Louisa tried to enthuse over paper dolls that father had brought them,
cut from a Sunday newspaper--but somehow they always drifted toward the
window, even though they knew he would never come again.
And so time passed, long mornings, school and home-coming. It began to
be spring. Grass came by the roadside bushes that showed wee buds to
break into soft colors. Maria left the kitchen door open of a morning
and Angelina sat on the stone before the doorway, thinking. Her eyes
rested for a moment upon the place where they had placed the little
brown bird under the leaves. She called to Louisa, “Oh, come--come!
Let us see what the bird-flower is! We put him under the leaves in the
earth, and there is grown from him a flower! It is a bird-flower--a
bird-flower, Louisa!”
They ran out to look at the little flower that grew over the spot where
the little brown bird had been. “Is it so, Ange?” asked Louisa, willing
to believe.
Full of excitement, they ran back to busy Maria. “Our little brown bird
is grown to be a bird-flower,” they cried. “Come, Maria, come quickly
and see! It is such a pretty flower, all like a star and white!”
Maria shook her head. “There are no bird-flowers,” she declared. But
she followed them out to the sunny spot where the grass was growing
green over the dead leaves and she thought it a beautiful flower. She
let Louisa and Angelina talk of their bird-flower, but she smiled to
herself.
But why should not little birds who have been stoned waken, with the
flowers, in the spring sunlight? Louisa and Angelina believed in their
bird-flower and they wondered, too, if all spring flowers came from
little birds. At night when their father came home, they asked him. At
first he laughed and did not understand. Maria explained.
“They are children,” she smiled, “and they think a bird is like a bulb
or seed. They cannot understand the difference. They watched the little
brown bird all winter, and Louisa gave it crusts that she ought to
have eaten. And they found it by the roadside where the rude children
up the hill had killed it. We put the little bird under the leaves
there and now that a flower has come in the place, they call it their
bird-flower, father!”
Then he put a hand on each little head. “My little girls,” he said, “is
it true--then call it your bird-flower if it comforts you. I will tell
you what I think: they say that there are no little birds in heaven,
for their souls do not live, they say. Yet I know there are children up
there and that wherever the children are there must be birds to sing
to them--even the angel children would want them. And I know that your
mother would miss them, too, were they not there.”
In the stillness they heard a song sparrow trill from the bushes on the
hillside.
“I would like to have our little brown bird sing to our mother,”
Angelina suggested softly.
“He might sing of us,” whispered Louisa.
But Maria was still.
“There are many birds left, my children. You too should sing and not be
sad, for that is what is best. We will make happiness and brightness,
you, my Angelina, and you, my Louisa. We will make a garden there in
the place where you have found your star flower! I will get seeds. We
will take Maria from her kitchen to help and there will be plenty to do
in the early mornings before school then. Such weeds as you will have
to watch for, to care for the beautiful flowers that I will plant! Ah,
then your mornings will be so glad among the flowers!”
The three little girls smiled.
And the garden that grew up around Ange’s bird-flower all three of them
called the garden of the little brown bird.
_Marjorie’s Mystery_
_THE MAY SURPRISE_
_Marjorie’s May surprise was a paper May basket, of course. You know
all about that. And the story pocket that came in May, Dotty had
labelled:_
“_Open on May Day, too._”
_Marjorie opened it right after the first pocket, but she had to keep
the story till afternoon to read. She read it to Dotty after they
came home. “I chose it because the little girl in the story was named
after you,” smiled Dot. And so they had the funny story of “Marjorie’s
Mystery.”_
_VII_
_Marjorie’s Mystery_
Upon Marjorie’s list of good resolutions, not-to-be-too-curious was a
failing hard to remember and conquer. In the first place, Marjorie was
very wide awake. She always saw everything that was happening. In the
second place and in the third place as well as the tenth and thirteenth
place, Marjorie couldn’t bear not to know everything that she wanted to
know. Sometimes, she went quite too far in her attempts to find out. At
any rate, Daddy and Mother and Mark and Dotty made fun of the failing
and Marjorie, when she stopped to think twice--which wasn’t so very
often--tried hard to overcome unnecessary curiosity. Sometimes it is a
fine thing to be curious and again, it’s bad. But upon a very memorable
day in May, once upon a time, something mysterious came to pass at
Marjorie’s home and this is to be the story of The Great Mystery of
Curiosity, Unanswered.
It happened this way: Daddy was away; Mark had gone off since Friday to
make a visit at a boy friend’s just out of town a little way; Dotty had
also gone away. She spent the night with the little girl next door and
had not yet come home. It was a Monday morning and May Day.
Marjorie had prepared a May Day basket for her special friend, Mabel.
She had been out in the woods on Sunday afternoon and as soon as she
was through breakfast, the bowl of May Day flowers came out--and in
arranging them they scattered all over the floor as Marjorie selected
the unwilted ones to put into Mabel’s basket.
“Look out,” warned Mother. “Somebody came last night when you were
abed. Somebody may be down to breakfast by and by--better pick up,
Marjorie! We don’t want a disorderly floor.”
“Oh, did Daddy come home?” questioned Marjorie.
“No, not Daddy.”
“Who?”
“Oh, just somebody who wants to keep quiet this morning and rest.”
Wasn’t that enough to make a person curious! Of course it was! Who? Who
could it be? “Is it uncle or aunt?” she insisted. “Who’s ‘company’?”
But Mother only smiled. “You’ll find out sometime,” she said. “Not now.
If I told you, you’d run right up to Mark’s room and the person who
came last night felt sick and mustn’t be disturbed.”
Hump! The flowers were pushed into the paper May basket and she began
to pick up the leaves and buds that had fallen on the floor. “I think
you might tell me,” she begged. “I want to know who came.”
But Marjorie got no answer. She knew it wasn’t much use to continue to
tease, but she resolved to find out who it was.
At school the question still pursued Marjorie. Would Mark come home
and want his room and, if he did, would _he_ know who was there? After
school she dashed home and burst through the back door and up the back
stairs. Mark’s door was closed. There was a paper pinned upon it. It
was Mother’s writing and it said, “Please don’t disturb.”
So Marjorie passed by the door. She went into Mother’s room and found
Mother sewing. “Isn’t company ever going to wake up?” she asked. “Am I
_never_ to know who is there?”
But she received no answer only a smile.
Dotty was home now. Dotty didn’t know who was in Mark’s room, but she
wasn’t curious about things. She was occupied in cutting out paper
dolls, sitting on the floor in the sun beside the window.
“What happened at luncheon?” asked Marjorie of Dotty who went to
kindergarten and came home at noon. “Did anybody _talk_ in Mark’s room
when Mother took up the tray? Did you hear anything?”
Dotty shook her head.
Deary me! Oh, dear! And the door was _closed_! Marjorie decided to walk
by it again. She waited and she listened. She heard nothing at all--no,
not a sound, _not a sound_! Then the telephone bell rang and she ran
down to answer it. The telephone call was from Mabel. Mabel had been at
school and she wanted to know if Marjorie had solved the mystery.
“Who came? Who is it?” she asked.
But Marjorie did not know. Mabel suggested that it must be Marjorie’s
aunt who came from the West. “Probably that’s it,” she said. “Why don’t
you make a May basket and go tie it on the door and--and say something.
You could tell from the voice, if it answered you, whether it was your
aunt or not.” That was a good thought. Marjorie set about making a
paper May basket. She heard Mother go up the front stairs and cross
to the back where Mark’s door was. Then, having made the basket, she
decided to try Mabel’s suggestion. Mother went into Mark’s room, came
out and went downstairs again. Marjorie waited.
Then she went upstairs softly. Mother was in the living-room with Dotty
now, playing and helping her cut the dolls out of a big magazine sheet.
They seemed occupied.
May basket in hand, Marjorie tiptoed toward Mark’s door and saw that
the paper had been taken off it. She hung the May basket on the knob
and knocked. There was no answer. “May I come and bring you a May Day
gift?” she softly suggested to the closed door.
But right here, _who should appear but Mother_! “I’ll take the basket
in for you, dear,” she smiled. Marjorie was quite aware of the wicked
twinkle in her eye. “Dotty wants you to help her downstairs,” she said.
So downstairs went Marjorie. She stopped half way as Mother opened the
mysterious door and passed in with the May basket. She saw nothing. She
heard nothing. Now, wasn’t that just dreadful! Marjorie’s curiosity was
much bigger than ever but she went down to help darling little sister,
Dotty, cut paper dolls out of the fashion sheet.
But while she cut for Dotty, she kept wondering and wondering and
_wondering_. She decided that she’d write a note upon some paper and
slip it under the door and say on the paper:
Who are you, mysterious stranger? Please answer? Are you Auntie?
If you are Auntie, let me know, please. I want to see you. If you
are Mother’s friend, Miss Phelps, please tell me? Mother says you
want to be quiet, so I can’t come in, but I want to know who you
are--please, please put an answer under your door for me.
MARJORIE.
That was what she did do as soon as the last doll had been cut out. At
the time, Mother was busy in the kitchen, getting tea. Dotty was still
playing with the dolls. Marjorie slipped upstairs and tucked the paper
beneath the crack. As she came to the end of the paper, she gave it a
wiggle to attract attention. She hadn’t dared to speak again as Mother
said the mysterious person must not be troubled.
As the paper disappeared under the door Mother appeared! She came
bringing a napkin and tray with something hot upon it. She was going to
take this into Mark’s room.
“Marjorie,” she reproved. “Are you still so curious? Well, run away
now.”
Marjorie waited in the hall and heard Mother speaking--but nothing
else! She was almost ashamed to pursue the mystery so openly but when
Mother at last came out bringing the tray and the empty dishes, she
laughingly handed Marjorie an answer to the letter. It said in strange
scrawls that betrayed nothing of who had written them:
Please, I feel sick. You’ll see me sometime when I am better. I
just want to sleep now.
THE MYSTERIOUS MYSTERY.
Marjorie laughed and then she frowned. Now, _why_ couldn’t that
person-whoever-it-was have signed a name! Why not!
“How long before the person in Mark’s room will be well?” she asked.
“Oh, soon,” replied Mother. “I hope very soon.”
“What time? Will I know who it is by tea-time?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, deary me!” Marjorie sighed. “Well, I’ve tried every way I can to
find out,” she said. “Perhaps I’d better forget about it. I’m going to
do my home-work for school so I can forget about it.” And she sat down
at the library table with pencil, paper and books. But still, nothing
happened!
Then it grew twilight and the light was lit in the dining-room.
Marjorie rose and set the supper-table as usual. “How many places shall
I set, Mother?” she inquired. “I don’t really mean to be curious any
more--but you see, I must know. Mark will be home tonight and there
will be Daddy--he’ll be here--and there’s you and there’s me and, I
_suppose_ The Mystery will be down, will it?”
“The Mystery will be down,” answered Mother, “but we’ll only need four
places.”
But right here into the room came Mark. “Hello,” he greeted Marjorie.
“Say, that’s one on you for curiosity, Marj! But the May basket was a
peach! I’d have called to you only Mother said I mustn’t else you’d
be in and talk to me and I felt pretty sick, I tell you! I got sick
at Jimmie’s house and they telephoned home here the night I went away
after you were asleep. Mother thought I’d better come right home, if
I was going to be sick, so they sent me home late at night in their
car--it’s a joke on you, Marjorie. How about a Mysterious Stranger?”
Mother laughed. And so, too, did Marjorie.
_The Two Little Bates Girls_
_THE JUNE SURPRISE_
_The four-leaf clover that came in June’s first pocket was a pressed
four-leaf clover marked, “To help in examination time.” The story that
came in the other June pocket was “The Two Little Bates Girls” and it
was labelled:_
“_Read and open after your arithmetic examination is over._”
_VIII_
_The Two Little Bates Girls_
They were not at all alike and they were not even sisters--those
two little Bates girls. One had curly light hair and the other had
bobbed-off black hair. One was slender and the other was plump. One had
blue eyes and the other had brown ones and both were as different as
different could be, though the names of both came upon Miss Kennedy’s
school roll one after the other; first Mamie and then Mary.
Mary had light curls that bobbed in a lively way even in arithmetic
class, where everything was rather subdued by hard problems that Miss
Kennedy set. Mamie Bates had bobbed black hair that had a way of
falling over her forehead when she was bending over work--in brief,
Mary Bates was lively and Mamie Bates was not. Mamie Bates acknowledged
that arithmetic was about the hardest thing in school but Mary Bates
said it was easy, even though Miss Kennedy’s blue pencil went over her
paper and made big blue crosses that meant “Wrong” as often as they
crossed the papers of Mamie in the same way.
It ought not to have been so. Nevertheless the first quarterly report
that Miss Kennedy made out for Mamie and Mary Bates ranked them side by
side--seventy-six percent! That’s not a high mark; Miss Kennedy shook
her head over both marks. It was surely nothing to be proud of!
Mary Bates refused to show her report.
Mamie Bates hung her head woefully and explained that she had tried the
best she knew how--which was right. Both of them decided to try even
harder next quarter. And they did try. Mamie Bates mounted up to eighty
percent, and in one examination, she achieved eighty-three! “Next
time,” urged Miss Kennedy, “see if you can’t make it eighty-five!” Mary
Bates did not tell her mark. It may have been that she was ashamed of
it or it may have been that she did not want to brag. Nobody knew which.
But when Mamie Bates went home, she told her daddy all about that
eighty-three percent and her daddy smiled and said, “Well, if you’ll
make the next one ninety instead of eighty-five, and if you’ll keep all
the other marks above eighty-three after that, by the end of the next
quarter you shall have--What do you want most?”
“A pony and a cart,” laughed Mamie.
“A pony and a cart,” repeated daddy. “A real live pony and a basket
cart!”
Hooray! Think of it! Think of it--a pony and a pony cart! That was the
way things stood with Mamie Bates during the last quarter of the year
in Miss Kennedy’s room. The black bobbed hair fell over her eyes more
industriously than ever as she bent over her problems in arithmetic. In
the margins of Mamie Bates’s examination and test papers each Friday
there began to appear such delectable written words as, “Well done,
Mamie.” But the big blue crosses didn’t quite disappear--oh, no!
Mary Bates continued to keep her marks to herself. Very rarely did she
show any. Those that she did show weren’t so bad as some of the other
girls’ papers. But there never seemed to be “Well done, Mary,” on any
one of them. Even though there was nothing of this kind, Mary Bates
seemed contented with them. She said she had received ninety-five in
deportment and that was about the best mark that anybody could ever
receive. Miss Kennedy would never give a higher deportment mark. Even
Sallie Roberts who was noted throughout the whole class room for being
“awfully good” never received a higher mark than ninety-five--but then,
only the very bad scholars received less. Mary Bates also said that she
had a splendid report in spelling. She didn’t say what, but everybody
knew that she could spell. So could Mamie.
And so the time went by each week nearer and nearer to Mamie Bates’s
excited anticipation of that pony! The marks, so far, had been all
right. Daddy would have to keep the promise! Toward the end of the
quarter every girl in the class was wondering if she were going to pass
herself. It all depended upon the final tests. Even Mary Bates admitted
that she was a little shaky but not much. She thought she knew it all.
Mercy! How Miss Kennedy’s class did drill! Over the old, old stumbling
blocks they went with long pieces of yellow scratch paper. It did
seem as if everybody must pass the arithmetic test! Then the week of
examinations came and with it the worst dreaded of all, _arithmetic
examination_!
Over this, Mary Bates shook her curls soberly. Mamie Bates struggled
with black hair falling over her forehead. And then the time was up and
papers had to be handed in. Mamie Bates gave in her paper reluctantly.
Her cheeks were flushed. As soon as it had gone, she asked if she might
look at it again, just for a minute. Miss Kennedy smiled. She didn’t
let her. “Time’s up, Mamie,” she admonished. “What’s done must stay--it
isn’t fair to the rest, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” returned Mamie, “but you see the pony and pony cart
depend upon it. The others aren’t working for so much.” But Miss
Kennedy passed on. Everybody in the class knew of daddy’s promise and
hoped Mamie would win that percent in her arithmetic--everybody.
Mary Bates brought her paper to Miss Kennedy’s desk without even
waiting for it to be collected. “I’m sure I got everything right,” she
chirped. “It was easy! I think I’ll get ninety-five! There’s only one
thing that might be wrong.”
Sallie Overton nudged her neighbor. “I don’t believe it,” she
whispered. “She always thinks that she knows everything. I think it was
hard, don’t you?”
Oh, dear! Everybody seemed depressed as they left for home that
afternoon--everybody but Mary Bates who was _quite_ sure of herself
always. Everybody compared notes with everybody else on the way home
but nobody seemed sure. One had to wait till the reports came in. It
was dreadful to wait--at least dreadful for little Mamie Bates who
was thinking about daddy’s promise and the pony. One always made more
mistakes than one knew of, somehow, yet she had tried ever so hard. She
hoped she was right. She had tried not to get excited. She had tried
to stop and think over rules and she thought she ought to have done
something she hadn’t done, of course. It was fearfully hard to wait
till Monday. On Monday the report cards were to be given out. Almost
everybody was expecting some kind of a surprise that day, but the
surprise that Miss Kennedy’s class anticipated was one of percents, not
of teachers. When the class assembled, there in Miss Kennedy’s chair
and right at her desk making out the report cards sat--a substitute
teacher! She would tell nobody what the marks were and she just
snapped. Really, Miss Kennedy would have told Mamie Bates, at least.
_She_ knew about the pony. But the substitute teacher only said that
there was no hurry, they’d know fast enough. She didn’t like to be
asked questions at all. She said Miss Kennedy might not come back at
all--no, of course not! Why should she? (At this everybody looked more
worried than ever. All the class loved Miss Kennedy. Sallie Overton had
openly said that she didn’t want to pass because if she did, next year,
she’d have to leave Miss Kennedy’s room.) But at the end of the study
period, before being finally dismissed, the report cards were given
out, _at last_!
Mamie Bates grasped hers. She hardly dared to look, but when she
did, tears sprang to her eyes and she had to shake the brown bobbed
hair over them. There it was _seventy-six percent_! The schoolroom
blurred--only seventy-six percent! And how hard she had tried to please
daddy--and how she did want that pony! Yet all hope was gone now
because the final mark had fallen below! Mechanically she stood to be
dismissed. Mechanically she went to the cloak room, and mechanically
she walked toward home.
Seventy-six--not even eighty-three! And the pony--the pony!
Daddy didn’t ask about reports. Mamie Bates decided to wait and give
the bad news out when she herself was a little more used to it. Perhaps
next day, she could do it. Of course, seventy-six would promote one
into the next grade, but it wouldn’t give the pony! If Miss Kennedy
had been there, she would have explained to Mamie Bates all about her
mistakes, but the substitute kept the papers. She didn’t seem to think
much of anybody’s mark--but substitutes never do seem to care. Mamie
hoped Miss Kennedy would come back next day. She’d explain everything.
And the next day, sure enough, there was Miss Kennedy at her desk,
smiling. As Mamie came in and passed her, she smiled. “Mamie,” she
smiled, “I’m glad about your arithmetic. Are you?”
Mamie hung her head. “It wasn’t good, Miss Kennedy,” she stated, trying
hard not to cry. “I thought I was doing it right but I must have been
careless. I really knew about everything!”
“Let’s see your paper,” asked Miss Kennedy--but the substitute had the
paper. Miss Kennedy didn’t know of any very bad trouble. “Let’s see
your card, then,” she asked.
Mamie took it out of her book where it was hidden, unsigned as yet by
daddy. “It’s too bad,” she sighed. “There can’t be any pony at all now!”
“No pony? Why not?” And then Miss Kennedy saw the seventy-six percent
upon the report card! “Why, why, Mamie Bates!” exclaimed Miss Kennedy.
“Your mark is ninety-six, not seventy-six! I’ve just seen it in the
teacher’s book. That must be a mistake! Wait a minute and I’ll see.”
Off she dashed to get the examination papers in the next room. Mamie
Bates’s heart went pit-pat. She was sure Miss Kennedy was right--oh,
_the pony_!
Yes, of course, it was a mistake--a mistake made by the substitute. She
had mixed the marks of the two little Bates girls, who were no more
alike than their arithmetic marks!
Mary Bates said she didn’t care so long as she passed, so perhaps the
change of her mark didn’t matter so much. It was really Mamie Bates who
had worked hardest, anyhow.
But the really lovely thing that happened, happened at the close of
school that day. When Mamie Bates came out of school, there was a pony
and a pony cart waiting by the curb and daddy was in the cart! He--how
did _he_ know about the arithmetic reports being all right? But it
didn’t take Mamie Bates long to claim the pony! She wanted to know if
he had a name and when daddy said he didn’t think so, he was called
Arithmetic right then and there. Miss Kennedy came out to see him and
had the first ride behind him.
_Arne’s Fourth of July Battle_
_THE JULY SURPRISE_
_The July pocket that came first was opened on July third at noon. It
held a wee American flag. The story pocket came later and it held a
Fourth of July story. They read it sitting in the hammock on the porch.
It was called, “Arne’s Fourth of July Battle.”_
_IX_
_Arne’s Fourth of July Battle_
Arne drove the white horse, Christopher, into Danville every morning
to take the milk to the creamery. He started from the farm as soon as
the milk was in the cans, just as Lyman or Leslie--whichever it might
happen to be--took the cows to the wood pasture. It was a long drive
over the Prairie Road into Danville Creamery. Most usually it was
uneventful. And every day, now that the last of June had come, grew
warmer and warmer. Some days it was decidedly hot on the Prairie Road,
even though Arne and Christopher started so early of a morning.