to do, almost as much as grandma has with her clubs and societies
and meetings. First there is school. I think I like Alice Evans the
best of the girls, for she has such pretty hair, but I am not quite
sure about it. She was not quite as nice to me at recess as Ruth
was, so maybe I shall like Ruth best. I am sure I shall love Patty.
I wish she had come here with her sister. It must be lovely, Tippy,
to have a sister, though I suppose you don't think as I do, for you
had a sister once and now you don't care anything about her, for you
fizzed at her the other day when she came in our garden. I saw you
and heard you, too, and I was very much shocked. What was I talking
about? Oh, yes, about so much to do. I'll have lessons to study at
home after this, I suppose. We didn't have any real lessons to-day,
just trial things, and I did such awful--I mean really awful writing
on the blackboard that the girls all giggled. I just hated that, and
I felt like crying or like running away and never going back, but I
realized that it wouldn't do to do either, so that is another thing
I must do.
"I must practice writing at home. I wonder where I shall get paper
and things to do it on. I'll have to ask Miss Dorothy about that.
She is such a dear, Tippy, and she likes cats; she said so. I never
used to think that any one could be as nice as Mrs. Hunt, but Miss
Dorothy is nicer in some ways, for she understands just how you feel
about everything, and Mrs. Hunt doesn't always. She is as kind as
can be, but she thinks that when you ask questions if she answers
with a cookie or a doughnut you will be satisfied. It does satisfy
your mouth, of course, but it doesn't satisfy the thinking part of
you. Sometimes I go down there just bursting with things I want to
know, and when I ask her, she says: 'Oh, don't bother your little
head about such things; there is a plate of cakes in the pantry; go
help yourself.' Now, Miss Dorothy isn't that way at all. She just
reaches her thinks down to yours and they go along together till
you come out all clear and straight like coming out of the woods
into an open sunshiny place where there is a good path.
"Now, Tippy, we've got to think of something to send papa for a
present. I don't suppose you are interested in such things, but I
think every one ought to be. Maybe Patty can help me out. She must
be a very bright child; Miss Dorothy says she is. There! I hear
Heppy clattering the milk-pan; it is time to see about your
supper." So saying, Marian put down the two cats and started for
the house, her pets following at her heels, knowing the sound of
a milk-pan as well as she.
_CHAPTER IV_
_Companions_
The first week of school passed very rapidly, and by the time Friday
afternoon came, Marian felt quite at home with her schoolmates. She
had finally decided that Ruth would be her best friend next to
Patty, whom she always held in reserve as filling her needs exactly,
when they should meet. Miss Dorothy had written to her little sister
and Marian was daily expecting a letter herself from Patty, a letter
which should mark the beginning of their friendship. She was rather
shy of the girls at first, for she had scarcely known childish
comrades, and her old-fashioned ideas and mature way of speaking
often brought a laugh from the others, but her shyness soon wore off
and she quickly acquired a style of speech at which her grandparents
sometimes frowned, for it included some bits of slang which had
never found their way into the brick house before.
It was Miss Dorothy's doing which made the way easier for the little
girl, for she argued nobly in behalf of Marian's needing young
companions to keep her like a normal child. She even appealed to
the family doctor who promptly sided with her, and maintained that
Marian would be better bodily, if she lived a more rough and tumble
life. So, because her grandparents really did care for her, absorbed
as they were in their grown-up affairs, Marian was allowed more
freedom than ever before and was ready to take advantage of it.
Miss Dorothy had gone up to town to do some shopping this first
Saturday of the term, and Marian bethought herself of its being
baking day at Mrs. Hunt's, so, as this was always one place she
could always go without asking permission, she simply stopped at
the sitting-room door and announced: "I am going down to Mrs.
Hunt's, grandma."
Mrs. Otway, at work upon a financial report, did not look up from
her columns of figures, but merely nodded in reply and Marian ran on
down the street between the double rows of trees, till she came to
Mrs. Hunt's. This time it was the odor of baking which greeted her
as she advanced toward the kitchen, and Mrs. Hunt was in the act of
taking a pan of nicely browned cookies from the oven as her visitor
appeared.
"Well, well, well," she exclaimed. "Just in time. Seems to me school
keeps some folks amazingly busy. I've not seen you for a week, have
I? But there, I'm glad enough you're turned out at last. Let me see
how you look. School agrees with you; I can see that. Sit down there
on the step and eat a cookie; it's warm inside the kitchen with the
fire going. Now tell me all about it. How do you like Miss Robbins?
I hear she's liable to be as popular as any teacher we've had. How
do the grans take to her?" Marian and Mrs. Hunt always spoke of Mr.
and Mrs. Otway as the grans.
"They like her," returned Marian between bites of cookie. "She is
perfectly fine, Mrs. Hunt, and she's got a little sister just my
age; her name's Martha, but they call her Patty, and she's going to
write to me, and, oh, Mrs. Hunt, I have a secret to tell you, but
you mustn't breathe it. Cross your heart you won't."
"Cross your heart," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "Where did you get that? I
never heard you say that before."
"All the girls say it."
"Of course they do, and you're getting to be one of the girls, I
see. Well, I'm glad of it. And what's the mighty secret?"
"You won't tell?"
"Not I." Mrs. Hunt emphasized her promise by bringing down her
cake-cutter firmly on the dough she had spread on the board before
her.
"Well, it's this: I'm learning to write on the typewriter, and I'm
going to write a letter to papa myself."
"Well, I vow to man! Isn't that a trick worth knowing? Won't he be
pleased?"
"Do you think he really will? I didn't know, for you see he has
written to me only once a year just as he does to grandpa and
grandma, and I have never been sure that he really cared very much
about me."
"Listen to the child," exclaimed Mrs. Hunt, shaking her head. "Who'd
have thought she gave it any thought one way or the other. Don't you
believe that he doesn't care. I knew Ralph Otway before you were
born, and I can tell you that when he gets to knowing that you've
thought enough about him to want to write to him he will write to
you often enough. He's got it into his head that you are as well off
not hearing from him oftener, and besides he feels that as a lone
widower he can't take as good care of you as his mother, a woman,
can do, and he's just steeled his heart to endure what he thinks is
best for you without thinking of what he would like for himself.
Don't you suppose he would a thousand times rather have you with him
than to live off there by himself?"
"No, I didn't think so," replied Marian, with the idea that somehow
she had said something she ought not. "But, Mrs. Hunt, if he does
care, why doesn't he come over and get me?"
"Just as I told you; because he thinks you are better off here with
your kith and kin. What would you do all day alone, with him off at
his business and you by yourself in lodgings or a boarding-house,
I'd like to know. He wouldn't want to send you to boarding-school,
for then you'd not be so well off as where you are. Oh, no, don't
you be getting it into your head that your father doesn't care for
you." Mrs. Hunt made decided plunges at the yellow dough at each
attack leaving behind a scalloped circle. "How I talk," she said as
she deftly lifted the cookies into a pan, "but my tongue runs away
with me sometimes. When do you think you'll be smart enough to get
that letter off?"
"Oh, in another week, perhaps. Miss Dorothy thinks I will."
"Humph! that's quick enough work. Here, don't you want to go down
into the garden and get me a few tomatoes? I thought I'd stew some
for dinner, and I can't leave my baking very well."
This was something Marian always liked to do, so she took the little
round basket Mrs. Hunt handed her and was soon very busy among the
tomato vines. She was watching a big yellow butterfly bury itself in
an opening flower when she heard a voice on the other side of the
fence, say: "Hello!" and looking up she saw Marjorie Stone and Alice
Evans smiling at her.
"What are you doing?" asked Marjorie. "I didn't know you lived
here."
"I don't," said Marian going toward her. "I just came to see Mrs.
Hunt and I am getting some tomatoes for her. Most everything else
has gone. There used to be lovely currants and raspberries over
there, and there were a few blackberries."
"We know where there are some blackberries still, don't we, Alice?"
said Marjorie.
"Yes, they have ripened late; they're not so very big, but we are
going to get them. We're going to take our lunch with us and gather
all we can find."
"If you bring some lunch you can go too," said Marjorie amiably to
Marian.
"Oh, is it a picnic?"
"Just a little one. Three or four of us were going, but two of the
girls can't go. One has to stay at home and take care of the baby,
and the other has gone to town with her mother, but maybe Alice's
big sister, Stella, will go with us."
"Is it very far?"
"Not so very. We've often been there. You go get your lunch and put
it in a tin bucket, or a basket, so you will have something to carry
your blackberries home in. We'll wait here for you if you hurry."
Much excited, Marian ran back to the house. This came of having
schoolmates. A picnic this very first Saturday, and the
blackberrying thrown in. She set down the little basket on the
kitchen table and exclaimed, "Oh, Mrs. Hunt, what do you think?
Marjorie Stone and Alice Evans want me to go on a picnic with them.
They're going blackberrying and it isn't very far, but I'll have to
take my lunch in something to gather the blackberries in, and----"
She paused for breath.
"Just those two going?"
"No, Alice's big sister, Stella, is going."
"Oh!" Mrs. Hunt nodded her head in a satisfied way.
"Do you think I would have time to go home?" Marian asked anxiously.
"They said they were in a great hurry."
"What is the use of your going home? I can put you up a little lunch
easy as not. Here's these cookies, and I've baked turnovers, too.
There's a basket of nice good apples in the pantry; you can have one
of those, and I'll whisk together some sandwiches in the shake of a
sheep's tail."
"Oh, that would be perfectly fine. Do you think grandma would
mind?"
"She oughtn't to. She's done the same thing lots of times herself."
"Oh!" This fact certainly set things all right, for surely no grown
person could be so absolutely unjust and inconsistent as to blame a
child for doing what she had done, not once, but often herself. So
Marian was quite assured, and smilingly watched Mrs. Hunt's kind
hands pack a lunch for her.
"There now," said the good woman when she had tucked a red napkin
over the top of the basket. "Run along and have a good time. I guess
all the quarts of blackberries you get won't make many jars of jam,
but you'll have just as much fun. If I get the chance I'll run up to
your grandma's or send word that you won't be home to dinner. Maybe
I'll see your grandpa as he comes back from the post-office."
And so, well content, Marian sped forth to join the girls who were
waiting.
"Are you going?" they asked. "You didn't have to go home, did you?"
"No, Mrs. Hunt put up a lunch for me. She is always so very kind."
"What have you got?" asked Marjorie eagerly.
"Three sandwiches, ham ones, and six cookies, two turnovers and an
apple." Marian enumerated the articles with pride.
"I guess that will be enough," said Marjorie, condescendingly. "But
you will have to cut the turnovers in two so they will go around; we
haven't any, you know."
Marian felt somewhat abashed, and thought that Marjorie was not very
polite. She would not have inquired into the contents of their lunch
baskets for the world. However, she trotted along very contentedly
till they reached Alice's home where Stella was to join them. "I
found some crackers and cheese, and there are two slices of bread
and jam," announced this older girl as she came out. "I think
perhaps we can find an apple tree along the way. Did you bring
anything, Marjorie?"
"Yes, I have something in here." Marjorie swung her tin bucket
in air.
"Then we'd better start," continued Stella. "Who is that with you?
Oh, I see, it is Marian Otway. Hello, Marian."
"How do you do?" said Marian. She had never seen Stella except from
across the church. She considered her quite a young lady, although
she was only fourteen, but she was tall for her age and had an
assured air.
The weather was warm, as it often is in early September, and as they
trudged along the dusty road with the noonday sun beating down upon
them, Marian thought it was anything but fun. Stella, however, kept
encouraging them all by telling them it was only a little further,
and that when they came to a certain big tree they would sit down
and eat their lunch. The tree seemed a long way off, but at length
it was reached, and the four sat down to rest under its shade.
"Oh, I do wish I had a drink," sighed Alice. "I am so thirsty."
"So am I," exclaimed the others.
"Maybe there is a spring near," said Stella. "There is a house over
yonder; perhaps they could let us have some milk."
"But we haven't any money to pay for it," said Alice.
"So we haven't. Well, we'll have to ask for water. It was very
stupid to think of only being hungry and not of being thirsty. We
could have brought some milk as well as not. Let us have your tin
bucket, Marjorie, and you and Alice go over and ask for some water."
"I'm too tired," complained Marjorie. "If I lend you my bucket I
think some one else ought to go for the water."
"Oh, all right," said Stella with a disdainful smile. "I am sure
Marian will be accommodating enough to go with Alice, although you
have walked no further than they did. You will go, won't you,
Marian?"
At this direct appeal, Marian could not refuse to go, and arose with
alacrity to do Stella's bidding.
"Empty your bucket into my basket," said Stella to Marjorie, at the
same time taking off the lid. Marjorie made a dive into the bucket
and hastily secured a small package wrapped in paper, consenting to
Stella's putting the two biscuits and the one banana that remained,
into her basket.
"Don't begin to eat till we come back," called Alice as she and
Marian started off.
"We won't," promised her sister.
The way through the open field was quite as hot, if not as dusty as
the road, and Marian agreed with Alice that it was harder to walk
through the stubble than the dust, so they were glad enough to reach
the shade of the trees surrounding the little farmhouse. A woman was
scouring tins on the back porch.
"Could we have some water from your pump?" asked Alice timidly.
The woman looked up. "Why, yes, and welcome. Where did you drop
from? I ain't seen any carriage come up the road."
"We walked from Greenville," Alice told her.
"All the way this warm day? Well, I should think you would want
water. You two didn't come by yourselves, did you?"
"No, my sister and another girl are over there by that big chestnut
tree."
"Lands! then why didn't you go to the spring? 'T ain't but a step,
just a ways beyond the tree down in that little hollow. I think the
water's better and colder than the pump water, but you can have
either you like. Perhaps, though, you'd like a glass of milk. But
there, you just wait, I know something better than that. Just set
down and cool off while I fetch something for you to take back.
Don't take a drink till you set awhile; you're all overheated."
"What do you suppose she's going to give us?" whispered Alice.
Marian shook her head. "I'd like water better than anything, but she
said we'd best wait and I'm going to."
"Then I will," said Alice, not to be outdone.
Presently the woman returned with a pitcher upon which stood cool
beads of moisture, while the clinking sound of ice from within
suggested deliciousness to the thirsty. Setting down a glass the
woman poured something into it, and then handed the glass to Marian
who politely offered it to Alice. It was quickly accepted and Alice
took a satisfying draught. "It is lemonade," she said, "and it is,
oh, so good. I never tasted anything so good."
The woman laughed. "You never were more thirsty, maybe. Take your
time; I'll get another glass." She stepped inside to supply Marian
with the same treat. "I'll pour the rest into your pail," she said;
"it will go good with your lunch. I made a whole bucketful this
morning thinking maybe my husband's folks might come over for
Sunday and would be thirsty after their long drive, but it's too
late for 'em now. They always start by sunup and get here before
dinner. They won't be here this week, so you come in for what
they don't."
"I'm glad they didn't come," said Alice setting down her glass.
The woman laughed. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good,
they say. Here's your pail; there's ice enough to keep it cool
for some time."
"Thank you so very, very much," said Marian earnestly. "If I get
enough blackberries I'll surely bring you some."
"Bless the child! You needn't, for I have had all I need, and have
put 'em up till I'm sick of the sight of 'em. Keep all you get and
I'm sure you're welcome; their time is about over and what you get
won't be worth much. I'm sure you're welcome to your drink." She
fell to scouring again, and the girls departed bearing the bucket
carefully.
"Wasn't she kind?" said Marian, in grateful remembrance, "and isn't
it nice to know about the spring?"
"Be careful," cried Alice in alarm, for just here Marian struck her
foot against a stubbly growth and came near falling, but recovered
her footing.
"Let me take it," said Alice, grasping the handle of the bucket.
"I'm sure I shall be glad if you will," replied Marian in a relieved
tone, "it would be too dreadful to spill any of that delicious
stuff."
However it was borne safely the rest of the way, and it is needless
to say that it was appreciated by the waiting pair, though Marjorie
complained that they had been such a long, long time in getting it.
"I should think it was worth being long to get what we did," said
Alice severely.
"Well, anyhow, I think Stella and I ought to have the most," said
Marjorie, "for you each had a glassful up at the house and we
haven't had any."
"That was to pay us for going, wasn't it?" and Alice appealed to her
sister.
"Certainly it was," returned Stella. "If you couldn't have that much
after your doing the errand I should think it was a pity."
Then they fell to eating their lunch, although the division of this
did not turn out as Marjorie intended, for Stella declared it was
only fair that each should eat what she brought for herself, and
maintained that Marjorie's biscuits and banana must be her share.
Marian protested, however, for she felt that she had the lion's
share, and that she would be uncomfortable if she ate her good
things without giving so much as a taste to the others. At last it
was decided that each child should contribute to the general supply
one article from her lunch, so a turnover went from Marian's basket,
a biscuit from Marjorie's pail, while Alice and Stella contributed
some crackers and cheese and a slice of their bread and jam. No one
caring for Marjorie's biscuit it was left untouched while its owner
fell upon the turnover without a question. Marian chose the crackers
and cheese, but insisted upon exchanging some of her cookies for the
slice of bread and jam, and later gave Alice half her apple. The
lemonade was quaffed to the last drop, and then Marjorie volunteered
to go to the spring for water. She was gone some time, and as they
all started forth to find the blackberry patch, Alice whispered to
Marian, "She had candy in that package; that's why she wanted to go
to the spring alone. I saw her take out the candy and eat it." Then
Marian began to realize that her eyes were being opened to other
than pleasant things in that outside world of companionship.
_CHAPTER V_
_Blackberries_
Fortunately the blackberry patch was not much further on, and after
being refreshed by their luncheon the children did not mind crossing
a field and climbing a fence or two. But what a thicket it was! Such
thorns and briars as Marian had never imagined. There was a story in
verse, in one of the books which had belonged to her grandmother
when she was a little girl; this story was about Phebe, the
Blackberry Girl, and it was one in which Marian delighted, but
never before had she realized to the full extent Phebe's trials;
yet, like her, she
"Scratched her face and tore her hair,
But still did not complain,"
and furthermore, like Phebe, when she came to a promising bush, she
"picked with all her might," and really had a creditable amount to
show when Stella said time was up. But alas, she had other things
to show besides blackberries and scratches, for she had worn a frock
of light material, and by the time they were ready to leave the
thicket, it was in slits and tears all over. Marian had been so
excited over her novel employment that she had not seen what damage
the briars were doing till Marjorie laughed out: "Oh, what a rag-bag
you are!"
Then Marian looked down at the fringe of muslin which hung from her
waist, at the stained waist itself, from which the trimming fell in
festoons, and she was aghast. "Oh, what shall I do?" she breathed
helplessly.
"You certainly do look a sight," said Stella, none too comfortingly,
"but I wouldn't mind my clothes so much as my hands; just see how
they are all scratched up, and your face isn't much better. You were
too reckless; you ought not to have plunged in so far that you got
caught in the worst of the brambles; we didn't any of us plunge
around so as to get all mixed up that way."
"I know," returned Marian meekly, "I got too excited."
"I should think you did."
"I can't go into town this way," said Marian miserably. "I look like
a beggar girl."
"Anybody could see that you had been picking blackberries," said
Alice consolingly.
"But with such a looking frock they will laugh at me," said Marian
tearfully. "Oh, dear, I wish I had worn something that didn't tear."
"As the rest of us did," remarked Marjorie complacently.
"If you had only been careful and had kept on the edge of the
thicket," Stella said, then seeing how distressed Marian really
was, she went on: "You might take off your frock; I really think
you would look better without than with it."
"Oh!" Marian's cheeks flamed. To appear before the world
half-dressed was not to be thought of.
Stella looked her over critically. The frock she wore was a white
muslin spotted with pink, too frail a garment for such an
expedition.
"The waist isn't so terrible," said Alice examining it. "If we had
some pins we could fasten the trimming on so it wouldn't show the
tears much."
"Take off your frock, Marian," decided Stella; "I know what we can
do."
Marian obeyed the assured voice, and presently Stella was tearing
the ragged skirt from the waist, afterward pinning the trimming of
the waist in place. "Now come here," she said to Marian.
"What are you going to do?" the others asked in chorus.
"I am going to match your petticoat to your waist," said Stella,
addressing Marian. "I will dot it with pink, and it will never
be observed. You can wear the waist as it is, and have a skirt
to match."
"What are you going to spot it with?" asked Alice curiously.
"You'll see," answered her sister, taking a blackberry from her
basket and squeezing a little of the juice on Marian's petticoat.
"It isn't exactly the color, but it is near enough, and will never
be noticed unless you were very near. Now stand quite still,
Marian."
The little girl obeyed and after some time Stella finished her work.
"There!" she exclaimed with her head to one side to notice the
effect; "that is not bad at all. Walk off, Marian, and let me see;
the spots aren't quite even, but then, as Mrs. Hunt says, 'they will
never be seen on a galloping horse.'"
"I am sure they look very well," remarked Alice admiringly, "and I
think you were very clever to think of it, Stella." And Marian,
though still a little shamefaced, felt more at ease.
"We'd better start back," said Stella, "for the afternoons are not
so very long now, and we have quite a distance to go."
"If we didn't have blackberries in the two buckets we might get some
of that nice cold water from the spring and carry it with us," said
Alice, "and then if we were thirsty we should have something to
drink."
"It wouldn't be a bad plan," agreed Stella. "I'll tell you what we
can do: Marjorie can pour her berries in our bucket and we can use
hers for the water. Our bucket is so big that it will easily hold
ours and hers, too."
"I'd like to see me do it," spoke up Marjorie. "I'd be sure not
to get back as many as I put in."
Stella curled her lip and lifted her eyebrows scornfully. "You
needn't be afraid," she said; "nobody wants one of your old
berries. If you are so particular, it is very easy to separate
them by putting a layer of leaves on top of ours, and yours on
top of that, and then there will be no mixing, and _we_ shall
be sure to get all that belongs to _us_."