AT AVONDALE
Harry was ready to go over to the cottage at eight the next morning,
but Leslie declared it a ridiculous hour to call.
"Call!" cried Harry. "Who's going to make a prim old call, I'd like to
know? S'pose a fellow is going to lug a card case just to go and play
with Rose?"
"Of course not," said Leslie, "but even if we are just going over to
the cottage to play, we'd not care to get there when she's eating
breakfast."
"Well, I guess there's no chance of doing that, Leslie. Look at the
clock. It is after eight now, and we're still at table."
"I'll go over with you at nine," Leslie said, and when the clock
struck nine, she found him just outside the door, his shrill whistle
having told her where to find him.
"Come on!" he cried. "It's nine, and if you won't come with me now
I'll go over to see Rose without you."
"Well, I'll have to go back now," Leslie said, and turning, she ran
across the hall, and up the stairway, laughing as she went.
"Good-bye!" shouted Harry, and off he sped, thinking it a great joke
on Leslie that he should keep his word, and because she was causing
the delay, run off to the cottage instead of waiting for her.
Leslie, never dreaming but that he was waiting on the walk just
outside the door, wondered that he did not whistle or call to her to
hurry.
She had gone back for a book that she intended to give Rose, and in
her haste she could not at once find it.
At last she saw a bit of its cover beneath a mass of lace and ribbon,
in the corner of the drawer where she had placed it for safe keeping,
and catching it up, flew down the stairway and out upon the porch.
For a moment she paused, wondering where Harry might be, when a merry
shout made her look up.
Away up the avenue, just opening the cottage gate, was Harry, and even
as she looked, he disappeared behind the tall shrubbery in the garden.
"Well, isn't he great?" Leslie said, as she started to run.
Rose and Harry were just behind a tall shrub that overhung the
gateway, and as Leslie pushed the gate open they sprang forward in a
fine attempt to startle her, but she only laughed.
"You couldn't make me jump," she said, "because I saw a bit of Rose's
pink dress between the branches, and Harry moved his head so that I
saw his yellow hair."
"Why didn't you speak, and tell us you knew where we were hiding?"
Harry asked, a nice bit vexed that Leslie had not "jumped."
"I thought you ought to have the fun of springing out at me, after
you'd hidden so nicely," Leslie said.
"Better luck next time," said Rose, and together they ran around
behind the cottage to learn if the little brook was as clear, and as
rippling as when Rose, in the early Summer, had sailed her little boat
upon it.
"The brook is here!" cried Harry. "It hasn't run away yet."
A ragged little chap now approached them, but they did not see him.
They were kneeling on the bank and looking at the reflections in a
little pool where no ripple stirred the surface.
The comical little fellow might have kept away from them had they been
facing him, but as their backs were toward him, he felt quite brave.
He was a droll looking urchin. His trousers evidently belonged to an
older brother, as the legs had been rolled over and over in an effort
to make them short enough so that he might walk without treading upon
them. His blouse must have been the property of the same person, for
the sleeves had received the same treatment as the trouser legs, that
he might be able to use his hands. Upon his head rested an old straw
hat. A big hole in the crown permitted a sprout of red hair to pop
out, and a pair of shoes, not mates, completed his odd costume. He
continued to approach until he stood within a few feet of Harry
Grafton, and then he paused, as if wishing that one of the group might
turn, and greet him.
With chubby hands clasped behind his back he waited. He was evidently
in no hurry, but after a time he became impatient.
"Hello!" he said, and Harry turned.
"Hello, little chap! Who are you?" Harry asked.
Ignoring the question, the small boy eyed Harry for a second, then he
lisped:
"Where'th Gyp? Ma thaid: 'Find Gyp.'"
"Are you Gyp's little brother?" Harry asked.
The small head in the big hat nodded.
"What's your name?" inquired Harry.
"Motheth," said the child.
"_Moses!_" cried Harry. "You must be wise. Are you?"
"I do' no', but I got to find Gyp, for Ma thaid I wouldn't have no
dinner unleth I found him, an' I want my dinner now."
"And yet you haven't found Gyp," Harry said. "Well, I saw him a little
while ago at work on the lawn over at Captain Atherton's house. Run
over there and look for him. Scoot! He may go off while you're waiting
to think about it."
Wee Moses waited for no urging, but raced across Aunt Judith's lawn,
out of the gate, and down the avenue, the tuft of red hair waving like
a flaming feather on the crown of his hat.
"Just notice his speed," cried Harry, and Rose and Leslie laughed as
the comical figure turned, and bolted up the driveway of the Atherton
place.
"That is only one of Gyp's small brothers," Leslie said.
"I never knew that he had one named Moses," said Rose.
"I've heard you tell their names, Harry," Leslie said, "but I never
remember them all. I know there is a Mike, and a Pete, and isn't one
named Hank?"
"Yes, and there's Luke and a little fellow that they call Sonny while
they're trying to decide what to name him," said Harry, "and really
he's such a funny looking little fellow that it would be hard work to
think of a name that would fit him."
"There is a girl over on the other part of the town whose name is
Tulip Rose Lillian Buttrick, and she told the girls that her parents
gave her all those names because they couldn't decide which they liked
best."
"What an idea!" cried Rose. "Well, I'm glad I haven't Tulip and
Lillian added to my name."
"I don't see why those people stopped at all," Harry said, "for
there's dandelion, and phlox and marigold, and a whole lot of other
flower names. Seems sort of stingy to give her only three."
"Oh, Harry! Nobody would name a girl 'Phlox,' think how it would look
written," Leslie said.
"I guess they don't worry about how it would look written," Harry
said.
* * * * *
It was when Rose and Leslie and Harry were resting after an exciting
game, that Mrs. Sherwood and Princess Polly arrived.
Then the fun began.
Mrs. Sherwood went in to talk with Aunt Judith, and the four playmates
ran over to the Grafton's for a game of tennis. And while they were
playing, eagerly hoping to win, each trying to outdo the other, little
Sprite Seaford sat in the odd little living room of her home, sorting
her treasures, and at the same time thinking what a fine time Princess
Polly must be having at Aunt Judith's cottage with Rose and her other
playmates.
The pretty shells, the coral, and the star fish, each had places of
their own, but they had been taken out to show to some callers the
afternoon before, and Sprite was now engaged in replacing them, each
in its own especial place.
Captain Seaford was out fishing and Mrs. Seaford had gone to the
village to do a few errands so Sprite was free to take her time about
the task.
Softly she sang as she placed the white shells in one row, and the
pink shells in another.
A smart tap at the door made her start, then she called:
"Come in," and Gwen entered.
Sprite wished that she had not answered the rap.
"Goodness! What a heap of shells. What are you going to do with them?
Going to keep them?" Gwen asked, in a manner that implied that she
thought he lovely sea treasures simply rubbish.
"_Keep_ them!" echoed Sprite. "Why of course I'm going to keep them."
"They're pretty of course," Gwen admitted, "but it must be a horrid
job to keep them in order. Leave them where they are and come out on
the beach."
"Oh, I can't," said Sprite, and she was about to say that she must
place her shells and coral in safe positions before going out, but
Gwen did not wait to hear what she had intended to say.
Instead, she hurried out, banging the door behind her.
"I'll find someone who'll do as I want to," she declared, and she ran
up the beach to find Princess Polly, but Princess Polly and Rose were
both at Avondale, and Gwen ran on to the center of the little coast
village.
"I'll find someone to play with, I don't care who it is," she said, as
she raced along.
When the sea trophies were all in their places, Sprite stepped back to
view her work.
A smile curved her lips, and her eyes grew brighter.
"They look finer than they ever did before," she said softly, "and now
I'll try to keep them just as they are arranged."
Sprite Seaford was often called a little "Water Witch," from the fact
that she was so much at home on the water.
She could swim wonderfully well for so small a girl, and she managed
her boat with skill.
After another approving glance at the rows of softly tinted shells,
she ran out onto the beach, and soon in her boat she was gliding along
on the shallow water near the shore, her oars moving with slow
precision, keeping time to the song that she was singing, or rather to
the songs that she was singing, for she was making a gay little medley
of many familiar tunes.
The light breeze lifted her long, waving hair, and let it flutter back
from her face, it kissed her cheeks, and made them pink like the
shells that she valued most.
The great gulls hovered overhead, flapping their wings, and circling
about as if trying to determine what sort of little being it was that
boasted such long tresses.
Skimming over a bit of shallow water, she chanced to look down and
there, on the sandy bottom, was a shell, different in shape from any
in her collection.
"I must have it," she cried, and in a second she had drawn the oars
into the boat, had slipped into the shallow water, and having pushed
the light boat toward the shore, swam along under water until she came
to the spot where the shell lay.
She came up to the surface to get the air, laughed, and swam downward
again, snatched the coveted shell, and then made her way to where the
little boat rocked on the waves.
She was in it in a moment, and again plying the oars, her shell on the
seat opposite that on which she was sitting.
She had dressed herself in her little bathing suit, and she laughed as
she saw that the warm breeze playing with her hair, was drying it,
while her blouse and skirt were dripping and would continue to drip
until hung up where the wind could blow through them.
Rarely a day passed that Sprite did not spend with Polly and Rose, but
to-day they were away, and she must amuse herself. They were her two
dearest playmates, but the dancing waves were the next best.
"I love to play with Princess Polly, and with Rose Atherton, and when
I'm not playing with them, I like my boat," she said softly. "I would
have asked Gwen to stay but I didn't want to her to.
"Gwen so often says unpleasant things. Polly and Rose never do, and
surely the boat doesn't. It never even answers back," she added with a
laugh. Then for a time she plied the oars in silence, rowing always
close along the shore, out from one little bay, and into another.
Then someone hailed her.
"Hi! Sprite! Sprite Seaford!"
She turned on her seat, and there, on the beach, close to the water,
was Max Deland.
"Say! Have you seen Gwen Harcourt?" he asked, his hands held
trumpet-wise, to carry his voice to her.
"I saw her, oh, much as an hour ago, it may be longer," Sprite
answered.
"Oh, pshaw! I mean have you seen her within a short time?" cried Max,
impatiently.
"I _said_ I saw her an hour ago, and maybe longer," Sprite said.
"I wonder it wasn't a week!" cried Max. "I want her now."
With that he ran off down the beach, and Sprite wondered why he was in
such evident haste.
She turned the boat about, and rowed along in the direction that Max
was going.
She saw him run along the beach, then stop and take something, a small
book she thought, from his pocket, look steadfastly at it for a few
moments, and then, after thrusting it back into his pocket, run on
again.
She wondered what sort of book it was, and why Max seemed so very
impatient in regard to seeing Gwen. He seemed bent upon running the
entire length of the beach, and she watched him until he either
entered, or ran behind the little shanty that some workmen were using
as a tool house.
"I believe Max is as queer in some ways as Gwen is," mused Sprite.
"I wonder what that little book was, and why he had to stop to read
it?"
A moment later she laughed, as she said: "There's one thing everyone
knows, and that is that when Max and Gwen are together, they're sure
to get into mischief. No one ever spends a minute wondering about
that, because they _know_."
She ran the boat into shallow water, made it fast to a pile that had
been placed there for the purpose, tying the rope through the iron
ring on the post. Then she stepped over the side of the boat into the
water, and waded ashore. She wrung the water from her skirt, took off
her shoes and emptied the water from them, and then ran up the beach
toward home.
She opened the door and ran in.
The Captain would be out on the fishing trip all day, and it was
evident that Mrs. Seaford had not yet returned from her trip to the
store.
Sprite changed her drenched bathing suit for dry clothing, and hung
the skirt and blouse up to dry.
She wondered why it was that she kept thinking of Max and his little
book.