the awkward Ira stepped forward and handed Carol a long, flat box, as he
said, “Here’s ’nother part of it.”
How the violet eyes sparkled. “It’s a present, I do believe!” the small
girl cried. “Oh, Dix, do see, here’s a box with a present in it. Who do
you ’spose it is from?”
“Open it and see,” her sister, who was trembling with excitement,
suggested. This was a wonderful hour for Dixie, an hour long dreamed of,
but one that she had sometimes feared would never come true.
Carol was so eager that her small fingers just could not untie the
strings, and so Ken sprang forward and offered the services of the
two-bladed knife of which he was so proud.
Snap! Snap! The cord was sundered. Then Carol was about to lift the
cover, when Dixie laid her hand on her sister’s. “Guess first, what’s in
it,” she suggested, wishing to prolong the thrilling moment.
“I say, Dix, that isn’t fair,” Ken interceded. So the small girl was
permitted to lift the top and peep into the folds of soft tissue paper.
As she gazed at her very first blue silk dress, those who loved her were
amazed to see that she grew very pale, then tears rushed into her lovely
violet eyes, and, turning to her older sister, she threw her arms about
that small girl and sobbed as though her heart would break.
“Why, why, Carol, are—are you disappointed, dear? Isn’t it the color
you’ve been wanting?” Dixie felt as though she, too, would have to cry,
but the younger girl lifted her head and smiled through her tears. “I’m
crying ’cause I’m so glad, glad, glad! There’s lace in the neck and
sleeves, just the way I’ve always wanted, and there’s ruffles!”
How every one laughed, and then Sylvia spied a card in the silken folds.
This she pounced upon, handing it to Carol. “I know it!” that
shining-eyed maiden exclaimed. “It’s a gift from Dixie and from dear
teacher.”
Then it was that Ira remembered something, and darted out of the house
and back to the buggy.
Dixie, the little mother of the brood of Martins, knew just why Carol
had cried, for when the second box was opened, and in it was found a
silk dress, the shimmery green of springtime, she felt as though she,
too, would cry. She said little, although her wonderful gold-brown eyes
were eloquent.
Miss Bayley went with her to the loft to help her don her new dress, and
when they reappeared, the others actually stared, for Dixie looked
almost pretty. In fact, Ken, as he glanced about at the guests, thought
that, in some way he couldn’t just describe she was the best-looking
girl there.
Miss Bayley saw it, too, that something in the face they had called
plain, which seemed to prophesy that the young lady who-was-to-be would
be called beautiful. Perhaps it was the glow of happiness which was
making the little hostess so radiant; perhaps it was the new way that
dear teacher had combed the red-gold hair, which, when loosened from its
tight braid, waved and curled in little ringlets above her ears.
Moreover, for the very first time, her head was adorned with a witching
big, pale-green, butterfly bow. On Carol’s curls was another like it,
only it was the color of the sky in June.
Ken had disappeared, though no one had noticed it. Suddenly there came a
tapping on an outer door, and when Sylvia, being nearest, skipped to
open it, in walked Topsy with a red bow around her neck, while Spotty
and Downy-Fluff followed, wearing smaller neck-ribbons.
Ken, who had been hiding for a moment, bounded in after them, grinning
his delight as he said, “I thought maybe the kits would like to come to
the party, and if I’d had a pink ribbon, I’d have brought Blessing in,
too.”
“Goodness! I’m glad you didn’t have,” Sue exclaimed. “I’ve been brought
up with pigs, but I don’t like them, even yet, leastwise not for pets.”
Sylvia seemed to be watching for some one. Every few minutes she would
run to the window and look up toward the cañon road.
“I wonder if she’s ’spectin’ a s’prise, too?” Carol said softly to
Dixie. That little maid declared that she didn’t know what Sylvia was
watching for. Then, at Miss Bayley’s suggestion, games were played, such
as hide-the-thimble and drop-the-handkerchief. When every one was
laughing and shouting with interest and excitement, there came a loud
knocking at the door.
Sylvia put her hand on her heart and cried, “Oh! Oh! I do believe it’s
come, and I had forgotten to watch.”
She leaped to open the door, and the others crowded round, wondering
what they were to see. It was no less a personage than Mr. Hiram
Tressler, the stage-driver.
“Howdy!” he began, his leathery face wrinkling in a pleasant smile.
“This here’s one of the boxes, Miss Clayburn, but the other one that yer
pa sent over is too heavy for me to cart down the trail all alone. Maybe
now Ken and Ira’d better come up and help me h’ist it out o’ the stage.”
__The boys sprang forward with alacrity, and followed the old driver
back up the steep trail. While they were gone, Sylvia, her face flushed
with pleasure, handed a long, narrow box to Carol. “It’s a birthday
present from me,” she said.
In that box was the most beautiful doll that the little girl had ever
seen. “Why, it’s prettier even than the one that—that—” Carol could say
no more, but turned tear-brimmed eyes toward the giver of the treasured
gift.
Joy shone in Sylvia’s pale-blue eyes. It was the first time that she had
ever known the great happiness of giving a present to some one.
Impulsively she stepped forward, and, kissing the girl who was holding
the doll in her arms, she said softly: “Carol, I’ve been just mean and
horrid. I knew all the time that you didn’t break my dolly, and—and I
asked Papa to get this one for your birthday. I’m sorry, and—and I love
you now, just like you were a really, truly sister.”
They were too young to know that this love was the greatest gift that
was given to Carol on her ninth birthday.
“What do you s’pose the boys went to get?” Sue Piggins was peering out
of the door and up toward the trail as she spoke.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ’spect Mr. Tressler to bring anything more’n
just the box with the doll in it, and that’s here,” Sylvia said as she,
too, peered out curiously.
“The stage is driving up the cañon,” Sue reported to the others in the
living-room, “so maybe it wasn’t anything for us after all.” But
Sylvia’s sharp eyes caught sight of the two big boys who were coming
slowly down the trail, carrying something between them. “Oh! Oh! I
know!” she cried excitedly. “It’s ice-cream in a freezer!”
Mr. Clayburn had sent it, and since Sue had brought a wonderful frosted
cake as a gift from her mother, Dixie at once laid out the best
kept-for-company dishes, and refreshments were served. An hour later,
when the guests departed, Ken went with them to help dear teacher into
the buggy. He looked up at her with shining eyes. “Oh, gee-whizzle,
look’t the sky, Miss Bayley!” he exclaimed. “I do believe a blizzard’s
coming. How I do hope ’tis!”
Miss Bayley looked her surprise. “Why, Ken,” she said, “how strange! Do
you honestly want this glorious autumn weather to turn into a blizzard?”
“Yes’m, that is, I—er—I mean I’d like to have Rattlesnake Sam come down
from the mountains and pay us a visit,” the lad stammered, growing red
as though he were embarrassed.
Ira was starting the horses and so Miss Bayley said no more, but she was
puzzled, and wondered if anything had happened to the imagination of her
best pupil in mathematics.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE EXPECTED BLIZZARD
The threatening blizzard broke over the Sierra Nevadas about sundown,
and for three days it raged. Ken seemed to be hilariously excited, and
Dixie, Carol, and Sylvia wondered about it. The snow, which had
commenced falling the first night, did not cease, and had it not been
that the lad worked untiringly with a shovel, the animals and hens would
have been without food.
At last Dixie suggested that the lean-to shed, which was back of the
kitchen, should be occupied by the three hens, the small pig, and the
goat.
“Topsy and the two kittens can come in with us. I always make her a bed
back of the stove when the winter storms come,” the little mother
explained to Sylvia.
“But what shall you do with Pegasus?” that small maiden asked.
That was indeed a problem. “We didn’t have our burro last winter,” Dix
said. Then she added, “What _shall_ we do with him, Ken? When the snow
piles up half-way to the top of the house, you can’t keep a path
shoveled out to the barn. We’ll just have to bring Pegasus in
somewhere.”
The lad rubbed his ear, which was stinging with the cold, for he had but
recently come in from the storm. “I dunno,” he finally conceded, “unless
we put him in the lean-to shed and tie him up in one corner. Then we can
sort of fence off the three other corners and put the goat in one and
the hens in the other, and Blessing in the last.”
How Sylvia laughed. “I never had so much fun before in all my life,” she
confessed. Monday came and although the storm was not raging quite as
furiously as it had been, still the four children could not attempt to
go to school, nor did Miss Bayley expect them. Ken was very restless,
and kept listening, as though he expected to hear some sound besides the
moaning and whistling of the wind. Too, he would stand for fifteen
minutes at a time straining his eyes through the dusk, watching,
watching up the trail.
“Ken Martin, you act so queer!” Carol said at last. “Whatever are you
looking out of the window for? You’ve seen the ground covered with snow
lots of times before, haven’t you? Come on over here and help us tease
Dixie to let us make some popcorn balls.”
The boy turned reluctantly back into the room, and, at the suggestion of
his older sister, he brought forth a few ears of corn, which the
laughing “twins,” as they now called Sylvia and Carol, began to shell.
Then he procured the old-fashioned, long-handled popper, and five
minutes later he was shaking this over a bed of red coals in the stove.
The little town girl, who had never seen corn popped, stood with an arm
about her best friend, watching with great interest. The kernels were
bursting merrily into downy white puffs when Ken suddenly stopped
shaking and listened intently. There was a prolonged dismal whistle of
the wind down the chimney. That was all the girls heard, but Ken was
sure that he had heard something else. “Here, Dix,” he said, as he held
the handle of the popper toward her, “you take this. I want to go
outside and listen.” The oldest girl complied, and the lad, putting on
his heavy cap and coat, and lighting his lantern, opened the door. A
gust of cold wind and sleet swept into the kitchen. Carol and Sylvia
sprang to push the door shut, and, as they did so, the wide flame in the
kerosene lamp flickered as though it would go out, but a moment later it
steadied and shone on the puzzled faces of the three little girls.
“Dix,” Carol said, “brother’s been acting awfully queer of late, don’t
you think so? He seems to be expecting somebody, and yet who in the
world could it be? There’s nobody coming to visit us, is there?”
The older sister smiled. Ken had thought best to take her into his
confidence, since he had offered the loft to his friend. She had assured
him that he had done the right thing, but she did hope that Ken’s friend
would not come until Sylvia had returned to Genoa. The little
housekeeper didn’t know how they would all find places to sleep, but she
remembered that Grandmother Piggins had often said, “Don’t step over a
stile till you come to it.”
The corn had been popped till it filled a big yellow bowl, but Ken had
not returned. Dixie carried the lamp to the window nearest the cañon
trail. She was sure that she saw the lantern far off among the pine
trees, but, as she watched, it disappeared. Then a sudden blast of wind
roaring past the cabin told her that the storm was again increasing in
fury. Why didn’t Ken come in, she wondered. Perhaps an uprooted tree had
pinned him under. Perhaps she ought to go and find him.
When she arrived at this decision, she placed the lamp on the table by
the window and went quietly to the loft to get her heavy coat and hood.
When Dixie ran out of the log cabin into the storm which was increasing
in fury, she was at first so blinded by the stinging snow that she could
see nothing. Then, when she had pulled her hood down in a way that
sheltered her eyes, and had gathered the folds of her cloak tightly
about her, she stood on the narrow path which Ken had shoveled a few
hours before, and gazed through the dense blackness up toward the cañon
road.
Again she saw a glimmer of light, as though it might be a lantern. Was
Ken swinging it, hoping to attract her attention?
Believing that she had guessed aright, the small girl began battling the
elements, and slowly she ascended the trail that led to the road. Now
and then she stumbled over covered rocks, and at last reached the deep,
unbroken snow, for Ken had not tried to shovel a path up the steep trail
to the highway, and his own foot-prints had been hidden quickly by the
storm.
Luckily the dim light of the lantern appeared again, and the girl headed
directly for it. During a lull, she was sure she heard her brother call.
After all, she feared that her surmise, that a falling tree had pinned
him down, was correct, otherwise he surely would have returned to the
cabin. It was at least half an hour since he had started out in search
of he knew not what.
She stood still once more and listened. Again she heard the sound, and
this time she knew it was her brother hallooing.
“Ken! Ken!” she shouted. “I’m coming! I’m ’most there!”
Then, as she paused to listen, she was sure that she heard an answering
cry, though it seemed faint and far. Breaking through a dense growth of
dwarf pines, to her great joy she saw, in a circle of light from the
lantern a short distance above her, the erect form of a boy, which
proved to her that at least her brother was unhurt. But as she hastened
forward, she saw him lean over something that looked like a log. The
girl knew that it must be the figure of a man. “Oh, Ken,” she cried as
soon as she was near enough to be heard, “who is it out in all this
blizzard?”
“It’s Mr. Edrington. He ’twas that was hallooing when I first heard a
call. He had to leave camp, for his shelter blew away, and he couldn’t
make a fire, for the matches were all wet. He tried to find the easy
trail down the mountain, but the snow had covered it. He missed the way
and fell right over the cliff. He’s got grit all right, Mr. Edrington
has! He sort of dragged himself here. When I came, though, he’d petered
all out, but he told me that much before he—he—”
The girl had knelt on the snow, and was listening to the man’s heart.
“It’s only a faint he’s in,” she said, looking up at the lad. “If we rub
his face and hands with snow, perhaps it will help him to come to.”
“Dix, you’re a brick!” the boy exclaimed admiringly. Then hopefully they
did as the girl had suggested, watching anxiously the pale face upon
which the light of the lantern shone. The wind had subsided, as it did
periodically, and there was a strange silence under the pine trees. Too,
the moon appeared through a rift in the clouds, making a beautiful
picture of the wide, glistening cañon, while near by, the pine branches
bent low under the weight of gleaming snow.
__To the great relief of the boy and girl the young engineer slowly
opened his eyes; then he looked about with a puzzled expression. Seeing
Ken, he smiled. “I say, where am I, old man?” he asked. Turning, he saw
Dixie, and he sat up as though startled.
“It’s only my sister, Mr. Edrington,” Ken explained. “She’s grown a lot
since you saw her last.”
“Of course,” the young man laughed as he took the girl’s hand. “I must
have been dreaming. I thought you were Marlita Arden. Oh, I remember
now. I fell over the cliff, didn’t I? Wonder if any bones are broken.
Give a lift, Ken, and I’ll soon find out.”
With the aid of the strong boy and girl, the stalwart young man stood on
his feet, and was indeed pleased to find that he could walk without
pain.
However, he quickly put his hand to his head.
“That’s where I hit when I landed, I guess,” he said, trying to speak
lightly. He staggered as he walked, and was glad indeed when the cabin
was reached and he found himself lying on Ken’s bed in the small room
adjoining the kitchen.
Carol had put another stick on the fire and had filled the teakettle.
Dixie praised her small sister for her thoughtfulness. How glad, glad,
that little mother was when she realized that Carol was beginning to
think of others.
As the older girl prepared a hot beverage for their unexpected guest,
she was wondering where her brother would sleep. Surmising this, the lad
told her he’d fold a quilt and sleep on the floor near the stove. “Ira
and I slept on the hard ground for a week when we were off wood-cutting
for his dad,” he concluded.
Dixie went to bed that night with a strange feeling—a premonition
perhaps—that something unusual was about to happen. Nor was she wrong.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A HAPPY FATHER
The next day dawned gloriously, but the snow was still too deep in the
cañon for the children to attend the morning session of the log-cabin
school.
“The snow-plow will be along soon, I suppose,” Carol said, as she peered
up toward the highway.
Sylvia, who stood at Carol’s side exclaimed: “Look! Look! There’s a
shining white cloud flying low. Did you suppose clouds ever came so far
down the mountain?”
Carol gleefully clapped her hands. “It’s the plow going up the road this
very minute,” she cried in joy. “It throws up the snow in clouds just
like that.” Then she added: “I’ll tell my brother. He’ll want to finish
shoveling our path now.”
“Oh-ee! How I’d love to help shovel,” Sylvia exclaimed. “Couldn’t you
and I help, Carol?”
“Of course we could, and maybe it would be kind of fun! We haven’t been
out of the house for ’most four days. I’ll ask Dixie.”
The older girl thought the plan a splendid one, and she bundled up
Jimmy-Boy, that he might accompany them. With the three children away
from the cabin, Mr. Edrington might get the undisturbed sleep that he so
needed to restore his strength.
The younger girls climbed to the loft and put on their leggings,
rubbers, and heavy coats and hoods; then, getting small shovels, they
joined the boy who was already working with a will, his cheeks the color
of the muffler that was tied about his neck.
When they were far enough away from the cabin to shout, without being
heard by the injured man, they paused now and then in their path-making
to have a snowball battle, and, at last, when they had cleared the trail
to the highway, the four children stood looking admiringly at the road
that had been so recently smoothed by the snow-plow.
Suddenly Ken sang out, “Hark, what do I hear?”
“Sleigh-bells, I do believe,” Carol cried.
“Jingle! Jingle! Somebody’s coming. Let’s guess who.” Sylvia, her cheeks
flushed, her eyes sparkling, watched the bend in the road expectantly.
“I’ll guess it’s Mr. Piggins,” she concluded.
“I’ll guess it’s—” Ken began, but before he could mention a name, a trim
little cutter, drawn by a spry white horse, appeared.
There was a cry of joy from one of the children.
“It’s my dad! My dear, dear dad!” Leaping from the trail into the
highway, Sylvia waved her red-mittened hand, laughing and shouting. The
man in the rapidly-approaching sleigh looked at the small girl as though
he could not think who she might be.
Then with an expression of radiant gladness, he called “Whoa!” tossed
the reins to Ken and held out his arms to catch the small figure that
was flying toward him.
“My Miggins!” the father’s voice was tender with emotion. “This can’t be
you!”
He held her off at arm’s length to gaze at her with admiring eyes.
The small girl laughed up at him happily, her eyes bright, her cheeks as
rosy as Carol’s. Then again holding her close, he said softly: “Little
girl, your mother is at home now, and she wants to see you. She has been
asking every day since the storm set in if I wouldn’t go and get her
baby for her.” Then he added anxiously: “Are you old enough, I wonder,
to see the great change that there is in your mother, and not let her
know? Our loved one is very frail yet, little daughter, but I believe,
when you are with her, she will be more content and will grow stronger
again. We will try to help her, for she longs to get well, that she may
enjoy the simple home life which, somehow, we have always missed.” Then,
smiling down at the other three children, the genial banker called,
“Pile in, all of you, and I’ll give you a sleigh-ride.”
Up they scrambled, stowing the shovels away as best they could. Then
again the horse started, turning down the drive toward the cabin. How
the sleigh-bells rang, and how the children shouted! Jimmy-Boy was most
hilarious of all, and he wanted to keep on riding, even when Dixie
appeared to lift him out and carry him into the warm kitchen. “I want
more sleigh-ride,” the little fellow kept saying. Then Dixie had an
inspiration. “Maybe big brother will be able to make a bob-sled, and
maybe Pegasus will pull it, and then Jimmy can go riding.”
“Will there be a ting-a-ling?” The small boy had been about to cry, but
he waited to hear his big sister’s reply. Dixie hesitated. She never
liked to promise anything that she could not grant.
“What’s the matter with that little man?” the kind banker asked as he
entered the kitchen.
Jimmy-Boy, from his place on Dixie’s lap, hastened to tell him. “I want
ting-a-ling to put on Pegthus.”
Mr. Clayburn looked so truly mystified that Dixie had to explain that
Pegasus was their burro, and that the little fellow wished they had a
string of bells to put about his neck.
“A splendid suggestion!” the genial man exclaimed. “I was wondering what
I could do with the old bells, now that I have bought a new harness.
Pegasus shall have them. Come with me, little chap, and we’ll see how
your burro likes them.”
Ken accompanied them to the barn while Dixie went up to the loft where
she found the two smaller girls busily packing the suit-case which
Sylvia had brought with her.
That little maid stood up, and, throwing her arms about Dixie’s neck,
she said: “Oh, I just don’t know how to tell you what a nice time I’ve
had. How I do hope that I can come again!”
“Of course you’ll come again—lots and lots of times,” Dixie assured her.
Ten minutes later they were all out on the porch. Mr. Clayburn took the
hand of the oldest girl as he said earnestly, “Dixie, I shall never be
able to repay you four little Martins for all that you have done for my
small daughter, but promise that you will call on me if ever you need
help in any way.”
Dixie was glad to promise. Then, when the sleigh had been driven away,
Ken said: “I didn’t tell Mr. Clayburn the reason for Mr. Edrington’s
being here. That’s his secret. He doesn’t want any one to know.”
“Nobody shall know!” Dixie promised, but she was mistaken.
CHAPTER FORTY
A MYSTERY SOLVED
Miss Bayley could not understand why the Martin children did not come to
school that afternoon, for she had seen the snow-plow pass by and knew
that the road was open. So anxious did she become that she dismissed the
three pupils who were there, at two o’clock. Then, donning her warm
wraps, she started walking down the highway toward the cañon.
The air was clear and sparkling. The girl-teacher felt as though she
could run and shout, as the children did, but, fearing that she might
shock Mrs. Enterprise Twiggly, she waited until she was on the downward
trail and out of sight of the inn, then she flung her arms wide and sang
a glad song of her childhood.
“Oh, but it’s good to be alive!” she said as she turned into the narrow,
well-shoveled trail leading to the cabin. Just then a breeze, on
mischief bent, perhaps, tossed a heavily-laden pine bough above her head
and a small avalanche of snow crashed down upon her. Laughingly, she
shook herself as best she could.
The snow had knocked her cherry-colored tam awry, and had loosened her
hair, which curled at the ends and clustered about her ears and on her
neck. With cheeks flushed and eyes brimming with mirth, the girl-teacher
tapped upon the door of the cabin. No one answered, and she pushed it
open and found herself facing a strange young man who, wrapped well in
blankets, sat in the big easy-chair close to the stove. How Frederick
Edrington had longed to climb to the shelter of the loft when he had
seen the unwelcome guest passing the window, but there had not been
time.