"Now tell," said Polly, all curiosity.

"You must promise not to breathe a word."

"I promise on my sacred word and honor."

"Well then; it is about Mary."

"Mary! Oh, Molly!"

"Yes, what do you think? She wasn't at the Whartons' at all yesterday afternoon."

Polly looked as astonished as Molly expected, though she said, after a pause: "Well she never said she was."

"She let us think so. She didn't deny it."

"But did she go to Green Island? Now I think of it, all she said was that she thought it was a pretty place. She knew that because she saw it when she went over there to the party."

"Yes, I know that, but it wasn't at Green Island that she got the strawberries, Polly, and she didn't go anywhere with the Whartons."

"How do you know?"

"I saw Grace at the post-office. I said to her: 'It was real nice of you all to take Mary out in the launch yesterday,' and she looked so surprised when she said: 'Why, we didn't take Mary. We didn't go out at all yesterday, for Uncle Will had some of his friends up from town and they were using the launch all day.'"

"What did you say?"

"I didn't know what to say. 'Did Mary tell you she was with us?' Grace asked, and I had to crawl out by saying: 'No, Luella thought so.' Then Grace said—now what do you think of this, Polly—she said: 'Why, I saw Mary going out with Ellis Dixon in his brother's boat. I watched them rowing off. I am sure it was Mary. I couldn't be mistaken for no one around here has a hat like hers.'"

Polly was silent with amazement and Molly went on: "I had to say, 'Oh, very likely Aunt Ada knows all about it,' and then I came away as fast as I could."

"Why Molly Shelton!" exclaimed Polly finding her voice, "do you suppose she sneaked off that way with a strange little boy when she says her mother is so particular that she doesn't even let her go on the street alone? I can't believe it. I think Grace must have been mistaken."

"No, she wasn't. I know that."

"How do you know?"

"I saw Parker Dixon and he said, 'Did the little girl get home all right? She was pretty safe with El, but I didn't know as your aunt mightn't hev been oneasy, seeing they was just two children. You tell her she needn't hev no fear of El; he can handle a boat as good as I kin.'" Molly unconsciously imitated Parker's manner of speaking.

"Then it is true; of course it is," decided Polly. "Are you going to tell Aunt Ada?"

"I don't know what to do. I feel as if I ought, and yet I feel sort of sorry for Mary. She is 'way off from all her people and we've been picking at her for being so particular and not doing this and not doing that, so maybe she thought she was doing no more than we would have done if we had been in her place."

"I know, and maybe we would have done the same, but she needn't have been deceitful," returned Polly. "She could have asked if she might go."

"She didn't have a chance, for we had gone sailing, you know."

"Then she ought to have told the first thing, as soon as she saw Aunt Ada. No, she is a sneaky, horrid girl and I am not going to have anything more to do with her, if she is my cousin. I was beginning to like her, too." Polly spoke regretfully.

"So was I," agreed Molly. "But now the main thing is, shall we tell or shall we not? I hate to be a tattle-tale."

"Then don't let's tell, but don't let's be more than polite to her and she'll see that something is wrong and maybe she will tell of her own accord. I wish she'd go. I don't like sneaky girls; I'd rather they'd be out and out naughty."

"Why do you suppose she didn't tell?" said Molly thoughtfully. "She might have known that Aunt Ada wouldn't punish her or even scold. She would only have said: 'I'd rather you'd always tell me, Mary, before you undertake such trips again.'" Again Molly imitated the person she quoted. "It doesn't seem to me she could be scared of Aunt Ada when she's always so gentle and kind."

"Well, I don't care whether she was scared or not, she wasn't honest, and I think anyhow it was very queer for her to sneak off with a boy she didn't know."

"But I know him; I used to play with him when I was only four years old," said Molly. "He is a very nice boy. Aunt Ada says that he has been very well raised and that any mother could be proud of him. He is real bright, too: why, he can manage a sail boat as well as a man, and he's always so ready and willing to do anything he can for any of us. He is very different from some of the others who just can't bear the summer people."

"Never mind about him; I suppose he is all right; it is Mary I am bothered over."

"Well, the only thing we can do is to wait and see if she will tell of her own accord; maybe she hasn't had a good chance yet to see Aunt Ada alone; we are giving her the chance now, so we will wait and see what happens."

This Polly agreed was best, but they returned to the house to turn a cold shoulder to Mary, and to ignore her in every way they could without being directly rude. So directly opposite was this course of conduct from that of the morning, when her cousins had been all smiles and sweetness, that Mary's fears again arose and she was so miserable that at bedtime when Molly went in to her English cousin's room to get a bottle of cold cream with which to anoint her sunburned face, she heard a soft little sob from Mary's bed.

Immediately her sympathies were aroused. Mary was far from home and mother. What if she had done wrong? She was alone among comparative strangers and who knew the exact truth of yesterday's proceedings? She crept softly to Mary's bedside. Her cousin's face was buried in the pillow, and she was shaking with sobs. Molly leaned over her. "Are you sick, Mary?" she whispered, "Do you want me to call Aunt Ada?"

"No," came feebly from Mary.

"Is anything the matter? Please tell me. I'll get into bed with you." And suiting the action to the word she slipped in beside Mary, putting a sympathetic arm around her. "What is it?" she repeated.

Only sobs from Mary.

"Please tell," persisted Molly.

"Oh, I can't, I can't," said Mary, her tears flowing fast.

"I won't tell a soul. I cross my heart I won't."

Mary checked her sobs a little as she gave heed to the earnest promise. It was a relief to have Molly's comforting presence near by there in the dark. But in a moment her tears gushed forth again. "I want my mother, oh, I want my mother," she wailed.

"Are you so homesick? Is that it?" asked Molly with concern. "Never mind, Mary, you'll see your father soon, and—and—I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm sorry we were horrid to you. Is that why you are homesick, because Polly and I weren't nice to you?"

"Oh, n-no, it isn't that," replied Mary. "I deserved it, Molly, but oh, you won't tell, you won't tell, will you?"

"Tell what?"

"Oh, Molly, I've lost Aunt Ada's diamond pin, and I can't find it. I've looked and looked and Ellis Dixon helped me, too. I thought if it had been found we would know by this time. That is why we went over to Green Island."

"Then you did go with Ellis."

"Yes, he came along while I was looking for the brooch, after you had all gone sailing, and he offered to take me to Green Island in his brother's boat, and when we got there the postmaster put up a notice in the post-office and we looked all over the hall everywhere, and all along the road and asked every one we met, but it was no use, and now I am afraid to tell Aunt Ada, and diamonds cost so much I could never buy another like it." It was a relief to Mary to thus unburden herself.

"I don't seem to remember exactly about the pin," said Molly. "Aunt Ada is always getting some pretty new thing, but I don't believe she showed me any diamond pin; it must be quite new. I was so excited about my own costume that night, I forget about any ornaments you wore. Perhaps you could buy another one some time. I have some money, five dollars, and I'll give it to you; I'll take it out of my bank when we go home; that would help."

"Oh, Molly, how good you are!" Mary turned over to put her arm around her cousin. "I have a pound, too, and that might be half enough, or nearly half, but I am afraid it would be a long time before we could get the rest."

"Well, I wouldn't be scared of Aunt Ada, Mary," Molly said. "She is a dear, and she'll be very sorry, but she will know it was not your fault that you lost it."

"Miss Sharp would say it was my carelessness, and she would be so very vexed."

"Then she's a mean old thing, and not a bit like dear Aunt Ada. Do tell her, Mary."

"Oh, I can't, I can't," persisted Mary, terror again seizing her, "I am so afraid she will be vexed."

"Then let me tell."

"Oh, no, please. Wait a little longer. Perhaps the broach can be found. Oh, I am so miserable; Aunt Ada will think I am so careless and deceitful, and everything bad."

Molly now felt only a deep pity for the poor little sinner, and she began to kiss away the tears on Mary's cheeks. "Please don't be miserable," she begged. "I think maybe you ought to have told at first, but I see how you felt, and I'll not be horrid to you any more, Mary. I'll stand up for you straight along, and when you want Aunt Ada to know I will go with you to tell her."

Mary really began to feel comforted. "I think you are a perfect duck, Molly," she said. "Fancy after all I have been doing, for you to be so kind. But please don't tell Polly; I know she doesn't like me."

"She did like you," said Molly truthfully, "until—until we heard that you had not been where Aunt Ada thought you were."

"And she thinks I am deceitful; so I have been, and I hate myself for it."

"But Polly doesn't know why you did it."

"Then don't tell her; I'd rather anything than that."

"Don't you want Polly to like you?"

"Yes, but I don't want her to know I lost the brooch."

It was useless to try to rid poor Mary's mind of the one idea, and at last Molly gave up trying, but she did not leave her forlorn little cousin, and Polly, in the next room while she wondered what could be keeping Molly, fell asleep in the midst of her wondering.



CHAPTER VII

In Elton Woods

Polly was all curiosity the next morning. "Why in the world didn't you sleep with me?" she asked, sitting up in bed as Molly came in from the next room.

"Because Mary needed me. She was in awful trouble," replied Molly soberly.

"What was it?" asked Polly eagerly.

"I can't tell you."

"I think that's real mean," returned Polly indignantly. "You're just a turncoat, Molly Shelton; first you're friends with me, and then you're thick as can be with Mary."

"I'm not a turncoat," retorted Molly, angry at being called names. "She's as much my cousin as you are, and I reckon if you were way off from your mother and had a dreadful thing happen that you couldn't talk to her about, you'd want some one to be a little sorry for you."

"I think a dreadful thing is happening to me when you talk that way to me," said Polly, melting into tears. "I just wish I had never come here, I do so, and I reckon I want my mother as much as Mary does hers. I am going to tell Uncle Dick how you act, so I am."

"Oh, please don't tell him!" exclaimed Molly, alarmed. "We don't want any one to know."

This but whetted Polly's curiosity. "I think you might tell me," she pouted.

"I can't. I promised I wouldn't. You shall know as soon as Mary says I may tell."

"Oh, I don't care then. Keep your old secrets if you want to," and Polly flounced out of bed and began vigorously to prepare for her bath. For the rest of the time before breakfast she did not speak a word to Molly who felt that she was indeed between two fires. She had promised not to tell Aunt Ada and if Polly were to tell Uncle Dick that morning that something was wrong, it might add to Mary's troubles. She pondered the matter well while she was dressing, and by the time she had tied on her hair ribbon she had concluded to forestall Polly by telling her Uncle Dick something of what was the matter. She decided that she could do so without betraying Mary's confidence. So she stepped down-stairs ahead of Polly and joined her Uncle Dick who was energetically walking up and down the porch.

"Hello, Mollykins!" he cried. "I'm getting up an appetite for breakfast. Come and join me."

"As if you ever had to do anything to get up an appetite," retorted Molly, slipping her hand under his arm. "Oh, you take such long steps I have to take two to keep up with you."

"So much the better, then you work twice as hard and can have twice as much. I peeped into the kitchen, but Luella looked as fierce as a sitting hen, and I didn't dare to stay; however, I know we are to have hot rolls for breakfast; I saw them."

"The pocketbook kind, with the lovely brown crust all around? Good! I certainly want a double appetite for those. Uncle Dick, you oughtn't to tell other people's secrets, ought you?"

"No-o, not usually. Whose secret is burning in your breast?"

"Why—promise not to tell a soul."

"Is it a murder?"

"No, of course not."

"Is it grand larceny?"

"I don't know what that is."

"It is stealing something worth while, not like a loaf of bread nor a pin, nor anything of that kind. You know the copy-book says: 'It is a sin to steal a pin.'"

"Is it a sin to lose a pin?"

"Why, no, not unless it is a breastpin or a scarf-pin and you wilfully throw it to the fishes."

Molly drew a sigh of relief. "Suppose you lose something that belongs to some one else; is that a sin?"

"Why no, it is a misfortune, not a crime. You don't do it on purpose, you see, and in fact I think the loser generally feels worse than the one the thing belongs to. What have you lost? Not my favorite scarf-pin, I hope. Have you been using it to pin rags around your doll?"

"Oh, Uncle Dick, of course I haven't. I was only asking, just because I wanted to know."

"As a seeker after ethical truths. It does you credit, Miss Shelton. You will probably join a college settlement when you are older, or at least write a paper on moral responsibilities."

"Oh, Uncle Dick, you do use such silly long words."

"I forget, when you tackle these abstruse subjects. I will come down from my lofty perch, Molly. What more can your wise uncle tell you?"

"If a person loses something very costly, something that has been lent to her, ought she to pay it back?"

"It is generally supposed to be the proper thing to replace it, but half the world doesn't do it; sometimes because they can't and sometimes because they don't want to. Then, sometimes the one to whom the thing belonged, insists upon not having it replaced, and would feel very uncomfortable if it were, though, from the standpoint of strict honesty, one should always make good any borrowed article whether lost, strayed or stolen."

"Would you insist upon its not being made good?"

"I shouldn't wonder if I were that kind of gander."

"Would Aunt Ada?"

"I think she's probably that kind of goose."

"Oh, I am so glad she is a goose."

"Glad who is a goose?" said Aunt Ada from the doorway.

"We were talking about you," said her brother laughing. "Molly was calling you a goose."

"Oh, Uncle Dick, you began it."

"Did I? Well, never mind. I smell those rolls, Molly, and I feel that I can demolish at least six. Come on, let's get at them."

Although she had not really carried the subject as far as she wanted, Molly felt that matters were not so bad for Mary as they had at first appeared, therefore, she took the first opportunity to reassure her on that point. Polly walked off to the Whartons' immediately after breakfast, announcing with quite an air of wishing it generally known that she would probably spend the day with Grace in the woods, and that Luella had given her a lunch to take.

Miss Ada smiled when this announcement was made. She realized that there had been some childish squabble and she never paid much attention to such. Mary saw at once that Polly was jealous of Molly's attentions to her small self, and Molly felt so grieved at Polly's desertion that she could hardly keep back the tears. It was very hard to do right in this world, she thought. If she were loyal to Mary she must lose Polly's companionship, and she did love to be with Polly more than any one she had ever known. If she clung to Polly, she must give up Mary at a time when Mary most needed her.

She looked after Polly skipping over the hummocks to Grace Wharton's and wished she were going, too. It was so lovely in the woods. As if reading her thought, her Aunt Ada came up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Suppose we all take our luncheon in the woods to-day," she said. "It is too lovely to stay indoors a minute. Should you kitties like to go? Dick is to be off sailing with Will Wharton and we three could have a nice quiet time. I'll take some books; you can have your dolls, and we'll go to Willow Cove."

"That's where Polly is going," said Molly quickly.

Aunt Ada smiled. "Suppose we go to Elton woods instead, then."

"I like it better anyhow," said Molly truthfully. "I'd like nothing better than to spend the day there, you dearest auntie."

"Then there we will go. Luella wants the day off, anyhow. She says she must go to town to have a tooth out, for 'the tooth aches something awful.' That is the third since we came. If she keeps on at this rate, she will not have a tooth left in her head by fall. It will be much easier to have a nice little lunch in the woods than to cook a dinner at home, don't you think? Suppose you and Mary run over to Mrs. Fowler's and see if she can let us have a boiled lobster; she generally is ready to put them on about this time of day, and you might stop at Skelton's on your way back and get some of those good little ginger-snaps."

"Aunt Ada is such a dear," said Molly, as the two started off. "I don't believe she would ever, ever want you to get another pin, Mary, and if I were you I would tell her all about it to-day; it will be such a good chance."

"I'll see about it," said Mary evasively.

There was no lovelier spot on the Point than Elton woods. Here the great trees grew to the very edge of the cliffs, and the way to them was through paths bordered by ferns, wild roses, and woodland flowers. In some places the trees wore long gray beards of swaying moss and stood so close together that only scant rays of daylight crept under them; in others they shot up high and straight above their carpet of pine-needles, which made a soft dry bed for those who lingered beneath them to gaze at the white-capped waves chasing each other in shore, or who, lying down, watched the fleecy clouds drifting across the sky. Near by was a pebbly beach where one could gather driftwood for a fire, or could pick up smooth water-washed stones to build walks and walls for tiny imaginary people. There was no end of the material the place afforded for amusement, and when they reached there, Molly eagerly fell to devising plays.

Yet, alas! She missed Polly's fertile brain and imaginative suggestions. Polly was always able to discover fairy dells and gnome-frequented caves. It was she who invented the plays which were the most delightful. Mary was rather tiresome when it came to anything more than sober facts. She would play very nicely with the dolls, but, when it came to make-believe creatures, she was sadly wanting, and the best response Molly could expect to get when she built a fairy dwelling was: "Oh, I say, that is a proper little house, isn't it?" or "What a duck of a tree that is you are planting; it is quite tiny, isn't it?"

"We always take some of these little bits of trees home with us," Molly told her, "and they live ever so long."

"I wonder could I take one to England," said Mary.

"Why, yes, I should think you could easily. We will get some the very last thing, and I am sure they'll live quite a while."

"It would be jolly nice to have one, wouldn't it?" said Mary as she watched Molly patting the ground smooth around the one she had just planted in the fairy garden. "I'd like to take some pebbles and some starfish, too. Reggie would be so pleased with them; he would be quite vexed if I brought him none after telling him about them."

"How often you say vexed, don't you?" remarked Molly. "We hardly ever say vexed."

"What do you say?"

"Oh, I don't know; we say mad and angry and provoked."

"But then I really mean vexed," returned Mary after a moment's thought. "I don't mean anything else," and Molly had nothing more to say.

It was after they had finished the lobster, the egg sandwiches, the buttered rolls and gingersnaps and were delicately eating some wild strawberries the children had gathered, that Molly made a sudden resolution to plunge Mary into a confession.

"If you lent some one a diamond pin and she were to lose it would you be very—very vexed, Aunt Ada?" she asked, after a hasty glance at Mary.

"If I possessed a diamond pin I might be, but as I haven't such a thing I couldn't be vexed," her aunt said.

Mary jumped to her feet, startled out of her usual reserve.

"But, Aunt Ada, you did have one!"

"When, please? You must nave dreamed it, Mary, dear."

"But you did have. Oh, do you mean you know it is lost?"

It was Miss Ada's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, child?" she said knitting her brows. "I never had a diamond pin to my knowledge. I always liked diamond rings, and I have two or three of those, but a pin I never possessed. What are you talking about?"

Mary laced and unlaced her fingers nervously. "I mean the one you lent me to wear the night we dressed up for the party at Green Island. Was it some other person's, then? Oh, Aunt Ada, had some one lent it to you, for if they did"—she faltered, "I lost it coming home." She sank down at Miss Ada's feet on the mossy ground and buried her face in her aunt's lap.

Miss Ada put a kind hand on her head. "And all this time you have been distressing yourself about it, you poor little kitten? I ought to have told you, but you were so pleased in thinking it was real I thought I would let it go, and I have not thought of it since. Why, dear, it was of no value at all, a mere trumpery little rhinestone that cost only a couple of dollars."

Mary lifted her tearful eyes. "Oh, I am so relieved," she said. "I've searched and searched for it ever since."

"Yes, Aunt Ada, and she has been nearly sick over it," put in Molly. "She cried herself to sleep last night, and the reason she wouldn't go sailing with us the other day was because she wanted to hunt for the pin."

"You poor little darling, how can I make up to you for all this trouble?" said Miss Ada compassionately. "I am so sorry; it is all my fault for not telling you in the first place."

On the strength of this there seemed no better time to confess her doings of the afternoon when she had gone to Green Island in the Leona, and so Mary faltered out her tale, Molly once in a while coming in with excuses and comments so that in the end Miss Ada was not "vexed" at all but only said, "If it had been any one but Ellis, I might feel inclined to warn you against going out in a row-boat, but he is a good, careful little lad, and if you will call it quits, Mary, I will, for I am conscience-stricken my own self; but next time, dearie, ask me when you want to go on the water."

"Oh, I will, I will," said Mary fervently. "It was because I felt so dreadful at losing the brooch that I didn't tell this time."

"It is a perfect shame," said her Aunt Ada, cuddling her close. "I hope now you will never find the old pin. I never want to see it again, for it would remind me of how my dear little niece suffered."

"But I was bad. I deceived you." Mary's head went down again in her aunt's lap. "I was afraid to tell you," she murmured.

"Afraid of what, dear child? Not of your Aunt Ada?"

"I don't know, oh, I don't know why I was so scared. Miss Sharp is always so terribly severe when we are careless or try to get out of any thing we have done wrong."

"But I'm not Miss Sharp, honey. Just forget all about this, if you love me. Of course you weren't quite frank, but you were scared and it is as much my fault as yours; mine and Miss Sharp's," she added half to herself.

Yet they were destined to see the pin again, for that very afternoon, as they were coming home, whom should they meet but Polly and Grace. "Guess what we've found!" cried Grace.

"See, Miss Ada, we were looking for birds' nests between your cottage and ours, and we found this caught in the grass just near where a sparrow had built. Polly says she thinks it is yours, that it looks like one you lent to Mary to wear to the party." And she held out the little shining star in the palm of her hand.

Miss Ada took it and gave a whimsical look at Mary. "Yes, I believe it is mine," she said. She tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other as she stood thinking.

"Ellis Dixon came along just after we found it, and he seemed awfully pleased," Grace went on.

Miss Ada laughed softly. "Thank you very much, Grace, dear," she said. "It was good of you to bring it right to me." Then changing the subject she asked, "How is your grandmother to-day?"

"Not so very well," Grace replied. Then with sudden remembrance, "I must go right back, for she worries if I am not in time for supper." And she sped away.

Miss Ada stood still smiling and looking from one of her nieces to the other. She continued to toss the little star from one hand to the other. "I know what I am going to do with it," she said looking at Mary. "I'm going to give it to Luella for a wedding present."



CHAPTER VIII

Ellis and the Baby

That evening Polly was told the whole story and was properly contrite. She felt a little aggrieved that she had not been one of the party to go to Elton woods, but she realized that it was her own fault, and offered at once to "make up" with Molly and Mary. So all was serene again, and the three children sat side by side all evening before the open fire, listening to a fascinating story Uncle Dick read aloud to them, and at last the three fell asleep all in a heap, Molly's head in Polly's lap, and the other two resting against Miss Ada's knees. When they all stumbled upstairs to bed, they were not too sleepy, however, to kiss one another good-night, and indeed were so bent upon showing no partiality that they all tumbled into the same bed, which happened to be Mary's, where they went to sleep, hugging each other tight.

The brightness of the restored pin seemed to be reflected upon them all after this. Uncle Dick was so tremendously funny at breakfast that Polly fell from her chair with laughter, and Luella giggled so that she held a plate of griddle cakes at such an angle that the whole pile slid off on the floor; then every one laughed more than ever and Molly said that her jaws fairly ached and that she would have to spend the day with Cap'n Dave's old white horse, for he had such a solemn face it made you want to sigh all the time. Of course this started the children off again and they left the table in high spirits.

Yet before the day was over they had occasion to look serious without the society of old Bill horse, for about ten o'clock Ellis appeared, trouble puckering his pleasant face into worried lines. He had forgotten all about the finding of the pin in a more personal interest, for the cares of life had been suddenly thrust upon him. His brother Parker the day before had sailed away to the Grand Banks for sword-fishing. He had left his young wife and little baby in Ellis's charge. Now Leona had fallen ill, "and," said Ellis, "it's up to me to take care of the baby."

"Is there no one else?" asked Miss Ada, as Ellis told his doleful tale.

"Ora Hart is taking care of Leona," Ellis answered; "but she has as much as she can do to look after her own children. She's Leona's cousin and she's awful good to come in at all. You see most everybody's got folks of their own to see to, and they can't spare much time, although they're all willin' enough to do what they can. I ain't much used to babies myself. I got Nellie Brown to look after her while I come up here. I knew you'd wonder why I didn't bring them clams I promised, and so I come to tell you why. I hope it won't put you out, Miss Ada."

"We can have something else just as well," she told him. "We are rather used to not getting just what we plan for," she went on, smiling, for be it known one could never tell, at the Point, just how an order might turn out. If one expected lamb chops like as not "Hen Roberts hadn't fetched over no lamb," or if mackerel had been ordered like as not the fish delivered would be cod, and the excuse would be that some one came along and carried off the entire supply of mackerel before the last orders were filled; therefore it was no new experience for Miss Ada to have to alter her bill of fare.

"I'm awful sorry about havin' to stay home just now," said Ellis disconsolately, "for this is when I expected to get in some time with the boat. I promised two or three parties to take 'em out, and now I'll have to get some one else to take my place, but I'll have to let 'em go shares. Park's let me have the Leona whilst he's away, but, if I could run her myself, I could make twice as much."

The three little girls listened attentively, and presently Polly twitched her Aunt Ada's sleeve. "Couldn't we take care of the baby?" she whispered.

Miss Ada looked down at her with a smile, but shook her head.

"Oh, why not?" said Polly in ft louder whisper. "I'd love to."

"So would I," came from Molly on the other side.

Miss Ada beholding the eager faces said: "Wait a moment, Ellis. I want to talk over something with these girls of mine." She led the way indoors, leaving Ellis on the porch. "Now, lassies," she said when they were all in the living-room, "what is it you want to do?"

"We want to take care of Ellis's baby," chanted the two, and Mary coming in as a third repeated the words.

"But do you realize what it would mean? You would have to give up much of your playtime, and could not go off sailing or rowing or picnicking."

"We could go picnicking," insisted Polly, "because we could take the baby with us."

"Very well, we will leave out the picnic. I might get Luella to stay afternoons sometimes, but you know she goes home to help her mother, for Mrs. Barnes has more laundry work than she can do, and Luella has to help her when she can; those were the only terms upon which she would consent to come to me; so you see we can't count on Luella."

"It may not be for very long," said Polly, hopefully. "Leona may soon get well."

"If it is typhoid, as they suspect, she is likely to be ill a long time."

"Well, I don't care; I'll give up my afternoons," decided Polly.

"And I'll give up my mornings," said Molly, not to be outdone. "And then the baby does sleep some, so we can play while she is asleep. Oh, Polly, we could have lovely times playing with something alive like that."

"Wouldn't it be jolly to have a real live baby for a doll," put in Mary.

"I see you are not to be put off," said Miss Ada, laughing, "so I will allow you to undertake the charge for a week, and at the end of that time if I think it is too much for you, I shall have to insist that you give it up."

"Oh, we'll never think it is too much," declared Polly with conviction, and the others echoed her.

So they all trooped out to Ellis. "We have the loveliest plan," Molly began eagerly.

"You can have all your time," put in Polly.

"I am so very pleased to be able to do something for you when you were so kind to me," said Mary earnestly.

Ellis looked bewildered.

"The girls propose to take care of your brother's little baby for a week, Ellis," Miss Ada explained.

"Oh, I can't let 'em do that," said Ellis bashfully.

"Oh, but we are just wild to," Polly assured him.

"Yes, we truly are," Molly insisted. "We adore babies. When can you bring her over, Ellis? Shall we keep her day and night, Aunt Ada, and may she sleep with me?"

"Oh, Ora's sister says she can take her at night," Ellis hastened to say. "She can't leave home very well, and she is too busy during the day to look out for her, for she has a lot of children, but none of them are little small babies; the youngest is three, and she says she doesn't mind having the baby at night."

"Then we'll arrange for the day only," said Miss Ada with decision; "that is when she would require your time, Ellis, and we are glad to help you out so you can take out the boat when you have the opportunity."

"I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Ellis awkwardly. Like most of the "Pointers" he was unused to showing his gratitude. To his mind any display of appreciation was poor-spirited. He was too proud to let any one see that he felt under obligations and to say even as much as he did was an effort. Nevertheless, he trotted off feeling a great weight removed, and in half an hour was back again with the little four-months-old baby.

For that day, at least, the small Miss Myrtle Dixon was overwhelmed with attentions. Polly sat by when she slept, ready to pounce upon her and take her up at the slightest movement. Molly was on hand to urge a bottle of milk upon her if she so much as whimpered. Mary dangled be-ribboned trinkets before her the minute she opened her eyes, and they were all in danger of hurting her with overkindness.

The second day she was less of a novelty, though sufficiently entertaining for each of her three nurses to clamor for her.

"She is too dear for anything," said Molly ecstatically. "See her laugh, Mary, and flutter her little hands. She is to be my baby this morning. Let's go around the side of the house, where it is shady, and play. You can have the place under the porch for your house, Polly, and Mary can have the wood-shed. I'll take the cellar."

"Oh, but that will be too cold and damp for the baby," said Mary. "You take the wood-shed and I'll take the cellar," she added generously.

Molly agreed and presently baby was established in a crib made of the clothes-basket where she lay contentedly sucking her thumb. Mary, hugely enjoying herself, kept house in the cellar. She sat at the door in a rocking-chair which she rocked back and forth with a blissful expression on her face. If there was any American comfort which Mary did appreciate it was a rocking-chair. She had never seen one till she came to the United States, neither had she ever before made the acquaintance of chewing-gum. This was a luxury seldom allowed the little girls. "It is a disgusting habit," Miss Ada declared, "and I don't want you children to acquire it. Your mother, Mary, would be shocked if she saw you use it." But once in a while Uncle Dick slyly furnished each with a package and Miss Ada allowed them to have it, though protesting all the time to her brother. This special morning Uncle Dick had hidden a package under each of their breakfast plates, and it is needless to say that three pairs of jaws were working vigorously as they played house.

"I'm agoing to ask Aunt Ada if we may go barefoot," announced Molly; "it is plenty warm enough to-day."

Mary jumped up, tipping over her rocking-chair as she did so. "Oh, does she allow you to do that?" she cried. "I've always secretly longed to, but Miss Sharp is perfectly horrified when we ask her."

The other two looked at each other with a little smile, for it was not such a great while before this that Mary herself had been horrified at the suggestion.

"Aunt Ada doesn't care, if it is warm enough," Molly informed her. "I always go barefoot up here, if I feel like it and it isn't too cold. I'll go ask her now. Watch the baby for me, girls."

They promised to be faithful nurses while Molly went on her errand. She was gone some time and when she returned she was carefully bearing a plate of fresh doughnuts. "Which would you rather have, Polly," she cried, "doughnuts or chewing-gum? you can't have both, Aunt Ada says."

"Doughnuts," decided Polly without hesitation taking the chewing-gum from her mouth and slapping it securely against a stone in the foundation of the porch. "Don't they look good? So brown and sugary. I do think Luella makes the best doughnuts," and she helped herself to a specially fat, appetizing one.

"Which do you choose, Mary?" asked Molly.

Mary continued her rocking and chewing. "I'll keep the gum, thank you."

Molly laughed. "That is what Aunt Ada said you would do. And girls, we may take off our shoes and stockings. How's the baby, Polly?"

"Sound asleep."

"Good! Then I reckon we can leave her for a while, I do want to get my bare toes on the grass, don't you? Come on, Polly, and let's hunt for snakes."

"Snakes!" Mary jumped to her feet in horror. "Are there snakes here? Fancy!" She gathered her skirts about her and looked ready to fly.

"Why, yes. Do you mind them?" returned Molly calmly. "Polly and I love the little green grass snakes; they are perfectly harmless and are so pretty."

"Pretty? I could never imagine anything pretty about a snake," replied Mary, recoiling.

"My word! Molly, just fancy your talking so of a horrid snake."

Molly laughed at her horror. "They aren't poisonous, Mary."

"But the very idea of them is so loathsome."

"It isn't unless you make it so," put in Polly. "I like all kinds of little creatures so long as they don't bite or sting, and some of those, like bees, for example, I like, though I don't want them to get too near me. Of course when it comes to rattlesnakes or copperheads, or such, I am afraid of them, but these little grass snakes are different."

But Mary could not be persuaded to give up her prejudices and would none of the snakes, so they decided to gather buttercups, and wandered off among the soft grasses on the hilltop. But it was only when they saw Luella wildly waving the dish-cloth to attract their attention that they remembered the baby. Then they started toward the cottage post-haste, arriving there to find Miss Ada walking the floor with the baby and trying to still its cries.

"What is the matter with her?" cried Molly rushing in. "We thought she was sound asleep."

"Babies don't sleep forever," remarked Luella sarcastically. "Here, Miss Ada, I'm used to 'em. Let me see if there's a pin stickin' her anywhere; there's no knowin' what foolin' with her clothes these children have been doin'."

The children dared not protest against this charge while Miss Ada said: "Oh, I have looked and she seems all right," but she relinquished the baby into Luella's capable hands.

That young woman turned the screaming infant over, felt for an offending pin, turned her back again, and finally laid her across her knees and began to pat her on the back. "I guess she's got colic," she decided. "Molly, you just step up to Mis' Chris Fisher's and see if she's got a handful of catnip. She mostly does keep it, seein' she always has got a baby on hand. There, there, there," she tried to soothe the child on her knees. "Miss Ada, you'll either have to take her or see to them pies in the oven; I can't do both."

"Oh, I'll see to the pies," responded Miss Ada escaping to the kitchen.

Molly was already on her way to Mrs. Chris Fisher's. Polly vainly tried to attract the baby's attention by every means within her power. Mary stood by suggesting alternately mustard poultices and ginger tea, which suggestions Luella contemptuously put aside.

"I don't see what's the matter with her unless it is colic," she remarked. "She may be subject to it; I ain't heard say. I'll ask Ora next time I go out. When was she fed last?"

"Why, I don't know." The two little girls looked at each other. "Did you give her the bottle, Mary?" asked Polly.

"No," was the reply.

"Maybe Molly did. I reckon it was Molly; she was playing she was mother this morning, you know." Luella said nothing but continued the rocking movement of her knees till Molly came in, breathless, with the bunch of dried catnip.

"I suppose she's been fed regular," said Luella addressing Molly, "and you've took care to give her the milk warm."

"Oh, dear!" Molly stood still. "I forgot she had to be fed oftener than we are, and oh, Luella, I am afraid the last milk she took wasn't real warm."

"Then no wonder she's yellin' like mad," said Luella disgustedly. "You're a nice set to take care of a young un. Here, some of you hold her whilst I get her milk and give it to her right. If she ain't got colic from cold milk she's starvin'."

Molly meekly took charge of the screaming child who did not cease its crying till Luella, returning with the bottle of milk, thrust the rubber nipple into its mouth; then suddenly all was quiet. "Just what I thought; half starved," said Luella. "It looks as if I'd got to see to the youngster, if she stays here. Miss Ada's not much better than the rest of you. What does she know about babies? I guess Ellis can beat the best of you, after all, when it comes to 'tendin' babies."

The little girls felt properly abashed. Only the second day of the baby's stay and she had gone hungry for an hour, while the day before she had been overfed. It did not look as if their benevolent plan worked very well, and indeed, by the end of the week, Miss Ada decided that Miss Myrtle must return to her own. This was made easier by her grandmother's arrival upon the scene, and there were helpers enough to relieve Ellis for at least half the day. However the interest in Parker Dixon's family did not end at once.



CHAPTER IX

New Burdens for Ellis

The three cousins were having a tea on the rocks with their friend Grace Wharton. Luella had baked them some tiny biscuits and some wee ginger-snaps; they had made the fudge themselves, and as for the tea, the amount Miss Ada allowed them would not affect the nerves of any one of the four. There was plenty of hot water in the little brass tea-kettle, and an unlimited supply of milk and sugar. A big flat rock served as a table, and smaller ones gave them excellent seats.

They had just finished eating the last of the cakes and were nibbling the fudge when Polly, perched highest on the rocks, exclaimed: "There's Granville talking to Luella! I wonder what he is doing up here this time of day. They look real excited. There, Luella is going into the house. Now Aunt Ada has come out with her and they are all talking together. I believe I'll go up and see what it is all about. Don't eat up all the fudge."

"Hurry back then," Molly called after her. "Let's hide it, girls, and pretend when she comes back that we've eaten it all up."

"I'll hide it," said Grace. She ran down a little way below them and poked the remaining pieces of fudge into a crevice in the rock, and then returned to await Polly's return, who in a few minutes came running back. "Oh," she said, "I have something to tell you. Our poor little baby hasn't any father. He has been drowned."

"Oh, how dreadful!" Three pairs of startled eyes showed how this news affected the little tea-drinkers.

"Do tell us about it," said Molly setting down the cup from which she was draining the last sugary drop.

"I didn't hear all about it," Polly told them, "but I know he tried to save one of his shipmates and couldn't, and they were both drowned. Luella is going down to stay with Ora's children this afternoon. They haven't told Leona yet, and poor Ellis is perfectly distracted, Granville says. Isn't it sad, when Leona has been so ill and now this dreadful thing has happened?"

"I feel so very sorry for Ellis," remarked Mary.

"So do I," said Polly, "for the baby isn't big enough to know, and maybe Leona can get another husband, but Ellis can't get another brother."

They all agreed that this was a plain fact and sat quite solemnly looking off at the blue sea which had so cruelly swallowed up Parker.

At last Polly gave a long sigh, and she broke the silence by exclaiming, "There, you mean piggies, you ate up all the fudge!"

"You were gone so long," said Molly giving Grace a nudge.

"I don't care; you ought to have saved an extra piece for my bringing you such exciting news."

"But it was such sad news," said Grace turning away her head so Polly could not see her smile.

"If it is sad you needn't laugh about it," said Polly severely. "I believe you hid it!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"If you think so, look for it," said Molly. And Polly immediately set to work to search each one of the party, but could not find a crumb of fudge.

Then she seized Molly, playfully shaking her. "Tell me truly, did you eat it all?"

Amid her struggles to free herself, Molly confessed that they had not. "But, I can't find it," Polly persisted. "Do you know where it is, Molly?"

"No."

"Oh, Molly!" This from Grace.

"I don't exactly know. You hid it," said Molly.

"Then Grace Wharton, tell me." Polly loosed her hold upon Molly, and turned to Grace.

"No, the first that finds it can divide it and can have an extra piece."

In vain the three searched up and down the cliff. "Grace said she hid it between two rocks," announced Molly at last.

"Then she's just got to find it," said Polly. "Grace! Grace!" she called. And Grace responded by appearing on the rocks above them.

"You'll have to show us where you hid it."

On Grace's face was an expression of concern as she came swiftly clambering down to them. "Why, girls," she cried as she reached the spot where they stood, "I'm awfully afraid that—— Oh, dear, why didn't I remember about the tide; I'm afraid they're spoiled." She ran to a rock a little lower down.

"Look out or you'll get splashed," warned Molly. "There's a big wave coming in."

Grace sprang back to avoid the swash of water which poured over the rock at her feet; then she exclaimed ruefully: "If I wasn't sure before, I am now! The fudge is just under that rock, between those two small ones."

"Then it's simply all salty, if it isn't gone entirely," declared Molly. True enough when they examined the spot, during a lull in the inpour of waves, they discovered only a couple of water-soaked bits of fudge, fast melting away.

"Our joke didn't turn out very well," said Molly turning to Polly.

"Oh, never mind," returned Polly cheerfully, "it would all be eaten up and forgotten anyhow if I had not gone up to the house, so what's the difference?"

"I'll make some very soon," Grace assured her. "I'll do it to-night."

"Oh, no, don't mind," said Polly. "We've had enough for to-day. See, there is Aunt Ada coming down to us. She will tell us more about the Dixons."

Miss Ada came with a scheme to unfold. "I'm going over to Green Island," she told them, "and if I am not back in time for supper you children hunt around and get something for yourselves. Luella has gone to stay with Ora's family so Ora can be with Leona. She will need all the comfort she can get. We must try to help the poor girl, for her illness and all this will take everything they may have saved. Ellis is pitifully sad, but he says he means to support the family. Poor little chap, as if he could! I am going to try to arrange a bazaar or cake sale or something to help them; you children may help if you like."

"Oh, may we? How lovely!" cried Molly.

"I've helped at fairs," said Grace.

"And once I helped my aunt at a tea she gave the village children," said Mary.

"I'll do everything I can, though I never saw a fair or a bazaar," said Polly. "Tell us more about it, Aunt Ada."

"Tell her all you know, girls," said Aunt Ada. "I must go now. You will not be afraid to stay alone till I get back, will you?"

Her nieces assured her that they would not, and she left them in quite a state of excitement, for, sad as the occasion was, they could not help anticipating the pleasure of the bazaar. "We will have such a lovely time getting ready for the sale," said Molly. "We have had them here before, and they are lots of fun. I know what I am going to do. I'm going to the wood-pile and strip off a whole lot of birch bark to make things of."

"What kind of things?" asked Mary.

"Oh, all sorts of things; napkin rings and picture frames and boxes."

"Oh!" Mary was interested. She had never seen such things except those that the Indian peddlers brought around to the cottages, and never did one appear over the brow of the hill, bowed under the burden of his baskets, that she did not run for her purse, and by now had quite an array of gifts for her English friends. To add to these a supply of birch-bark souvenirs which she could make herself was a prospect truly delightful. "It is very convenient that a quarter is about the same as a shilling," she remarked, "but I can never remember that a penny is two cents; it seems as if an American penny should be the same as an English one."

"I should think you would be glad it isn't," said Polly, "for when you are counting at the rate of our pennies you have twice as many as you would have English ones."

"Well, I don't know," said Mary thoughtfully. "I had a whole pound when I reached here, and Uncle Dick had it changed into American money. I thought I had such a number of pennies and I found they were only cents, but then one can buy a great many things here for a cent that one would have to pay a penny for at home, especially sweets."

That evening she sat fingering her little hoard while Molly was busy preparing her birch bark. "I think I can do very nicely," announced Mary. "I shall have a dollar to spend at the bazaar. Oh, is that the way you do the napkin rings, Molly? Could I do some, do you think?"

"Of course you could," said Molly, encouragingly.

"I know what I am going to do," said Polly, jumping up; "I'm going to get some tiny pine trees to put into little birch-bark boxes; they will look so pretty. Come on, Molly, it isn't dark yet."

"Oh, but we mustn't get them now," replied Molly. "We must wait till the very last thing, so they will look as fresh as possible."

Polly stopped short. In her impetuous way she had forgotten this important point. "Oh, I never thought of that," she said. "Well, anyhow, we can make the boxes."

"I don't believe we can do those either," returned Molly, further dampening Polly's ardor. "We ought to have some small wooden boxes to tack or glue the bark on. We can try some little baskets with handles, and we can fill those with fudge or some kind of home-made candy."

"Oh, very well, we'll begin on those, then." And Polly sat down contentedly with the others to try her ingenuity. They became so absorbed in their work that they forgot all about supper, the more so that their afternoon tea had taken the edge from their appetites, and it was not till the maid from the Whartons came over for Grace, saying that her grandmother was wondering how much longer they must save her supper for her that they realized how late it was. Then Grace having scurried home, the three cousins searched about to see what was in the larder for themselves. They found plenty of bread and butter, ginger-snaps and stewed gooseberries, but not much else, so they sat down contentedly to this fare while the sunset turned from rose to purple and then to gray. It was late enough in the season for the evenings to become chilly after sundown, and Polly proposed that they should have an open fire. "We can sit around and tell stories," she said, "and we can go on with our work at the same time, so the time will pass very quickly till Aunt Ada comes back."

"I'll love that," declared Molly. "I think telling stories is the very nicest way of passing away the time."

"So do I," said Mary, "when I don't have to tell the stories. I never know anything interesting."

"Oh, but you do," protested Polly. "We like to hear about England, of how you have to take off your shoes and put on slippers in the schoolroom, of how you can't walk out without your governess or some one older and all about not having sweet potatoes nor corn, and of how tomatoes are grown under glass and all those ways that are so different from ours."

"But that isn't a real tale," objected Mary.

"Never mind, we like to hear it," said Molly. "What are you doing, Polly?"

"I am building the fire; there must be a whole lot of light stuff to set it going."

"That looks like a good deal," said Molly doubtfully regarding the pile of bark, shaving and light wood that Polly was stowing in the fireplace.

"It will kindle all the quicker," returned Polly in a satisfied voice, touching the kindling with a lighted match. In an instant not only was the light stuff all ablaze, but the flames, leaping out, caught the white apron which Polly had put on, half in sport, when they were getting their supper. It was one of her Aunt Ada's and reached to Polly's ankles, so that she seemed enveloped in flames. She shrieked, but stood still. Quick as a flash Mary caught up the pitcher of water standing on the table and dashed it over her cousin, then she grabbed her and threw her on the floor, snatching up the rug from the floor before doing so, thus protecting herself, and at the same time providing a means of putting out the fire which she did by rolling Polly in the rug.

Molly was perfectly helpless with fright and all she could do was to wring her hands and cry, "Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, Polly, Polly!"

Just as the fire was all crushed out, the door opened and in walked their Uncle Dick. Molly rushed to him. Throwing herself in his arms, she cried: "Oh, Polly is burning up! Save her! Save her!"

"What is all this?" said Dick springing forward.

Mary arose from where she was kneeling over Polly. "I think it is all out now," she said.

Polly unwound herself from her mummy-like case. "Are you badly hurt?" her uncle asked anxiously.

"No," she said with a sobbing breath; "only my legs hurt me."

"How did it all happen?" said her uncle, picking her up and setting her in a chair.

"We were kindling the fire," explained Mary, "and Polly's apron caught."

"And Mary saved her life," sobbed Molly completely unnerved. "She threw water on her, and rolled her in the rug."

"That is what my governess said we should do in such cases," said Mary quietly, though her face was twitching. "I never loved Miss Sharp before," she added with a little laugh.

"You certainly did save Polly's life," said her uncle as he examined Polly's clothing. "Fortunately she has on a woolen frock and has been only slightly scorched about the legs. The fire evidently did not reach her bare flesh. You didn't breathe the flames, did you, Polly, for I see the fire did not go above your waist."

"I am sure I didn't breathe any flames," Polly assured him. "Mary was so quick. She saw at once that I had caught fire and she threw the water over me right away, but oh, Uncle Dick, I may not be burned badly, but it does hurt." And she buried her face on her uncle's shoulder to hide her tears.

"Poor little girl, I know it hurts," he said. "Get some salad oil, Molly, and some baking soda; then see if you can find an old handkerchief or two and some raw cotton. We must try to ease this wounded soldier. How did you children happen to be here alone?"

Mary explained, her uncle listening attentively. "I wish I had known it," he said; "I would not have stayed to supper with the boys. We came in on the Gawthrops' yacht about supper-time and they persuaded me to stay, but somehow I felt that I ought to get home soon after. You children must not be left alone again."

"I'll never try to kindle another fire," said Polly woefully. "Molly said I was putting on too much light stuff and it just leaped out like a tiger to bite me."

Molly had returned with the oil and other things by this time, and soon Polly was made as comfortable as her hurts would allow, but it was some days before she could run about, and if there was anything lacking in her affection for her English cousin before this, now it was that she could not bear her out of sight, for Mary, by her coolness and capable help, had proved herself a heroine to be loved and admired.

Although this scare was the important topic with the family for some time, the scheme for helping the distressed Dixon family went forward rapidly and the next week when Polly's burns gave her no more uneasiness, the bazaar was held. There was no prettier table the length of the room than that at which Miss Ada presided, assisted by her three little nieces. Their Uncle Dick had cleverly helped them with the decorations as well as with their birch bark boxes in which were planted the little pine trees. These were so much admired that not one was left after the sale, and Mary had to bespeak some to be made for her to carry home. Some little packages of fudge and home-made candies went off rapidly, and of Luella's famous doughnuts not one was left.

It was at the end of the sale when the biggest, finest cake was yet waiting a buyer that Polly had a whispered talk with her Uncle Dick and afterward stood in front of the cake table holding fast to her purse. The cake in all the deliciousness of nut-spotted icing and rich interior, was delivered to her when she paid over the amount asked for it. Taking the treasure in her hands she bore it over to where Mary was helping her aunt count up the money they had taken in. Polly set the cake on the table before Mary. "There," she said, "it is all yours."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Mary. "Who said so?"

"I say so. I bought it for you because you said it looked so perfectly delicious."

Mary was quite overcome by Polly's generosity, but she understood the motive, and accepted the cake graciously, promising to divide it with the family. It certainly was a delicious cake, and Polly really enjoyed her share of it, feeling that in this instance she could have her cake and eat it.

"Over a hundred dollars! I can scarcely believe it," said Miss Ada when all the receipts were in. But so it was, and so did little Ellis Dixon have his burdens lifted, for a hundred dollars will go a long way when fish can be had for the catching, and when one has his own potato patch.



CHAPTER X

Arabs

Of all the things which most amused the three little girls and their friend, Grace, they enjoyed dressing up at dusk, and, in their queer costumes, going around from cottage to cottage to call. Uncle Dick was very clever in painting their faces so that they appeared as birds with owl-like eyes and beaks or as cats, rabbits or some other animal. At other times they were Indians in war paint and feathers; again they were Egyptians or Chinese and dressed to suit the character.

"What shall we do this evening?" said Polly one day when the question of the evening's fun was being talked over. "We want to go to Mrs. Phillips's this time because she gives us such good cakes."

"It's pretty far," said Molly doubtfully. "It is almost to the village, and there are some rough boys down that way. I don't mind going to Mrs. Phillips's in the morning, but if we should happen to get caught there after the sun goes down I shouldn't like it."

"We needn't get caught late," Polly protested, "besides, it is so much more mysterious to go around when it is a little bit duskish. It isn't as if any one of us would be alone; there will be four and nobody around here would do anything to hurt us, anyhow."

"No, I don't suppose any one really would," Molly returned weakly, her objections over-ruled. And therefore when the cottages began to loom darkly against the evening sky, the four little girls sallied forth, draped in white sheets, and made their way over the hilltop to the road beyond. They had usually confined their visits to their acquaintances in the immediate neighborhood, so their aunt did not trouble herself to inquire where they were going that evening, otherwise she might have forbidden the walk they had in mind.

"Don't they look like four dear little Arabs?" said Miss Ada to her brother. "They make a perfect picture as they go over the hill in the evening light. How much they enjoy these little frolics." She turned from watching the white-sheeted four who soon disappeared down the road.

It was great fun, thought the girls, to call upon their various friends and pretend they were foreigners who did not understand the language of those whom they were visiting; yet they understood enough to accept refreshments offered them, and managed to say, "thank you" and "good-bye."

It was after they had been regaled upon cakes and lemonade at Mrs. Phillips's that the moment came which Molly had been dreading. The shadows had deepened and the stars were trying to come out, while a little light still lingered in the western sky. "We'd better not take the short cut," said Molly. "It is so rough that way, and it is muddy in places; we'll go around by the road." The lights were twinkling out from the fishermen's homes and from the vessels anchored in the cove. There were not many persons on the road, and the four little girls hastened their steps.

Presently a shout, then the bark of a dog arose from behind them, and in another minute they were surrounded by a crowd of jeering boys and barking dogs. "Yaw! Yaw! Yaw!" shouted the boys. "Sic 'em, Sailor! Sick 'em, Towser!" The dogs nipped at the retreating heels and the boys twitched the flowing robes of the four Arabs.

"Oh, let us alone! Let us alone!" shrieked Molly.

"Who be ye?" cried one of the boys peering into their faces.

"What ye doin' dressed up this here way?" said another. The paint upon their faces so disguised them that they were not recognized by any of the boys, if, indeed, any knew them.

"They ain't none o' our folks," said another boy, trying to jerk off Polly's head covering.

She turned on him fiercely. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," she cried. "How would you like any one to treat your sisters so?"

"How'd you like any one to treat your sisters so?" mimicked the boy in a piping voice. "I ain't got no sister, and if I had she wouldn't be traipsin' 'round the P'int in circus clothes."

Wrenching herself from the boy's grasp, Polly started to run, the other girls following. One boy thrust out his foot tripping Grace who fell sprawling in the dusty road. Her companions stopped in their flight to come to her rescue. "Oh, you bad, bad boys," cried Molly indignantly. "If I don't tell Cap'n Dave on you."

"We ain't feared o' Cap'n Dave," was the scoffing reply.

The girls picked up the weeping Grace. "Are you hurt?" they whispered.

"I don't know," whimpered Grace. "Oh, how can we get home? I want to go home."

Her weeping caused cessation in hostilities for a moment, but as soon as the four figures started forward they were again surrounded and the teasing recommenced.

But just as the girls were in despair of ever escaping from their tormentors, another boy came up. "What's up?" he asked.

"Oh, nawthin'," replied one of the boys laughing. "We cal'late to keep furriners away from the P'int, and these here ain't dressed like Amur'cans."

"Who are they?" The boy bent over to peer into Molly's face. She gave a joyful cry. "Oh, Ellis, Ellis, save us from them. They won't let us go home."

The newcomer turned. "Say, you fellows," he said. "You'd ought to be ashamed. These here is friends of mine. If any of you fellows touches one of 'em, I'll pitch into him like sin. Don't you know who they are? They're the little gals up to the Reid cottage, that's been so good to us, nursing the baby and gettin' up that fair and all that."

The boys slunk away. "We didn't know it was them," the largest one said. "Why didn't they say so? We thought it was that crowd of sassy youngsters over by Back Landing; they're always so fresh. One of 'em sneaked off with Dan's boat yesterday and we wanted to pay 'em back."

"I'm awful sorry we scared you," said another boy, coming up. "Was you hurt, sissy, when you fell down?"

"Oh, no, not so very much," replied Grace, ceasing her sobbing.

"We'll see you home safe," said one of the boys. "Come on, fellers. Lem, go get a lantern; we're nearest your house."

Lem ran obediently and in a few minutes returned with the big lantern in his hand. He stalked on ahead, the others trooping after, the dogs at the heels of their masters. All the way they escorted the little girls, Ellis not ceasing to voice his indignation, nor the boys to explain and excuse themselves, and it is needless to say that it was a relief to all concerned when the wandering Arabs were safe within their own dwellings.

In spite of the outcome of their adventure, the girls did not care to repeat it and never again wanted to go beyond the cottages in their own immediate vicinity. Yet, unpleasant as the experience was, it resulted in more than one effort on the part of the gang of boys to make up for their ill behavior. The very next morning after the affair, Polly, who was the first down-stairs, saw a tall boy coming toward the cottage and went out on the porch to meet him.

"You one of the little gals that was down the road last night?" he asked as he came up. "One of them that was dressed up?"

Polly nodded. "Yes, I was there."

"Us boys didn't know you lived here. We wouldn't have hurt a hair of your head if we had knowed who you was." Then he added somewhat shamefacedly, "I fetched ye a salmon. Maybe ye ain't never see a salmon jest out of the water. They're pretty-colored, ain't they?" And he held up to view the glistening pink fish.

"Oh, how beautiful it is. It seems too pretty to catch, doesn't it?" said Polly bending over to examine the fish the boy laid on the grass.

He stared at her, not quite comprehending how any one could think any fish too pretty to be caught. "They're awful good eatin'," he went on to say, "but they don't often come in here."

"How did you happen to get this one?" asked Polly.

"It was in my father's pound this morning, and I begged him for it. Shall I take it into the kitchen for you?" he added hastily.

"Oh, do you mean to give it to us? How very good you are," said Polly appreciatively.

The boy gave a short laugh. "I wasn't very good last night, was I?" he said, and Polly understood that this was a peace-offering.

That afternoon two younger lads were seen hanging around the house bearing a mysterious something done up in a newspaper. "What in conscience do them boys want?" said Luella, looking out of the kitchen window. "It's Billy Laws and Horeb Potter. What are they peekin' around here for I want to know." One of the boys now advanced toward the house, but at the appearance of Miss Ada on the porch, he took to his heels, and lurked in the distance where his companion was uneasily waiting.

Luella went out to Miss Ada. "Them boys has got some errant here," she said, "but they won't come in whilst they see you on the piazza." Miss Ada reentered the house. The three little girls peeped from the windows, looking out from behind the blinds. In a few minutes the boys came stealthily forth, tiptoed toward the house, halted fearfully, took a few steps back, came on more quickly. He who bore the newspaper package was suddenly pushed violently forward by the other and came on with a trot, bolted into the kitchen, laid the package on the table before Luella and exclaimed hastily: "It's for the little gals!" then he took to his heels, not stopping till he was clear out of sight.

Luella came laughing into the living-room. "Here's another present," she announced. "You open it, Miss Ada."

"What can it be?" exclaimed the children, gathering around their aunt who untied the string of the damp parcel, unwrapped it and disclosed to view a huge lobster, fiery red, and still warm from recent boiling.

"Isn't he a monster?" exclaimed Miss Ada. "I don't believe I ever saw a larger. We'll have him for supper, Luella. I hope you took half the salmon to Mrs. Wharton, for we couldn't eat that and this, too. Children, you will have to invite Grace over to have her share. I suppose some of it is due to her anyhow."

"She ought to have it all," said Polly, "for she was the only one who was hurt."

"I'm afraid she'd suffer more still if she attempted to devour this entire lobster," laughed Miss Ada. "We'd better spare her little turn, Polly, and help her eat this."

It was after such of the lobster as they could eat had been disposed of, and the children with no desire for long wanderings, were safely gathered around the fire, that a tap was heard at the door. Uncle Dick arose to open it and received into his hands a large cold jar, while a small lad piped out: "Jerry sent this to the little gals. They'll keep." And then the figure vanished into the darkness.

"I don't know who Jerry is, nor what 'this' is," said Uncle Dick, bearing in the glass jar and setting it on the table. "It's for the 'little gals' I was told. Great Caesar! It's clams, carefully shelled. See here, Ada, we won't have to buy any more provender this season at this rate. When we get short of provisions we can send out our Arabs on the road, for behold the result of their evening's migrations."

Every one laughed at this latest gift, and it was set away for the next day's use. But the end was not yet. On the door sill the next morning was discovered a splint basket. To the handle was tied a scrap of paper on which was awkwardly written: "To the little gals." Molly was the finder of this. "Hurry down all of you!" she called to the others. "There is a present."

"Another one?" said Polly over the baluster. "What is it?"

"I haven't looked," was the reply.

The other children, joined by Miss Ada, came down as soon as possible, their curiosity excited. Molly lifted the wet seaweed covering the contents of the basket and they saw a pile of shining little mackerel.

"Tinkers!" cried Miss Ada. "What a nice lot of them! Oh, and there are some butter-fish, too. They are all cleaned beautifully, and we must have some for breakfast; it will take only a few minutes to cook them. Yon children can run over to Grace with her share."

This the little girls were glad to do, but returned with their platter full explaining that smaller lot had been left at the Whartons'.

But two more conscience offerings were received after this. Four thick braids of sweet grass were found hanging on the door-knob, and, during the day a man delivered a mysterious box slatted across one end. This was found to contain a beautiful kitten of the variety called "Coon." The children were wild over this last gift, the only drawback to their delight being the difficulty of deciding which one should take it home. Their Aunt Ada came to the rescue by telling them not to bother about it till the time came and then to let circumstances settle it. Her own little cat, Cosey, was not inclined to favor the intruder at first, but in a few days she began to mother it and they soon became good friends.

"Are you glad that the boys scared us that night?" asked Polly one day not long after the "day of gifts" as the children called it.

Molly weighed the subject. "When I think of the dear kitten and the salmon and the tinkers."

"And the lobster."

"Yes, and the sweet grass, then I am, but when I think of how dreadfully frightened we were, I'm not."

"I don't intend to remember the scare," said Polly philosophically.

"Neither do I," added Mary. "I'd be an Arab again for the sake of finding out how really good-hearted those boys are," which showed that Mary had a good heart, too.



CHAPTER XI

The Roseberry Family

The green grass of June had turned to russet; the bay berry bushes began to look dingy, and the waxy cranberries in the bog were turning to a delicate pink. It had been a dry season and the children could safely traverse the bog from end to end without danger of getting their feet wet. Ellis was their pilot to this fascinating spot, and the day of their introduction to it was one long to be remembered.

It was one morning when Ellis came around to the back door to deliver clams that they first heard of the bog. He added to the weekly order a little bag of pinky-white cranberries. "I thought maybe you'd like 'em," he said. "Miss Alice Harvey says they're much better when they're not quite ripe. Ora tried some and they were fine, but they took a lot of sugar."

"Thank you for remembering us," said Miss Ada as she received the offering. "How much, Ellis?"

"Nawthin'. They're easy to pick and there's plenty of 'em," he made reply.

Miss Ada accepted the gift in the spirit in which it was intended. "I'm sure we shall enjoy them," she declared. "Where is the bog, Ellis? Is it very wet there?"

"'Tain't wet at all this year. This has been such a dry season. It's down back of Cap'n Orrin's barn."

"Oh, is that the place?" Molly was peeping over her aunt's shoulder. "I've always longed to go there but I was afraid it was all sloppy and marshy; some one said it was."

"Would you like me to go there with you?" said Ellis bashfully. "I know where the cranberries grow, and there's lots of other things down there, the kind you city people like to get, weeds, we call 'em."

"Oh, may we go?" Molly appealed to her aunt.

"Why yes, I have no objection. It is perfectly safe if it's not wet. I suppose you may encounter a garter snake or two, but you don't mind them, Molly."

"Wait for us, Ellis," said the little girl speeding away for her cousins with whom she returned in a moment. All three were breathlessly eager to start on the voyage of discovery, for with Ellis as leader, into what regions of the unknown might they not penetrate.

Over the hill they went, leaving Cap'n Orrin's mild-eyed cows gazing after them ruminatively as they crept under the fence which separated the pasture from the wild bottom land at the foot of the hill. On the other side arose the ridge along which were ranged cottages looking both coveward and seaward. A winding path led past runty little apple trees and huge boulders, and finally was lost in the tangle of growth overspreading the marsh.

"It is dry enough now," said Mary exultantly, setting her foot on a tuft of dry grass. "Where are the cranberries, Ellis? I want to see those first."

"You are standing right over some," he said smiling.

Mary looked down, but only a mass of weeds and grass greeted her eyes. "I don't see them," she declared.

Ellis laughed, bent over and parted the grass to disclose the delicate wreaths of green, and the pretty smooth cranberries, tucked away in the dry grass.

"As if they were afraid of being picked," remarked Mary. "You will not escape me that way." And down on her knees she went in search of the pink fruit.

Molly meanwhile had gone further afield, and was gathering flowers strange to her, and grasses as lovely as the blossoms. Earlier in the season, she had delighted in the rosy plumes of the hard-hack, the sweet pinky-white clover, the wild partridge peas, but here were new acquaintances which were not to be found outside the marsh, and upon them she pounced eagerly.

It was Polly, however, who discovered the Roseberry family, for Polly, who had spent her life far from cities, had developed her imagination, and could fashion from unpromising material the most fascinating things, and though she, too, picked her share of cranberries, she also gathered a lot of roseberries which she declared were the biggest she had ever seen. These she bore away in triumph, while Molly carried her bouquet with a satisfied air and Mary was quite content with having the largest showing of cranberries. So they returned, well pleased, to the cottage.

"We had the splendidest morning," said Molly, setting her flowers in a large vase. "I never knew that bogs could be so perfectly fine. What are you doing, Polly?"

Polly was seated on the floor industriously picking off her roseberries from the twigs. "Wait and you will see," was her answer. "Do get me some pins, Molly, a whole lot. Aunt Ada will give you some."

Molly's curiosity being aroused, she rushed off to her aunt, returning with a paper of pins. She squatted down on the floor by Polly's side. Mary, meanwhile, had gone to the kitchen to superintend Luella's cooking of the cranberries. Polly stuck a pin in one side of the biggest, fattest roseberry, then another in the other side. "This is Mr. Roseberry," she said, "and these are his two arms. Now his head goes on, and then his legs. I use the pins, you see, because you can bend them so as to make the people sit down." She held up the completed mannikin. "Now I must pick out some berries for Mrs. Roseberry, and then I'll make the children."

"Polly, you are so ridiculous," said Molly in a tone of admiration, "but do you know, they are awfully funny with their little round heads and bodies." Polly worked away industriously till she had completed her entire family. "Now what?" said Molly. "What in the world is that?"

"It is a lamp," returned Polly, deftly fitting a base to her red globe. "Now, if I had some pasteboard I could make some furniture, and we'd play with the Roseberry family this afternoon."

"Dinner is nearly ready now," said Molly, "but it will be fun to play with them this afternoon. We could have two or three families. What can I name mine?" She watched Polly interestedly as she put the last touch to a vase in which she stuck a bit of green.

"You might call them Pod," said Polly. "These are really the seed pods of the wild roses, you know. They are like little apples, aren't they?"

"Oh, I'll call them Appleby," said Molly.

"We know some people named that. Save that tiny one for the baby, Polly."

"The cranberries are perfectly delicious," said Mary, coming in from the kitchen, "but they have to cool before we can eat them. Luella says they take so much sugar that they will keep perfectly for me to take some home. Oh, what curious little figures."

"This is the Roseberry family," Polly told her, indicating the dolls on the right, "and these," she pointed to those on her left, "these are the Applebys."

"You must have some, too, Mary," said Molly. "What shall you call yours?"

Mary had picked up one of the little figures. "Why, they are made of hips, aren't they?"

"What are hips?" asked Molly.

"That is what we call the berries of the briar-rose, and in England the hawthorn berries are haws."

"Hips and haws," sang Molly. "Don't they go nicely together? Shall you call your people Mr. and Mrs. Hips?"

"Why, yes, I can. I think that would be a very good name. Are we going to play with them?"

"After dinner we are, if Polly can find anything to make furniture of."

Polly's ingenuity did not fail her here, for, by the use of some match ends, birch bark and a needle and thread she contrived all sorts of things and then each girl hunted up a box for a house, so that these new playthings proved to be very fascinating.

But at last the every-day commonplaces grew too dull for Polly, and she suddenly exclaimed: "I'm tired of just visiting and talking about measles and nurses and mustard plasters! I'm going to take the Roseberry family down to the shore. They're going to have an adventure."

"Oh, Polly, what? Can ours go, too?" cried Molly. "I would like to have the Applebys meet an adventure, too."

"And I'd like Mr. and Mrs. Hips to have one," echoed Mary.

"Are they very wicked, black-hearted people?" asked Polly, darkly.

"Why—why——" Mary hesitated and looked to Molly for her cue.

"Do they have to be wicked to have an adventure?" asked Molly.

"If they join the Roseberries, they'll have to be, for the Roseberries are wreckers and smugglers." Polly spoke impressively, and at this flight of fancy Molly and Mary gazed at her admiringly. Yet they were not quite willing that their families should give up their morals to too great an extent.

"What do they have to do?" asked Mary, determined to find out the worst.

"Mine have a cave," said Polly, mysteriously. "It is on an island—I know what island I am going to have—and there they hide their treasures. They are counterfeiters, too," she added to their list of crimes, "and they have chests of counterfeit money—sand dollars."

Molly laughed and Polly looked at her reproachfully. "It is as good as any other counterfeit money," she remarked.

"Never mind the money. Go on, Polly." Molly was enjoying her cousin's inventions.

"Well, they go out in a boat on stormy nights and when a vessel is in distress, instead of helping, they don't do anything but just wait till the vessel is wrecked and then they help themselves, to what they can get. They have, oh, such a store of diamonds and rubies and precious stones in their cave, and they have their own vessel that flies a black flag."

"Then they're pirates," said Mary recoiling. "I don't want the Hips to be pirates."

"They don't have to be," Polly calmly assured her. "They can be as good as they want to, and can be on one of the vessels that gets wrecked."

"Then they'll all get drowned."

"No, they needn't; they can cling to a raft and go ashore on some desert island."

Having saved the lives as well as the reputations of the Hips family, although they would probably lose everything else, Mary was satisfied, but Molly was ready to compromise. A little spice of wickedness seemed necessary to make her Applebys interesting. "My family can be smugglers," she announced, "but I don't want them to be pirates and I don't want them wrecked either. Smugglers aren't so wicked as pirates; they only bring in things that you ought to pay duty on, Uncle Dick told me, and Mary's father told her that in England almost everything comes in free, and that the United States is as mean as can be about making people pay for what is brought into the country. A lady, Molly saw on the steamer when they came over, had an awful time about a shabby old sealskin coat she'd had for years, and just because she wore it ashore from the steamer, they made an awful fuss about it."

"Well, I don't understand about it, but if the United States said it was wrong, of course it must have been; they are always right," said Polly loyally. "I don't exactly know about smuggling," she confessed, "however, the Roseberries are going to be smugglers."

"Uncle Dick was telling us about smugglers the other night."

"Yes, I know, that is what made me think of it. He showed me the island where there used to be a smuggler's cave."

"I remember it; we saw it when we were out sailing one day."

"We must build a birch bark ship for the Hips family," said Polly, changing the subject. "Your Applebys can live on my island and if they don't want to associate with the Roseberries they can have a cave to themselves."

"Roseberry is such a nice pleasant name for wicked people," remarked Mary. "Why don't you call them something else?"

"Nobody ever does call them that," returned Polly readily. "The father is the leader of the gang, and he is Bold Ben. His three sons are One-eyed Peter, Crooked Tom, and Sly Sam. They call his wife Old Mag, and then there are two cousins, twins; they are Smiling Steve and Grinning Jim."

"Oh, Polly, how do you think of such names?" said Molly delightedly. "What does Old Mag do?"

"She pulls in things from the wreck and she cooks the meals. Then, when the men are all away smuggling, she sits in the cave and spends her time looking at the jewels and letting them drip through her fingers."

"Jewels can't drip," observed Mary in a matter-of-fact way.

"Well, they look as if they could," returned Polly. "The diamonds are like drops of water, the pearls like milk and the rubies like blood."

"I know where you found that," said Molly; "in the fairy tale we were reading the other day."

Polly admitted the fact and the ship being now ready to launch, they proceeded to the shore where Polly pointed out the island. This was a large rock, nearly covered at high tide, but now showing quite a surface above the water. Its rugged sides held caves quite large enough for persons of such size as the Roseberry family, and they were presently hidden behind their barnacled barriers. In a little pool the Hips family were set afloat while the Applebys contented themselves with gathering stores of supposed precious stones from the little beach.

The Hips family had hardly set sail before Polly invoked a storm and stirred to monster waves the waters in their pool, so they were in great danger. "Oh, dear, the youngest Hips is floating away and I can't save him," cried Mary.

"Never mind, let him go; there are plenty more of them," returned Polly heartlessly banging her stick up and down in the water so the ship would rock more violently. "They've got to be wrecked, you know," she added. "I'll drive them on that rock, then you can grab them before they sink and get them on the raft."

Mary managed to rescue all but one more of the family, and these were set adrift on a piece of birch bark to which Polly tied a string that they might not go beyond return. She also allowed the storm to cease, but this was because the gang of wreckers had to haul up the ship and gather in their plunder. She kept up so lively an account of their doings that Molly left the Applebys to their own devices and Mary drew the Hipses to shore that she might listen to Polly's blood-curdling account of Bold Ben and the rest. Polly did not have to draw altogether from her imagination, for her brothers had been too often her playmates for her not to be ready with tales of plunder and adventure.

Time passed very quickly and the children became so absorbed in the manoeuvres of the gang that they did not notice the stealthy rise of the tide till Mary exclaimed, "Oh, the Hipses have floated off and they were quite high on the beach!"

Polly looked around her. "No wonder," she said; "the tide is rising. We'd better start back." Leaving Bold Ben and his comrades to their fate, she ran to the further side of the rock, but here she hesitated. The sea was steadily making in, sending little cascades over the weed-covered ledges each time it retreated.

"Can't you get across?" asked Molly, as she came up with her Applebys, and saw Polly standing still.

"I'm almost afraid to jump," said Polly, "for if a big wave should come in suddenly it might wash in over my feet and the sea-weed is so slippery I'm afraid to trust to it, where it is shallower." Molly looked up at the rocky shelf jutting out above her. "If we could only get up there," she said.

"But we can't; it is too far to climb to that first jutty-out place, and we can't crawl under and then up, like flies."

Mary bearing the sole survivor of the unfortunate Hips family now came up. "I had to let the rest go," she said. "They were beyond reach. I fished this one out of the water just in time. What is the matter? Why don't you go on, Polly?"

For answer Polly pointed silently to the creeping waves at her feet.

"What are we going to do?" asked Mary in alarm.

"Stay here till the tide goes down, I suppose. This rock is never covered," said Molly.

"But we may get dreadfully splashed," returned Mary.

"I hadn't thought of that," said Polly dubiously. She looked at the rock above her, and then at her two cousins. "Which of you two could stand on my shoulders and get hold of that rock so as to draw herself up and go for help?"

"Oh, I never could do it in the world," said Mary, shrinking back.

Polly turned to Molly. "Could you?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't pull myself up so far, but I could stand and let you get on my shoulders, if you could do the pulling up part."

"I could do that easily enough," Polly told her. "I've often practiced it with the boys, and we have swung ourselves up the rocks in the mountains out home. Are you sure you can bear my weight, Molly?"

"I can try."

"We'll both do it," Mary offered. "You can put one foot on my shoulder and one on Molly's, then you won't be so heavy for either one."

"All right. Steady yourselves. Here goes." And in a moment Polly had clambered to the supporting shoulders, had caught hold of the jutting rock and had drawn herself up. As she gained her feet and sped away crying: "I'll be right back," Molly breathed a sigh of relief. "I was so afraid a piece of the rock would split off and she'd fall," she confessed to Mary.

It took but a little time to bring Uncle Dick and one of his friends who swung themselves down easily and set the two stranded children upon a safe spot, none too soon, for a big wave almost immediately sent a shower of salt spray over the rock where they had been standing.

"You would have been drenched to the skin," said Uncle Dick as he led the way to the house, while, left to their fate, the wicked Roseberries perished miserably.



CHAPTER XII

East and West

By the middle of September the cottages on the Point were nearly all deserted, though the Reids lingered on, to the children's satisfaction.

"Oh, dear, I don't want to go back to school, to horrid old examples and things, although I do want to see my dear Miss Isabel," said Molly, one morning just before the close of their stay.

"I don't want to see Miss Sharp, I can tell you that, but I do want to see mother and Reggie and Gwen," said Mary.

"I hate to leave you all," Polly put in, "though I shall be glad to see mamma and papa and the boys. I'll like to see the ponies too, and the mountains and everything, but I do wish you girls were going with me." She really had fewer regrets than her cousins for Polly loved the freedom of the west, and the miles between seemed very long to the little girl who had seen neither father, mother nor brothers for three months. To Mary the delights of unlimited supplies of sweet potatoes and corn, bountiful plates of ice-cream, freedom from the vigilance of a strict governess, and the range of fields and woods, where one need not fear of trespassing, and which were not enclosed by high walls, all these compensated much for her separation from her family.

The time for her leave-taking of America was drawing near, however, for her father wrote that they would probably sail about the first of October, and Uncle Dick would take Polly home about the same time. Aunt Ada, too, had promised to go to Colorado for a visit so Polly felt that she had anticipations the others did not have.

"I wish we could all go to Polly's; that's what I wish," declared Molly. "I wish my father and mother and Mary and Miss Ainslee were all going."

"I speak for Miss Ainslee to sit with me," said Uncle Dick coming up with an open letter in his hand. He handed a second letter to Molly. "Can you read it?" he asked.

"Of course I can," returned Molly indignantly. Then she added, "Mamma always writes to me on papa's typewriter."

Her uncle laughed, though Molly could not see why.

"You'd better read every word in it," he remarked, "for there is big news there for a young woman of your size."

Molly hastily tore open the envelope and began to read. She had not finished the page, however, before she cried out: "News! News! I should think it was news. What do you think, Mary? What do you think, Polly?"

"Can't imagine," said Polly. Then as a second thought occurred to her, "Oh, is your mother going to let you go home with me? I know my mother has asked to have you, for I wrote to her to beg that you could come."

Molly shook her head. "No, it's east instead of west, Polly. Mother and I are going to England with Mary and Uncle Arthur."

"Oh!" Mary jumped to her feet and clasped her hand ecstatically. "Oh, Molly, I am so glad. Aren't you?"

"Yes, I am except for one thing; I know I shall be scared to death of Miss Sharp. Is she really so very, very strict?"

"My word! but you'd think so. Fancy never being allowed to run, nor to climb nor to do anything one really likes to do, and, oh, Molly, I wonder will you eat your meals in the nursery with us children. There's nasty rice pudding twice a week, you know, and there are never hot rolls nor biscuits for breakfast as you have here, then we do have horribly cold houses in winter."

"Oh!" Molly looked quite disturbed by this report. But presently her face again broke into smiles. "But then, to see England and to be with you, Mary. We shall go up to London in the spring and we shall spend the winter in Cornwall or Devon, where it is not so very cold, mother says."