I think it is Rock and not Don who is in the little room, and that you
are here instead of Olive, I could scream with joy."
"We haven't been to the playhouse yet," said Florence.
"No, mamma said to wait till to-morrow."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She just said so. I don't suppose there is any reason."
"I believe there is," said Florence mysteriously.
"Oh, why?"
"Because I saw your papa come out of there with a man."
"Oh, well, we'll see to-morrow. I'm not going to guess about it. Let us
go downstairs. There comes Doctor Sullivan again, oh, and Miss Reese is
going. She will be here to-morrow to begin lessons. Doctor Sullivan is
not coming in. Miss Reese is going with him in the buggy."
The next day did solve the mystery of the playhouse, for it appeared
that the place had been repaired and put in perfect order. The man,
whom Florence saw, had been putting in a pane of glass which Don had
broken. "It looks nicer than ever," said Eleanor admiringly. "I am so
glad papa had it made so new and clean, I feel as if all the Don of it
were gone now." The words were hardly out of her mouth before Don's
form appeared in the doorway. Eleanor drew herself up stiffly. "Well?"
she said.
Don looked rather sheepish, but he said: "I just thought I would come
over."
Eleanor said nothing.
"Say, I left my knife out here," began Don.
"When?"
"Oh, a long time ago. I want to come in and look for it."
"You can't come in. I will look for it. I don't believe it is here
though, for it's been ever and ever so long since you were in here."
"I don't care, I'm coming in. I'd like to see any girl keep me out."
At this Rock came forward. He had been sitting in a corner where Don
could not see him. "Then perhaps, a boy can keep you out," he said
calmly. "This is Eleanor's house and she has a right to do as she
chooses about it. If you have left anything here, go up to the house
and tell Mrs. Dallas, or Mr. Dallas either. They will see that you get
it."
Don stood for a moment irresolute and then walked away, but a few
minutes later they heard a sharp cry of pain and they all rushed out to
see Bubbles sitting on the ground sobbing and holding her wounded arm.
"Oh, Bubbles, Bubbles," cried Eleanor, running up to her, "what is it?"
"Dat Don he come an' gimme a lick 'fore I knowed he was anywhere about,
and he knocked me over and hurt mah arm, he did."
Rock's eyes snapped. "I'll get even with him," he muttered, "the little
bully."
"Does your arm hurt you very much?" asked Florence anxiously. "Come,
let's go to the doctor right away."
"We'll tell mamma first," said Eleanor. This done, Mrs. Dallas did
decide that the doctor would best be seen and they set out at once for
his office, fortunately finding him at home. He found nothing serious
had happened, but he frowned when told of the sudden and uncalled-for
attack upon Bubbles, and shook his head, looking sharply at Rock as if
he might be suspected of being at fault in the matter, so that Eleanor
spoke up and said, "Rock sent him off, doctor, and I suppose that's
what made him mad. Uncle Heath said he didn't think that Don was really
a bad boy, but I think he is a very bad boy."
The doctor smiled at her emphatic way of speaking and said that he
would call in the morning and see if Bubbles were all right. Indeed,
it seemed that he generally found his way to the house every day, and
about the time that Miss Reese took her leave after lesson hours.
Saturday proved to be as fine a day as could be expected in January,
and the four children, Bubbles included, started for Mr. Snyder's.
Florence and Rock had never been there before, and were delighted to
go whizzing along through the country which was really very beautiful,
even in winter, for it is not alone when trees are green, that hills
and dales are fair to see.
They had been traveling for some time when Eleanor said, "You told the
conductor to let us off at Brookside, didn't you, Rock? That place we
just passed looked like it, but I am not sure if it is the place."
"I told him," returned Rock, "but maybe he forgot. I'll ask him." This
he did to find that they had passed the place and were told that it
wasn't very far and they could walk back.
"I call that pretty cool," said Rock as they scrambled down from the
car, "but we've got to make the best of it, I suppose."
They trudged along for a little distance when suddenly they came to a
high trestle before which Eleanor stood aghast. "I never can go over
that," she declared.
"Oh, yes, you can," said Rock. "I'll walk ahead and take your two
hands," but Eleanor shrank from such a proceeding.
"I couldn't! I couldn't," she insisted, "it makes me sick to think of
it, and then suppose a car should come along."
"No, they only come every half hour, and it is a single track so the
down car doesn't start till the up car gets to the terminus, the
conductor told me, so that's all right," Rock tried to reassure her by
saying.
But Eleanor was firm and at last clambered down the embankment and
discovered a place narrow enough for her to cross the little stream
running below. Bubbles fearfully followed, and they managed to scramble
up the bank, reaching the other side almost as soon as Rock and
Florence. But this was not the end of their adventures.
_CHAPTER XI_
_Don and a Pony_
The day was unusually pleasant for the season, and the children as they
journeyed along saw that they were not the only ones who had sought the
country. Ahead of them were three boys who were going in the direction
of Mr. Snyder's.
"One of those boys looks like Don," said Florence; "I wonder what he is
doing out here. Do you know who the others are, Dimple?"
"No, I don't believe I do, though one of them looks like Joe Forrester."
"Is he the brother of the girl you told me about?"
"Yes, but I don't know him. See, they are turning off here and that is
Mr. Snyder's house over there."
"I hope those boys aren't going there."
"I don't believe they are; the boys from town go wandering all about in
the woods and places about here. I don't believe Don would want to go
to Mr. Snyder's."
But in this she was mistaken, for, after they had spent a pleasant hour
with Mrs. Snyder and had eaten a hearty and good dinner, they heard a
great commotion outside whither Mr. Snyder had gone to bring up his
pretty little colt to show the children.
"Mr. Snyder thinks as much of that colt as if it were a baby," Mrs.
Snyder told them, "and it is a pretty creature. The land's sake! What's
all that to do?"
They all ran out on the porch to see Mr. Snyder with a squirming boy
firmly held by the collar, while Lem was leading off the colt which was
limping and seemed in some way hurt.
"Ben, Ben, what's the matter?" cried Mrs. Snyder running down the steps.
"Matter enough," he answered, "just wait till I get this youngster
settled and I'll tell you."
The children peeping over the balustrade of the porch, saw a very
wrathful countenance, yet Eleanor's sympathies were about to go out to
the captured boy when suddenly she exclaimed: "Oh, Florence! Oh, Rock!
It is Don."
Sure enough, Don it was, and the angry man who held him prisoner
brought the boy up on the porch saying: "Here's a fine fellow for you.
He'll cost me a pretty penny, but I'll make him suffer."
"Why, Ben, what has he done?" inquired Mrs. Snyder.
"Done? Done enough. Him and a couple of other rascals that's got away,
worse luck, have come near ruining my colt and have played havoc with
your frames out there, mother."
"Not my violet frames?"
"Yes, that's right. You see, I let Dandy out into the back lot for a
run, seeing that it was such a fine day, and them fellows thought it
would be great fun to scare him to see him run, so they crept under the
fence and shied something at him, and he ran and jumped the fence, or
tried to, for he caught himself on that wire fence by the garden and
after struggling a while he got loose and went crashing through the
frames. I don't know how bad the colt's hurt, but I know how bad the
boy's going to be." He gave Don a shake and the boy, white with terror,
began to beg for mercy.
For all the wrongs she had suffered at Don's hands were still fresh in
Eleanor's memory, she began to feel very sorry for the culprit, and she
said softly, "Maybe it wasn't Don that did it, Mr. Snyder. Maybe it was
one of the other boys, the ones who ran away."
"Don? Is that this fellow's name? Do you know him?"
"Why, yes, he is Donald Murdoch. Don't you remember Cousin Ellen
Murdoch, who lived in our house? He is her son."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Snyder slightly loosened his grip upon Donald and
appeared to be considering the matter. After a moment's pause he spoke
again. "This is the youngster then, who caused you so much trouble I
suppose."
"Ye-es," Eleanor answered reluctantly.
"Pestered the little darky so she had to leave and was the cause of her
getting a broken arm?" He gave Donald a shake that made the boy's teeth
chatter.
"Yes," spoke up Florence, for Eleanor was silent, "and he tried to hurt
Bubbles again just a day or two ago." Mr. Snyder's grip on the boy's
shoulder made the boy wince.
"Told lies about you; took your playhouse and helped himself to
anything he wanted without so much as a 'by your leave,' didn't he?"
Mr. Snyder kept up his remarks to Eleanor.
"Oh, yes," Eleanor found her voice again, "but his mother would feel so
dreadfully about it if you send him to jail."
Mr. Snyder's face relaxed some of its grimness. "Come in here, all of
you," he said, "and we'll have a little trial by jury. Here, boy, stand
there. Don't you dare to budge one inch or it will be the worse for
you. You and your companions have trespassed on my property, and have
injured a valuable colt for me besides doing other damage. I am going
to sift the matter to the very bottom, and if you don't tell the truth
you'll get such a whipping as you never had. Now, sir, speak up; let's
hear your story. Did you or didn't you throw stones at the colt?"
Don glanced around. He saw a set of stern faces, only in Eleanor's eyes
was a pitying look. He began to cry softly and she took a step forward
but Mr. Snyder waved her back. "Wait a minute. Tell me, boy, did you
throw the stone that hit the colt?"
"The other fellows did, too," replied Don.
"Never mind about them. We'll settle their hash later on. I am dealing
with you now. Did you?"
"Yes," Don admitted reluctantly.
"Well then, you are liable to one-third damages, supposing the others
are equally guilty."
"Oh," Eleanor exclaimed, "Mr. Snyder, will it be a great deal?"
"A matter of fifty dollars without the colt; if he's not seriously
hurt, but I'm afraid that, at the best, he is so scratched that he
wouldn't bring the price I might have got for him. Now then, boy, I'm
inclined to trounce you well. You need a whipping the worst kind."
Donald cried woefully, and Eleanor looked ready to cry, herself. "Oh,
please, Mr. Snyder," she began.
He looked at her and smiled. "Then, Don, down on your knees and beg
this young lady's pardon for treating her like a cub. Here before us
all, down with you."
Donald did not hesitate, but began to mumble something. "Oh, no, no,
please," Eleanor interrupted him, feeling the shame of it tingling to
her very ears. "Never mind, now, Mr. Snyder. I don't care. It is all
over and past and, please, never mind."
"All right. Get up, boy, you've Dimple to thank for being let off from
a thrashing, but I'll march you to your mother and you will tell a
straight story before her or I'll know the reason why." And Donald,
cowed and miserable, was taken directly back to town, and was marched
into his mother's presence.
Mr. Snyder told his tale curtly. "I've plenty of witnesses," he said,
"and I know what I'm talking about. I've got to have this made right or
I'll go to law about it."
"I am sure my boy never had a hand in it," returned Mrs. Murdoch
stiffly.
"Your boy did, by his own confession. Here, sir, tell your mother all
about it." And Mrs. Murdoch was an unwilling listener to an account of
the disaster.
"I never would have believed it," she said in a distressed tone, "but
Mr. Snyder, I am sure he didn't mean to hurt your horse, and besides
those other boys led him on, I am sure."
"He threw the first stone and he was the ring-leader," persisted Mr.
Snyder. "I've three witnesses to prove it."
"I know who they are," said Don, feeling safe under the shelter of his
mother's wing; "it was Florence and Eleanor and that boy they call
Rock."
"Oh," Mrs. Murdoch said significantly, "if they were concerned in it,
the whole tale is probably a fabrication."
"Which it isn't," Mr. Snyder declared. "They never one of them saw it,
all of them being in my house behind closed doors when it happened.
The ones who saw it were two of my neighbors and my man, Lem Hawkins
who shouted to them to stop and couldn't get there in time to prevent
mischief. Ain't you a pretty sneaking little cur?" he said turning
to Don. "I'd like to know who it was that begged you off. Tell your
mother how it comes that you escaped a sound whipping. And that brings
up another thing, ma'am. My wife and I are mighty fond of that little
gal, Dimple Dallas, and we don't mean to stand by and have her blamed
for others' bad actions. Just out with it, boy, and tell your mother
how you plagued the life out of her and that little Bubbles, and don't
forget to put in how she begged you off to-day. No shirking; a plain,
straightforward story." He shook his head in a terrifying manner at
Don who spluttered and stammered out a confession which satisfied his
stern judge, but which his mother would fain have had left unsaid, for
finally she stopped him with "That will do, Donald. I am sure you had
some provocation. I don't excuse you altogether, of course, but there
are always two sides to a question."
"Just so," said Mr. Snyder, "and it won't be my fault if every one
doesn't hear both. Now, ma'am, are you ready to pay me twenty dollars
for the damage this boy has caused? I'm letting you off easy at that."
Mrs. Murdoch looked aghast. "Pay twenty dollars! Why, I couldn't think
of it. I am in very straitened circumstances, and oh, Mr. Snyder, you
surely will not press such a claim for a mere piece of fun. Boys will
be boys."
"And law's law. I'm going to have that made good."
"You'll not go to law about it."
"Perhaps."
Mrs. Murdoch was so evidently distressed that finally Mr. Snyder who
was too good-hearted to insist upon ready money, made a proposition
that Donald should work out the amount. "I have a pretty good patch of
berries every year," he said, "and I always have to hire a few pickers.
Now, I'll be easy with you, but it is only right that the boy should
be made to do something about this, and I shall expect him to work out
every dollar." This arrangement was finally agreed upon, for Donald
thought he would rather enjoy a free time among the strawberry beds,
and he was so relieved at getting off thus easily that he was ready
to give Eleanor credit for all her influence in his behalf. So that
Mrs. Murdoch began to think that, after all, she might have misjudged
Eleanor.
This was the end of any trouble with Don, so far as Eleanor was
concerned, and indeed, so far as it affected others, for he needed just
such a lesson and after many days of wearisome, back-breaking work
among the strawberry beds, work which Mr. Snyder made in no way easy
for him, he realized that one must respect the property of others, and
that in this world a person cannot be allowed his own way without
regard to the rights of others.
But the rest of the winter passed happily enough. In the spring came
Grandpa and Grandma Dallas, and thinking that his little granddaughter
looked rather thin and pale, grandpa consulted his son with the result
that Eleanor was told that her grandfather meant to buy her a little
Shetland pony that she might spend the greater part of her time out in
the fresh air without getting too tired.
"Do you hear? Oh, Rock! Oh, Florence, do you hear?" cried Eleanor, upon
being told the news. "Oh, grandpa, when will you get it?"
"As soon as we can find one that is gentle and well-trained," he
answered smiling. "Do you know of any one who has such a pony for sale?"
"No, not now. I did know a darling of a pony; it was Zula's, that
little gipsy girl's. Oh, if the gipsies were here, perhaps they would
have one to sell. They had one and Zula wanted me to buy it."
"I am afraid they would be rather unreliable people to buy from," her
grandfather said.
"Oh, but they are really not so bad. Zula loved her brother dearly and
her pony too, and they were very good to Bubbles."
"Oh, yes, Bubbles, to be sure. Bring her in and let us hear what she
has to say of them. Perhaps they will be coming this way after a while
and we can see what they have to sell. It must be about time for them
to be getting up this way from the south."
"Yass, suh, dey fust-rate to me," said Bubbles, upon being questioned.
"Dey had a mess o' hosses, an' a teenty little pony like de one Miss
Dimple tell you-all about. Hit were a good one, too, 'cause I heered
dat Marco, dey call him, when he fetch de pony in, an' he say to de
little gal: 'I got a pony mos' as good as yo'n,' an' she say she don't
believe it, an' he say 'sho.'"
"Well," said grandpa, "I'll look about and see what we can find, and if
the gipsies come this way we'll hunt them up, and find out what they
have."
It was lovely weather and the children had all so far recovered from
their illness as to be able to return to school, since Miss Reese, too,
was to take her place there after the Easter holidays. "I hope Miss
Reese will stay," said Eleanor, "for I love her, mamma. Do you think
she will teach at that school as long as I go there?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Why?"
"I don't think Dr. Sullivan will let her."
"Dr. Sullivan?" Eleanor looked puzzled, but presently it dawned upon
her what her mother meant. "Oh, mamma, is that why he used to come
every day about noon to take Miss Reese home? I thought how kind he
was," she said in an aggrieved tone.
"Well, wasn't he kind?"
"Yes, to himself."
Mrs. Dallas laughed and said she must tell the doctor and Miss Reese
that.
"Do you think Aunt Nellie will want Florence to come home after Easter?"
"No, I think she will be very glad to have her remain where she can be
out of doors more than she could be in the city."
"And can she stay all summer?"
"Yes, if her mother doesn't find that she cannot be parted so long from
her. You know you and I wanted to see each other very much after a two
months' separation."
"Yes, but Aunt Nellie has such a lot of other children and you had only
me."
"Yes, but Florence has but one mamma, you know."
"I hadn't thought of that," Eleanor returned. "Well, Florence can go
home and stay a week and then come back again. Can't she do that?"
"Perhaps so."
Just then Florence came in with her doll Rubina in her arms. "Hurry
up, Dimple," she said. "Get your hat; your grandpa is going to take us
out to drive. The gipsies have come and are camping in the same place
Bubbles says."
"Oh, I am so glad. Are you going to take Rubina?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll take Celestine. Ada, my dear, you must stay at home, for
Celestine and Rubina are such friends, you know. Mamma, may Ada sit in
your room with you? I am afraid she will get lonely without me."
"I shall be very pleased to have her company," Mrs. Dallas replied. "I
have noticed that she is an extremely well-behaved child and never
meddles with my things when you leave her in my room."
"Is grandpa here? Is the carriage waiting?" Eleanor asked Florence.
"No, not yet. Your grandpa and Rock have gone to get it."
"Oh, then we will have time to change the dolls' dresses. I want Zula
to see them looking their best. What can I take Zula, mamma?"
"Are you sure you will see her?"
"Why yes, I suppose she is with these gipsies."
"Perhaps it is not the same company."
"Oh, well, I'll take something anyway. May I have some daffodils out of
the garden? I can give them to some one else if Zula is not there."
"You may have some of them."
"Rock is going to take his camera and see if he can get some snap-shots
of the gipsies," Florence told them.
"Won't that be fine? Good-bye dearest, loveliest mamma. I wish you were
going too."
"I couldn't very well go this morning. I have several things to attend
to at home."
Over the same way that Eleanor had traveled with weary feet that
November day, they went this fair morning in April, and it was not long
before they saw ahead of them the gaily painted wagons of the gipsies.
"There they are!" cried Florence. "Can we drive up real close? I never
saw a gipsy camp before. I think the people look very queer."
"I shouldn't mind traveling around the country in a wagon like that,"
Rock declared, as he caught sight of the odd little houses on wheels.
"Now we are going to stop," said Eleanor. "Grandpa, will you ask if
Zula is here. I want to see her."
But grandpa was attracted by the sight of a little pony under a tree.
He nodded to one of the men lounging near, and asked him: "Is that pony
for sale?"
The man looked around uncertainly. "Marco is boss. I'll tell him," he
said; and a grave-faced young man soon came up to the carriage.
"I'm inquiring about that little pony," said grandpa. "Is he for sale?"
"No, I don't sell him. He belonged to my little sister. I don't take a
thousand dollars for him. My little sister's horse he was."
"Oh," Eleanor leaned forward. "Was it Zula's pony? Where is Zula?"
The young man looked down. "She has died this winter."
"Oh!" Eleanor drew back. "I wanted to see her. Are you Marco, her
brother?"
"Her brother," he replied. "Where have you known my little sister?"
"I saw her here last fall. Don't you remember? And the little colored
girl you took to the hospital? She is well now. You were very kind to
Bubbles. Won't you have these flowers? I brought them to Zula." And she
held out the yellow daffodils.
The young man took them. "Thank you. I am glad to see you. I would like
to sell you the pony if I could sell him to any one, but I cannot. He
was Zula's, but I have another one here as good. I sell him for one
hundred twenty-five dollars." He turned to Mr. Dallas.
"That is a pretty good price, but let us see him," said grandpa.
"I am so sorry that Zula is not here," said Eleanor softly, "but, you
know, she is up in heaven and she must be very happy."
The young man turned and looked at her. It seemed as if the tears were
very near his eyes as he walked away.
Presently he returned leading a little shaggy pony which he declared he
could recommend as being gentle and perfectly safe. "I would not wish
to sell to Zula's friend a pony not good," he said earnestly. "Is it
for the little girl here?"
"Yes, for her!" grandpa told him.
"He is one year older than the other, but he is perhaps no worse for
that, for he is easy in harness and very gentle to ride. If you like
him I sell him for one hundred and twenty dollars."
Mr. Dallas asked many questions, got out of the carriage, and examined
the docile little creature very carefully, and finally offered one
hundred dollars for the pony. "I will do this," said the young man.
"We are here for three or four days. I will bring you the pony this
evening, and you can keep him long enough to try him all you want, and
if he does not prove all I say you can return him, but if he does I
will sell him for one hundred and ten dollars."
This seemed so fair an offer that Mr. Dallas, at last accepted it, and
that evening the little pony arrived to remain as Eleanor's very own,
for he proved to be as tractable and good a little creature as could be
desired.
_CHAPTER XII_
_A May Party_
After the little pony was fairly established in his new home, Grandma
Dallas declared that she was not to be outdone by grandpa, and to make
the present quite complete she would add a pony-cart; and then three
merrier children could not be found than Eleanor, Florence, and Rock
as they drove out, the pony scampering unweariedly over many a mile.
It seemed no distance now to Mr. Snyder's and many a call did the good
butterman and his wife receive from the children.