himself. “There’s not a man in town who carries on so much business as
our James.”
Mrs. Dunlee came down-stairs fresh and smiling in her new cambric dress
with lace trimmings, and sat with her husband in the shaded study.
While she sewed, he read aloud, or sometimes he dropped his book, and
they had a little chat.
It seemed very still, they both said. Not a sound, even of Vendla
stepping about the kitchen, for Vendla was up-stairs sewing.
“How we do miss the children!” said Mrs. Dunlee.
And they agreed that they missed the “Prince Imperial,” as they called
the baby, more than any one of the others. He was such a rollicking
prince, never speaking a single word, but ruling his loving subjects by
laughter and tears, and sometimes by a wave of his royal hand.
At four o’clock he was brought home in Mrs. Porter’s arms, beaming
with joy; but refused to tell where he had been, or who had given him
the string of pretty shells he wore on his neck. He only smiled and
cooed, and mamma knelt at his feet, and said he was “the sweetest baby
ever was born.”
Then Lucy came home with two of her cousins. She had visited a
photographer with Aunt Jessie, and a man had “tooken her picture.”
“He kissed his hand to me, papa, and then he tooked it. But I don’t
know where it is now.”
“Did you keep still, little daughter?”
“Oh, yes, papa; I kept just as still! I was very _gemplumly_.”
It had long been Lucy’s ambition to be “gemplumly, just like Jimmy.”
In a few minutes the two older girls came home. They brought a box full
of wild-flowers, and were rather flushed and tired and talkative. Very
hungry too; for a “tramp dog” had eaten most of their luncheon. Edy
was afraid if she didn’t have something to eat in one minute, her head
would fly into pieces, it ached so hard.
“We can’t allow that,” said mamma. “Go into the dining-room, every one
of you! Draw up your chairs to the table, and I’ll bring you a plate of
bread and butter.”
She went with a light step into the pantry; but when she returned there
was a cloud on her face.
“I don’t know what to think,” said she, setting a plate of bread and
the butter-dish on the table. “I baked a loaf of cake this morning,
intending it for tea; but it is gone! Vendla!” she called, going to the
back staircase.
Vendla came down, looking rather serious.
“I went into the pantry half an hour ago, ma’am,” said she, “and there
was the empty platter sitting on the shelf. And, thinks I, ‘Where’s
that cake? Mrs. Dunlee must have put it in the cake-chest,’ But I
looked in the chest, and it wasn’t there. And that’s all I know about
it.”
“Why didn’t you come at once and tell me, Vendla?”
The girl hesitated.
“I thought you might feel troubled about it, ma’am. I was afraid you’d
think”—
Mrs. Dunlee knew she would have said, “I was afraid you’d think Master
Jimmy took it.”
But Vendla could not speak the words, and Mrs. Dunlee liked her all the
better for it.
“My good girl,” said she, “did you go down-stairs and lock the back
door this afternoon when I asked you to do so.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you saw no one about the house at that time, Vendla?”
“No, ma’am. Master Jimmy had just gone out. I heard his papa ask,
‘Where are you going?’ And Master Jimmy answered, ‘To Gilly Irwin’s.’
That was just as I stood locking the back door. And after that Mr.
Dunlee came into the front hall, and I heard him hasp the screen door.
I’m sure I did, ma’am.”
“And then you went up-stairs again, Vendla? And you didn’t go into the
pantry?”
“No, ma’am; I went straight up-stairs. I was in a hurry to finish my
blouse waist.”
“And you heard no one going or coming?”
“No, ma’am. Only once I heard John’s step; he was looking after the
cow.”
“That will do, Vendla; I don’t know what to think about this!”
As Vendla left the dining-room, Kyzie looked up quickly, exclaiming, “O
mamma, don’t look so! I can’t believe it was Jimmy!”
“Neither can I,” said Aunt Vi, forgetting to eat her bread and butter.
“It doesn’t seem in the least like him,” returned Mrs. Dunlee.
But she had grown quite pale, and was going toward the study when
her husband entered the dining-room. He had overheard part of the
conversation, and looked as amazed and distressed as his wife.
“Why, my dear,” said he, “it is incredible!”
“So it is, James. The boy is too old to do such a thing; he has too
much conscience. But the question is, who took the cake? It could not
have gone without hands.”
“I see, I see, Prudy. And the doors were all well fastened, and you and
I sitting there in the study.”
“And the house so still,” added Mrs. Dunlee. “You know we spoke two or
three times of the stillness.”
Mr. Dunlee paced the floor in deep thought.
“There must be a way out of this,” he said.
“The cat, you know,” suggested Edith.
“Yes,” said Aunt Vi; “there’s always a cat to be suspected when there
has been mischief.”
“I’m afraid he put it in his basket,” went on Mrs. Dunlee, referring of
course to Jimmy, and not the cat.
“He said he wanted some of the cake for those boys, Gilly Irwin and his
cousin; and I told him he might have a piece to-morrow. But he didn’t
seem quite satisfied; I remember it now distinctly. He said, ‘It does
look so smooth and nice before it is cut up. If Dick could only see it
all whole!’”
“What reply did you make?” asked Mr. Dunlee.
“I believe I didn’t make any reply. Do you suppose, now, Jimmy could
have thought I meant to give him the cake?”
“Hardly likely,” said Mr. Dunlee. “But there is one possibility I can
think of. He may have taken it to show to the boys, intending to bring
it back uncut and uninjured. I know he had a basket in his hand; that
large one he carries.”
“Did he really have that basket?” returned Mrs. Dunlee. “Then it does
look very much as if he put the cake in it! Hush! isn’t that Jimmy’s
step in the hall?”
IX
THE INDIAN BASKET
JIMMY-BOY came in swinging his basket on his arm. It was a remarkably
pretty Indian basket; and ever since Aunt Vi had given it to him two
weeks ago, it had travelled with him wherever he went.
“Jimmy,” said his mother as the little feet reached the threshold,
“Jimmy, I would like to see you in the study.”
The tone was grave; the boy looked up in alarm. Mamma was sure to be
“in earnest” when she spoke like this, and wished to see him in the
study.
The moment they entered the study she closed the door and turned and
looked at him. What was she going to say?
“Jamie, O Jamie! did you carry it off in the basket?”
“Carry what off, mamma?”
“He speaks very innocently, as if it were quite new to him,” thought
his mother.
She took the basket from his hand, and measured it with her eye. Yes,
it was large enough; it could easily have held the whole loaf. But it
was empty now. If Jimmy had carried off the loaf to show to the boys,
he had not brought it back.
“My son, where is the cake I baked and frosted this morning?”
“I don’t know! Why, mamma, you didn’t s’pose _I_ took that cake?”
There was a quiver of pain in the young voice. Mrs. Dunlee looked at
her child eagerly, as if she would read his very soul.
“Did you take it, Jamie? You said you wanted to show it to Dick Somers;
you wished him to see it before it was cut. Now the cake is gone. Did
you take it?”
The tone was very gentle, but it moved Jimmy strangely. He hung his
head and burst into tears. Was he sorry he had been found out? Or did
it grieve him to be suspected wrongfully?
“No, mamma,” said he; “I never did it.”
“Jimmy, I want the truth! Remember your dear Heavenly Father hears what
you say.”
Jimmy only sobbed the harder at this.
“If you took the cake, and are sorry for it, I will forgive you.”
“O mamma! did you think I took it?”
“I hope not, my dear. Only we don’t know what has become of it. And
you said you wanted Dick Somers to see that we have nice things in
California.”
Jimmy writhed in strong excitement.
“Yes, mamma, he’s just the meanest boy! I wish I could tell you how
mean he is. When I carried him the”—
Jimmy paused suddenly. There was silence for half a minute while he
struggled with himself. It seemed as if he were almost on the point of
confession, and something held him back. Was it so? His mother could
not be sure, for he would not let her see his face.
“So you carried something to Dick? What was it, Jamie?”
“O mamma, mamma! don’t ask me. I can’t tell. He was so mean about it,
mamma!”
About the cake? Mrs. Dunlee wondered. Had Dick teased the little boy by
finding fault with it? If so, Jimmy would not like to tell her. A word
against his mother, or against anything his mother did, was always very
hard for Jimmy to bear.
“What did Dick say or do that was mean, my son? Do not be afraid to
tell mamma.”
“Oh, I can’t tell you what he said!”
Jimmy had not looked up at all, and now he hid his face in his hands.
“If he was innocent, why should he do so? Why shouldn’t he look at me?”
thought Mrs. Dunlee, her heart aching with grief and pity.
But it was useless urging him. At any allusion to the cake he
exclaimed,—
“No, mamma, I never.”
As if, having once said the words, he was determined to go on repeating
them over and over. There had always been a strain of obstinacy in
Jimmy’s character, as his mother was well aware. She turned sorrowfully
away, and left the little boy alone in the study, his face buried deep
in his father’s easy-chair.
It was a sad evening for everybody. Even the Prince Imperial ceased to
enjoy his string of shells, and became too low-spirited to smile. No
one but Kyzie had much hope of Jimmy’s innocence; but Kyzie said,—
“It wasn’t one bit like Jimmy-boy to take the cake in the first place.
And then he never would lie about it! Mamma, do think again; couldn’t
a thief have slipped into the house ever so softly by the back door?
“It only makes you sigh, mamma; you think it’s so absurd. I know it’s
absurd. Somebody took that cake off the shelf, and left the platter,
and it seems as if it must be Jimmy. Still, I can’t believe ’twas
Jimmy. I almost think ’twas somebody that dropped down through the
‘sky-hole.’”
She meant the window in the roof. Lucy called it the sky-hole.
Mr. Dunlee turned as he was pacing the floor.
“I am almost as unreasonable as Katharine,” said he; “I can’t give it
up that Jamie is guilty. I must have a little talk with him myself
before I am convinced.”
He went into the study. The poor boy was still crying bitterly. Mr.
Dunlee seated himself in the big chair, and took him in his arms.
“Perhaps you thought mamma meant to give you the cake? Was that what
you thought? To divide with your little friends?”
Jimmy could not answer.
“If so, that was only a mistake. Perhaps you carried it away, and cut
it up in big pieces for the boys? Tell papa all about it.”
“O papa! I can’t tell; but I never touched the cake.”
“Then what did you carry off in your basket?”
“O papa! please don’t ask me,” wailed Jimmy. “’Twas something—something
I can’t talk about! I promised not to.”
“My son, this grows more and more mysterious. I can’t urge you to break
a promise, though why you should have made one I can’t possibly see. If
you promised not to tell about the cake, that was wrong, and”—
Jamie raised his head earnestly. “O papa! don’t you believe me when I
speak?”
“My precious child, I do so long to believe you!”
[Illustration: “Jamie, O, Jamie, did you carry it off?”
_Page 114._]
Jimmy slipped down from his father’s knee, and stood upright before
him, his eyes shining with a new thought.
“Does God know everything, papa?”
“Certainly, my child.”
“Well, then, when you go to heaven, papa, you just ask God if I haven’t
told you the truth,” said Jimmy; and broke down again, and shook with
sobs.
Mr. Dunlee caught the little pleader in his arms. He knew no more than
before what had become of the cake, but he was sure from that moment
that Jimmy had not taken it.
“If he had, he never would have dared make a speech like that,” said
the minister to his wife as he came out of the study, looking much
happier than when he had gone in.
“I hope you are right; I believe you are right,” replied Mrs.
Dunlee, her eyes brimming with tears. “Still, we must wait a while to
make sure.”
The next day, Sunday, was not a happy one. The older children knew the
exceeding sinfulness of a lie, and it was certain that Jimmy knew it
also. Yet what had become of the cake?
“Jimmy, what’s the matter o’ you?” asked wee Lucy, going up to her
brother, and putting her little arms around his neck.
“Oh, they just despise me as hard as anything!” he replied.
It broke his heart to be “despised.” He did not know how everybody
pitied and longed to help him, or he would not have been so unhappy.
Just before dinner Kyzie happened to go into the pantry. As she was
returning to the kitchen she heard a noise at the pantry window, like
the rattling of dishes, and, looking that way, saw Jessie, the pretty
cow, eating a custard-pie.
The pie was sitting on the window-ledge, within easy reach, and Jessie
was helping herself without fork or spoon.
“Come, mamma! come quick!” cried Kyzie.
Mamma came; and Jessie stood still, and finished the pie before her
eyes, licking the plate too, as though she would not miss a morsel.
“Did you ever see such impudence?” said Kyzie, laughing.
But mamma was not listening.
“Jessie ate that cake!” she exclaimed. “Where is John?”
John was surprised to see every one so excited.
“I let the cow out into the back yard yesterday about two minutes,”
said he; “but I never thought of her cutting up a caper in the pantry!
When I went after her, she was standing close to the pantry window, to
be sure, and the screen was out. I put it back; and thinks I, ‘That’s
the second time I’ve done it to-day. I’ll fix that screen Monday so it
will act better.’”
“Did you see Jessie eating the cake?”
“No, ma’am; she must have swallowed it pretty spry, for I never saw a
crumb of it.”
“O Jessie, Jessie! we never knew you were a thief!” said Edith, hugging
the pretty animal whose “sweet tooth” had caused all this trouble.
Mrs. Dunlee had no time or thought for the cow. She was watching the
happy smiles on Jimmy’s face.
“My precious, innocent boy!” said she, holding him close, as if she
could never let him go.
“You made a mistake when you said the cake couldn’t have gone without
hands; didn’t you, mamma?” said Kyzie, trying to laugh; but somehow
the tears would come first.
“Mamma,” whispered Jimmy-boy,—and a lighter-hearted boy you never
saw,—“mamma, put your ear down close; I want to say something. I knew
all the time I didn’t do it, and I knew God knew I didn’t do it.”
“Yes, dear; that is so.”
“And I knew God would tell you and papa all about it when you got to
heaven, mamma; but, oh, I didn’t want to wait!”
“No, you dear, suffering child,” replied his mother. “And, thank God,
we didn’t any of us have to wait! We’re so glad to know it all now!”
And then she kissed Jimmy on his mouth and hair and eyes; and the
children all gathered around, and Kyzie said,—
“Isn’t this a beautiful Sunday? I’d rather have it than a diamond ring.”
It was not till Tuesday that they learned what Jimmy had carried off
in the basket; and then Mr. Somers, Dick’s father, told it, laughing,
to Mr. Dunlee. It was horned toads.
Little Dick had declared that they had eyes in the backs of their
heads. Jimmy and Gilbert disputed this, and told him to look for
himself.
“I won’t look,” said Dick. “Guess I _know_! I’ll leave it to my _papa_
if I don’t know!”
The more he was laughed at, the more he insisted, saying at last,—
“I’ll give you five cents, Jimmy Dunlee, for every toad you’ll find
that _hasn’t_ got eyes back of his head! Bring ’em along, sir, and let
my papa see ’em, and I’ll give you fi—ive cents apiece!”
So Jimmy, expecting to make a small fortune, had roamed far and wide,
and collected five toads; for he could not spare his tame ones. But
when he took them to Major Irwin’s, Dick only said,—
“What you s’pose _I_ want o’ those toads?”
Jimmy was angry.
“You _told_ me to bring ’em! Look at ’em now; look this minute! You
_said_ they had eyes back o’ their heads!”
Dick was laughed at by the whole family, and made to confess that these
were the first horned toads he had ever seen. His father called him “a
little braggart;” and for once in his life the boy was ashamed, and ran
crying down cellar to hide.
Jimmy threw back his shoulders proudly. It was a great triumph to have
humbled Dick Somers! And then, besides that, to have earned twenty-five
cents!
But when he modestly asked for his money, what did those people all do
but fall to laughing again?
And the wider his honest brown eyes opened with surprise, the harder
they all laughed!
Jimmy could not see anything funny in the affair; he only saw that he
had been cheated and imposed upon. As he turned indignantly on his
heel, Hatty Irwin, Gilbert’s sister, said in a low tone,—
“The little toad-merchant is going home to see if his mamma will buy
his toads.”
Hatty did not expect to be overheard; but Jimmy caught the words, and
was cut to the heart. He shouted wildly,—
“I shall _not_ tell my mamma! I shall _not_ tell any single body at my
house, so there!”
And all the while he was running away from these cruel people as fast
as he could go.
If he had not made this sudden, impulsive promise to Hatty, all might
have been different. For then he would have related his woes to his
own family; mamma would have pitied and soothed him; and, better than
all, there would have been no mystery as to what was carried off in the
basket.
Instead of that,—but you know the story, and can fancy how poor
Jimmy-boy suffered.
Dick Somers went home that very week; and Mrs. Dunlee said to her
husband,—
“I am really glad for Jimmy’s sake. I am sure Jimmy has not been made
very happy by the little boy from New York.”
X
A GREAT SECRET
PEOPLE were beginning to think and talk about Christmas. There was
a pleasant stir in the air of something mysterious and delightful
about to happen. Mamma and Aunt Vi were often together in Aunt Vi’s
“snuggery” up-stairs, and what they were consulting about nobody
ventured to ask; some uncommonly fine present for each of the children,
no doubt.
One day Aunt Vi, who was sewing in the back parlor, looked up from her
work, and said,—
“Jimmy-boy, do you think you could go to the store and buy me some blue
sewing-silk like this pattern?”
And she held up a bit of blue satin.
“Why don’t you ask _me_, Auntie?” exclaimed Edith, dropping the doll
she was dressing in a new tea-gown. “Boys don’t know the difference
between a skein of silk and a clothes-line.”
Aunt Vi secretly thought that she could trust Jimmy better than Edith,
but she did not like to say so.
“Then you may get me the silk, if you will, Edith; two spools.”
“Well, I’ll go with you,” said Jimmy-boy.
“If you’re going, I’ll have to go too,” piped wee Lucy.
“Of course,” thought Edith. “And there’s the dog, _he’ll_ have to
follow,—the ‘inevitable dog,’ Aunt Vi calls him. Oh, dear!”
“If the whole family is to go, we may as well have more errands done!”
exclaimed mamma with a playful smile. “Can I trust you, Edith, to call
at our grocer’s, Mr. Ladd’s, and ask him to send me two pounds of
Santa Isabel butter?”
“‘Can I trust you?’” repeated Edith to herself. “Why do people always
say that to me, as if they didn’t feel _sure_?”
“Yes, mamma,” she added aloud; “two pounds blue silk, two spools San
Isabel’s butter;” then corrected her own mistake, laughing.
The little party went skipping along in a very gay mood, the
“inevitable dog” at their heels. Instead of proceeding at once to the
stores, Edith chose to go two or three blocks out of the way, to watch
a couple of tiny boys riding together on the back of a burro, and to
see how fast the workmen were getting on in building a tall house she
greatly admired.
They passed Mrs. Phillips’s brown cottage, with the bird-of-paradise
flowers in the garden. Edith had a fancy for these gay, graceful
flowers, with their very long scarlet streamers floating on the air
like little banners. But just now she should not have gone that way;
it was one of her mistakes. Her mother had said to her only the day
before,—
“Edith, when you are out with Lucy, I would prefer you shouldn’t
go near Mrs. Phillips’s house, for I don’t like to expose Lucy to
whooping-cough.”
Edith would not have “exposed” her little sister on any account if she
had only stopped to think. She believed whooping-cough to be almost
sure death. Hadn’t she had it herself just before Jimmy was born, and
nearly died of it? So she firmly believed. At any rate, the nurse, Mrs.
Chick, had not allowed her to go near the new baby,—only think of that!
She had had to look at Jimmy through the window! She was only two years
old at the time, and could not remember anything about it, but this
was what everybody said. It had always impressed Edith as something
very strange and dreadful, that she had been shut away like that from
her own baby Jimmy! And, after all, he had had whooping-cough just the
same.
“Why, there’s Sadie Phillips at the window!” said Jimmy. “What makes
her face so red?”
Then all in a moment Edith stopped short in the street, and recalled
her mother’s warning. She had done the wickedest, dreadfullest thing
in the world to take Lucy near that cottage! And alas, alas! Sadie
Phillips was coughing; that was what made her face look so red. The
window was closed, it is true; but Edith heard the frightful sound, and
it fell on her heart like a knell.
“What made me come here? What shall I do?” she wailed, seizing her
little sister in her arms, and running furiously down the street.
Wee Lucy screamed, the dog barked, and Jimmy cried out, “What is it?
What is it?” not knowing what to make of this strange behavior.
“Oh, I’ve _esposed_ Lucy! I’ve esposed Lucy!” cried wretched Edith, the
tears raining down her cheeks.
Lucy struggled out of her arms, laughing. She did not know what
“esposed” meant; neither did Jimmy; and it may be that Edith did not
clearly know herself.
“O Lucy darling, don’t laugh; it’s dreadful; it’s awful! What does
make you act so, Jimmy? We must run, run, run! Lucy’s going to have
whooping-cough, sure as you live.”
Upon that the small sister very naturally felt a tickling in the
windpipe, and rasped her throat, trying to see if a cough would come.
Nothing could so have increased Edith’s fright.
The better Lucy succeeded in coughing, the harder Edith cried, and the
louder barked the wondering dog.
This delighted roguish Lucy. She liked to have Edith cry over her; it
made her feel very important. She wished Jimmy would cry too; but he
only said coolly,—
“Hush, Lucy; you haven’t got it; you needn’t _pertend_.”
“I know she hasn’t got it yet,” replied Edith; “it takes a long while.
But what I’m crying about is, she’s going to get it! She’s swallowed
some; she swallowed it when we stood by Sadie’s house.”
It was of no use for Jimmy to say “Pooh!” This was a matter of life and
death to Edith. She wanted to take Lucy home at once, and perhaps have
her shut in a dark room, or at any rate put to bed.
But those errands!
“Jimmy,” said she, as they came in sight of the stores, “my eyes don’t
look very red, do they?”
Truthful James had to reply,—
“Yes, they do,—red as a lobster cactus.”
“Well, I can’t help it. You stay out here with Punch and Lucy, while I
go in for the silk.”
“See here! I’ve thought of something,” said Jimmy, touched by Edith’s
distress. “If Lucy did swallow some, can’t they give her something to
cure it? Mamma could, I guess, or Dr. Devoll.”
“Why, I never thought of that,” returned Edith, gathering courage.
“Now, Lucy, you _will_ be willing to take a pill when we get home if
mamma thinks it’s best?”
Lucy wasn’t quite sure. She thought it would depend somewhat upon the
size of the pill, also upon the sort of jelly it was offered in.
“Oh, how she does act sometimes!” sighed Edith. “Now, Lucy, you stay
out here with the dog and Jimmy; you stay out here till I come back.”
Lucy consented.
It was a red-eyed, broken-hearted little girl who entered Mr. Hall’s
store and asked for blue sewing-silk. You would hardly have known her
for happy Edith Dunlee.
“Oh, no, sir,” she said when a spool was offered her. “Not silk;
_thread_. She wants to _sew_ it!” The salesman looked surprised, then
amused, then sorry; for by this time Edith had begun to cry again.
“Wouldn’t it be well, little miss, for you to go home now, and come
back again when you know your errand.”
Edith had to confess that it would.
She went next to the grocer’s for butter.
“I will send it up,” said the clerk.
But no, Edith was sure mamma had intended that she should carry it.
It was given her in a paper bag, and she held the bag close to her
heart, and cried over it; and by the time they reached home the butter
was ready to melt. She dropped it in a chair, and shrieked out,—