324'Anntie' corrected to 'Auntie': Auntie Jean knew