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Young Master Kirke
The Merry Five
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LEE AND SHEPARD Publishers BOSTON
[Illustration: “Mamma has found her lost baby.”
_Page 27_]
_THE SILVER GATE SERIES_
THE MERRY FIVE
BY
PENN SHIRLEY
AUTHOR OF “LITTLE MISS WEEZY” “LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S
BROTHER” “LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER”
“YOUNG MASTER KIRKE”
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY LEE AND SHEPARD
_All Rights Reserved_
THE MERRY FIVE
TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON.
PRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MERRY FIVE 7
II. DONALD HIDES 20
III. SANTA LUZIA 30
IV. LEARNING TO SWIM 42
V. AT THE BEACH 53
VI. FISHING FOR WEEZY 67
VII. GOING INTO CAMP 79
VIII. THE LITTLE MINERS 91
IX. THE BEE-RANCH 104
X. FIVE YOUNG POETS 117
XI. MOLLY A HEROINE 128
XII. THE STREET MASQUERADE 142
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“MAMMA HAS FOUND HER LOST BABY” _Frontispiece_
“YOU’D BETTER LET HIM GO TO SANTA LUZIA” _page_ 32
PAULINE AND MOLLY WERE SWINGING IN A HAMMOCK _page_ 53
THE BOYS BORE THE CHILD ONWARD _page_ 75
THE TWINS SPRANG FROM BEHIND THE TALL SYCAMORE _page_ 90
“AREN’T YOU AFRAID OF BEING STUNG?” _page_ 109
“STOP THE CAR!” SCREAMED MOLLIE _page_ 137
THAT INQUISITIVE LITTLE DOG _page_ 153
THE MERRY FIVE
CHAPTER I
THE MERRY FIVE
The Merry Five were Molly, Kirke, and Weezy Rowe, and their twin
comrades, Paul and Pauline Bradstreet, who lived over the way. Paul,
Pauline, and Molly were now fourteen years old, Kirke was twelve,
and little Miss Weezy seven. The story begins with the Rowes at
luncheon-time.
“O papa! I’m so glad we’re going to the beach,” cried Molly, laying
down her fork.
“And I’m glad we’re going to be so near Captain Bradstreet’s camp,”
added Kirke, flourishing his napkin. “Oh! we shall have a famous
outing.”
“_Exquit!_” chirped Weezy, not at all sure what an outing might be,
only that it must be something jolly.
“Me too, mamma,” lisped Baby Donald, paddling with his spoon in his
bowl of milk.
Mr. Rowe had caused this unusual excitement by reading aloud a letter
from Mrs. Kitto, who kept a boarding-house at Santa Luzia. The letter
stated that she had received Mr. Rowe’s note of inquiry, and that if
he desired it, she would take himself and family as boarders on the
following Wednesday.
“You do desire it, papa; don’t you?” added Molly eagerly.
“If your mamma does, my daughter.”
“It will be difficult to leave so soon,” remarked Mrs. Rowe,
thoughtfully stroking Donald’s restless fingers.
“But we children can help,” said Molly quickly. “We have helped a great
deal since vacation; now, haven’t we, mamma?”
“Certainly you have, my dear,” returned Mrs. Rowe with a smile. Did
Molly remember that this vacation was as yet hardly two days old?
The first thing that Molly did after luncheon by way of helping, was to
run across the street to Captain Bradstreet’s to signal to Pauline in
the cheery trill that all school-girls know.
“Mrs. Kitto can take us, Polly! We’re going Wednesday!” she cried, as
Pauline came dancing out, her long hair floating behind her like a
black flag.
“You are, Molly? Papa says _we_ sha’n’t be off before the first of next
month. But he has partly promised to let Paul and me stop at Santa
Luzia on the way.”
“O Pauline, how perfectly lovely!”
“I didn’t believe he’d ever think of such a thing,” said Pauline,
braiding her hair. “He’s so silly about us twins since mamma died.
Can’t bear to have us out of his sight.”
“I don’t wonder, Polly, I’m sure.” Molly’s eyes glowed with pity, as
they always did when Pauline spoke of her dead mother. She longed to
tell Pauline how sorry she was for her, but the words would not come.
What she did say was only this, “Your shoe-string’s untied, Polly, the
right one.”
“Is it? Well, it might as well be the right as the left. It’s sure to
be one or the other,” returned easy-going Pauline, stooping to fasten
the offending lacing.
“Oh! won’t it be delightful if you and Paul can come to Santa Luzia,
Polly? I hope you can stay at Mrs. Kitto’s a whole week.”
“Thank you, Molly dear, and I”--Pauline had been about to say that she
hoped Molly and Kirke would stay at least that length of time at the
camp; but suddenly remembered that there might not be room enough for
them. She must ask her father.
“I--I suppose Auntie David will meet us at Santa Luzia,” she said, to
finish the sentence.
“What does make you call her Auntie David, Pauline? You’ve never told
me.”
“Oh, Paul and I began to call her that when we were little snips, and
we’ve done it ever since. Auntie doesn’t mind. Her name is Davidson,
you know. She married Uncle John Davidson.”
“Will Mr. Davidson come to Santa Luzia too, Polly?”
“Oh, no; Uncle John has gone East. He goes East every summer on
business, and then Auntie comes to live with us. Lucky for Paul and me;
lucky for papa too! Auntie David is papa’s only sister. I believe he
thinks she made the world!”
“Well, I must skip back,” said Molly, with an important air. “Kirke has
gone over to Mrs. Carillo’s to see if Manuel wants to keep Kirke’s cart
and burro while we’re away; and mamma may want me to do some errands.”
All the rest of the week there was a pleasant bustle in the Rowe
household, the bustle of preparing for a journey.
“We’re going to ride in the cars,” little Miss Weezy explained to all
callers. “We’re going to Sandy Luzia. It’s ’most a hundred miles.”
The little maiden was very busy these days; for she had to hunt up her
scattered dolls, many of them having strayed out of sight.
Mr. Rowe, though still far from strong, was very busy too.
“I must drive over to the gardener’s this morning to instruct him in
regard to the hedge,” he said to Mrs. Rowe the next Monday.
“Shall we shut up Zip?” asked Mrs. Rowe, as she brought her husband a
glass of milk.
“No, my dear,” Mr. Rowe smiled. “Let the little Mexican follow. I
believe his dogship thinks none of the family can be trusted anywhere
without him.”
As soon as Mr. Rowe had gone, Mrs. Rowe hastened to call Molly from the
book she was reading.
“Come, Molly, while papa is away we will begin our packing. Please ask
Hop Kee to take the largest trunk from the store-room, and set it down
in the upper hall in front of the grate.”
Molly put “Alice in Wonderland” upon the table with a little sigh, and
walked out to the kitchen rather more slowly than a girl ought to walk
when she goes on her mother’s errands. She was thinking about Alice and
that surprising rabbit. What _would_ he do next?
“Now, children, you can collect the articles that you cannot do
without,” said Mrs. Rowe, after the trunk had been placed before the
unused grate. “The necessary articles must be put in first, for we
sha’n’t have room for everything you’d like.”
Kirke immediately brought his tennis-racket, his foot-ball, and his
jointed fishing-rod, and flung them into the trunk.
“I must have my tool-box, too, mamma, and the ship I’m rigging, and”--
“Any clothes, Kirke?” interrupted Molly mischievously, as she appeared
with an armful of bathing-suits.
Kirke had not thought of clothes; and when these had been hunted up,
and laid smoothly over the bathing-suits, he grudged them the space
they occupied.
But his mamma did not let him remain idle.
“You may get the hammock next, Kirke, and papa’s afghan and pillows.”
Kirke skipped down-stairs two steps at a time, and speedily returned
with the hammock slung over his shoulder, and bulging in a very
peculiar manner.
“Here’s a big hang-bird’s nest, mamma. It has one wee bird in it. Do
you want to see the fellow hop?”
“O Kirke! what made you bring Donald here now?” said Mrs. Rowe, with a
vexed laugh, as Kirke spilled his baby brother at her feet.
Donald scrambled up, and rested his chin on the edge of the trunk to
see his mamma put in the sofa-pillows, and spread blankets over them.
“P’itty ’itty bed,” said he.
“So you think that’s a bed do you, little brother?” cried Kirke, much
amused. “It does look like your cribby, that’s a fact.”
“P’itty ’itty _mamma_,” pursued the young rogue, throwing his arms
about his mother’s neck, partly because he loved her, partly because he
feared she was going to send him away.
“There, sweetheart, that will do,” said she at last, between his
kisses. “Mamma is busy now. Brother must take little Donald
down-stairs.”
“Pit-a-bat, pit-a-bat,” pleaded the baby. He saw he must go, and, as
that was the case, preferred to go in state, riding on his brother’s
back.
“Well, pick-a-back it is, then,” exclaimed Kirke, slinging the teasing
child across his shoulders. In the lower hall he met Captain Bradstreet
and Pauline.
“You’re the very young man I want to speak to,” cried the cheery
captain; “I want”--
“Now, papa, Kirke’s not so _very_ young, I’m sure,” interrupted Pauline
archly.
Captain Bradstreet chuckled as though his motherless daughter had made
a witty remark.
“True, my little girl, Kirke’s not so very young; but then, on the
other hand, not so old as he may be later.”
“I’m going on thirteen, Captain Bradstreet,” said Kirke, jealous for
his own dignity.
The captain chuckled again, and wiped his sunburned face so hard that
Kirke half looked for a crimson stain on the white pocket-handkerchief.
“Yes, yes, to be sure, you’ll overtake your father before long, Kirke.
Hop Kee says your father’s not at home.”
“No; papa has gone to Mr. Gleason’s, Captain Bradstreet.”
“We’ve come, Pauline and I, to engage you and that big sister of yours
to visit us at our camp when we’re settled in it. Pauline won’t sleep a
wink till this thing’s arranged. Can we see your mother?”
Kirke set Donald down upon the floor, and hastened to the upper hall,
where Molly was capering about in the wildest excitement.
“O mamma! did you hear what Captain Bradstreet said? Did you hear? He
wants Kirke and me to make a visit at his camp--I never made a visit at
a camp in my life!”
“Yes, mamma,” said Kirke, in the same low tone, “Captain Bradstreet
wants to ask you if Molly and I can go. Came on purpose.”
“O mamma! you’ll say yes; won’t you?” begged Molly.
Mrs. Rowe was hastily laying aside her apron.
“We’ll ask papa, Molly. Captain Bradstreet is certainly very kind.”
“_I_ don’t think Captain Bradstreet’s kind--I don’t think he’s kind
a bit,” muttered little Miss Weezy, as the others went down-stairs.
“Never ’vited me at all! Didn’t I ’vite him to my seven-years-old
party, ice-cream to it too? O dear, dear, dear!”
Unloading an apronful of dolls in a heap by the trunk, offended little
Weezy stole down the back staircase into the garden to confide her
sorrows to Ginger, Molly’s yellow kitten.
“Captain Bradstreet said I was a nice, sweet little girl; he said it
two times, he truly did. And now he’s gone and asked Kirke and Molly
to go to his--to his something--oh, yes, he’s asked them, and never
asked me.”
Ginger purred softly, and rubbed her head against her little mistress’s
feet; but Weezy could not be comforted. What a miserable old world it
was to be sure, where captains called you nice, sweet little girls, and
then went and didn’t invite you to their--to their--she couldn’t quite
remember what.
Grown-up people liked big boys and girls like Kirke and Molly; they
didn’t like little ones like herself and Donald.
Poor little Donald, he was crying too. She heard him. What was he
crying about? Weezy wondered. And where was he? He seemed a great way
off, by the sound, ’most up in the sky. Why didn’t somebody find him
and make him happy?