suppose I've just got to go and tell Aunt I'm sorry." She drew a long
breath. "But I hadn't been playing; I was tired to death over that dirty
old closet and that tiresome shoe bag, and my hair all hooked up. Well, do
come on." She ran over and held out her hand. "Come with me," she begged.
So Polly put her hand in Alexia's, and together they ran out into the hall,
to the maiden aunt's room.
"It's perfectly dreadful to board," said Alexia, on the way. "I wouldn't
care how little the house was, if Aunt and I could only have one," and she
gave a great sigh.
Polly turned suddenly and gave her a big hug.
"Mamsie says you are to come over to our house just as often as possible.
So does Grandpapa," she cried hastily; "you know that, Alexia."
"Yes, I know," said Alexia, but she was highly gratified at every
repetition of the invitation. "Well, oh, dear me!"--as they stood before
Miss Rhys' door.
That lady sat in her bay window, her fingers busy with her embroidery, and
her mind completely filled with plans for another piece when that
particular one should be completed.
"I'm sorry, Aunt," said Alexia, plunging up to the chair and keeping tight
hold of Polly Pepper's hand.
"Oh!" said Miss Rhys, looking up. "Why, how your hair does look, Alexia!"
Up flew Alexia's other hand to her head.
"Well, it's been all hooked up," she said.
"And I'll brush it for you," said Polly, at her shoulder.
"That'll be fine," cried Alexia, with a comfortable wriggle of her long
figure. "Oh, I'm sorry, Aunt."
"Very well," said Miss Rhys, turning back to her embroidery again. "And,
Alexia, your room looks very badly. I'm astonished that you are so untidy,
when I talk to you about it so much."
"Well, Polly is helping me fix it up," said Alexia, drawing off and pulling
Polly along.
"Now, you see, Polly"--as the two girls were safe once more in the little
room, this time with the door shut--"I only got some more pickings by going
to Aunt."
"Hush," said Polly, "she will hear you.'
"How is she going to hear with the door shut, pray tell?" cried Alexia,
with a giggle. "Well, it's over with now. Let's fly at this horrid old
room. Dear me!"--as she ran by the window--"do just see those dreadful
boys."
At the word "boys" Polly ran too, and peeped over her shoulder.
"Oh, I must speak to Frick," and without more warning, she raced out of the
room, and down the front stairs.
"Polly, Polly Pepper!" But Polly being out in the street and nearly up to
the knot of boys, Alexia gave up calling and speedily ran after her, to
hear her say:
"Oh, Frick, I'll go and try to find Joel for you."
Frick disentangled himself from the group.
"I found Joel myself," he said, "and he wouldn't come."
"Wouldn't come where?" demanded Alexia breathlessly, plunging up.
"Out on the pond." It was Larry Keep who answered.
"And so we've given it all up," said another boy, very dismally.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Alexia, "how tiresome of Joel!"
"Oh, no, no," protested Polly, shaking her head. "I know Joel couldn't go,
or else he would. You know that, boys," she said, looking anxiously at them
all.
"He's always been before," said Larry, in a dudgeon, "and I don't see what
makes him act so now."
"Well, you haven't any right to abuse him, just because he doesn't want to
go out with you on the pond," said Alexia warmly, veering round at the
first word of blame of Joel from anybody else. "That's a great way to do, I
must say."
"And, boys, you know Joel would have gone if he could, don't you?" said
Polly again, the little anxious pucker deepening on her forehead.
"Ye--es," said Larry slowly, digging the toe of his tennis shoe into the
ground, as no one else said anything.
"Oh, he would, he would," said Polly, clasping her hands tightly together,
the color flying over her cheek. "Something must have happened to keep him
back"--as the boys, having nothing more to say, moved off. "Alexia, now I
_must_ go home, for I'm afraid--" of what, she didn't say.
"I'll go, too," said Alexia, springing after her, wild to find out what the
matter could be with Joel Pepper, to keep him from one of his favorite
sports on the pond.
"There isn't anything the matter with him," shouted back Frick, over his
shoulder, who had caught Polly's last words. "And he could have gone as
easy as not; he was in Mr. King's writing-room with the door locked."
"Grandpapa's writing-room, with the door locked!" repeated Polly, turning
around in a puzzled way. "Why--I don't see--oh!" Then she gave such a
squeal that Alexia hopped across the road in astonishment. "I know now.
Dear, splendid, old Joel! Boys!" She was up by them again, and talking so
fast that nobody understood for a moment or two what the whole thing was
about.
"For pity's sake, Polly Pepper!" Alexia was shaking her arm, the boys
crowding around Polly and hanging on every word.
"Don't you understand? Oh, how stupid I've been not to think of it
before!--though I didn't know he was to begin this very morning," cried
Polly, hurrying on, all in a glow. "Grandpapa has engaged Joel to do some
work for him on his books"--Polly didn't think she ought to explain any
further about the ten-dollar note--"and so Joel thought he couldn't stop
till the hour was up, and----"
"Has he got to work an hour on 'em at a time?" interrupted Larry in
amazement, pushing his way nearer to Polly.
"Yes," said Polly, turning her rosy face on him, so glad that she was
really making them see that Joel couldn't go with them when he was asked,
"he must work a whole hour at a time on them, so you see he really had to
stay back." But this part was lost on the whole group.
"Hi--hi!" they shouted, and Larry flung up his cap. "Well, if that's so,
we'll go back and get him now; the hour must be up," and off they raced,
flinging up a cloud of dust from their heels.
"Whew!" exclaimed Alexia. "Did you ever see such perfectly dreadful boys to
kick up such a dust? Oh, dear me, Polly Pepper. Ker-choo!"
When she came out of her sneezing fit, Polly was saying again:
"Oh, how perfectly stupid I am, Alexia!"
But her eyes shone, for it was now all right for Joel with the boys.
XVI
THE ACCIDENT
But the boys didn't get back after Joel--not just then. A big tallyho
coach, in swinging around a corner, bore down upon the struggling crowd,
the driver halloing and the horn blowing lustily, by way of a signal to
clear the road. This would have been all well enough and easy to avoid, if
a string of bicyclists had not selected that very identical moment to
appear from the opposite direction. And Larry, whose uncle was in the
last-mentioned procession, having a laudable desire to see him and make his
relation aware of the fact, turned, waved his cap and his arms with a, "Hi,
there, Uncle Jack!" and in another second was under the big wheels, the
whole merry party going over him and the laughter and chat still filling
the air.
Miss Mary Taylor, having an outside seat, looked over quickly. Hamilton
Dyce, sitting next, clambered down.
"Don't be frightened," he said into her pale face.
Half a dozen men were on the ground with him, and the boys swarmed around
wildly, getting in everybody's way. The bicyclists, not catching the idea
of any accident, were swiftly coasting down the hill, for after all their
leader had suddenly changed his mind and veered off just before reaching
the scene of the accident.
"Help me down," said Miss Taylor hoarsely.
"Ugh, don't!" said Beth Cameron, with a shiver, poking her parasol well
down over her eyes. "I wouldn't see it for all the world"--shivering.
"You can't do any good; better not," said Mr. Dyce, looking up at Miss
Taylor.
But Miss Mary continued to say, "Help me down," and she so evidently
displayed the intention of getting down without any assistance if it
weren't forthcoming, that Mr. Dyce did as he was bidden, and she was on the
spot by the time that Larry was drawn out from under the wheels and laid on
the roadside grass.
"I'm afraid he's done for, poor beggar," said one of the men.
Mr. Dyce turned Miss Mary completely around and marched her off to the
middle of the road before she knew that such summary treatment was to be
accorded her. Then she caught her breath.
"You needn't think to save me," she said, with a little gasp: "I'm--I'm
quite strong. I must go. Oh, don't stop me. Think of poor Mrs. Keep!" and
she was back in among the group of men and the frantic boys. "Send for
Doctor Fisher," she cried, kneeling down by Larry's side.
"No use--" began another man, but Hamilton Dyce cried, "Which one can run
the fastest for Doctor Fisher?"
Little Porter Knapp could, there was no doubt of that. All arms and legs
was he, and able to get over more ground a minute than any other boy of
their set, not excepting Joel Pepper. So, before Mr. Dyce had finished
speaking, he was off like a shot, leaving Miss Taylor sitting on the grass
holding Larry's poor head, while the whole crowd of men revolved around
her, nervous to do something, but not seeing their way clear to find out
what would be expedient.
"If those chaps would stop howling!" exclaimed one of the men, in
desperation, stalking off a bit to cram his hands in his pocket, and
ejaculate this to a companion.
"It's pretty hard on the kids," remarked the friend, with a glance over his
shoulder at Frick and the rest of the boys, who added to the misery by
crowding up to the scene and impeding the progress of all would-be helpers.
"He's dead, it's easy to see," observed the first man, nodding over to the
group.
"That's a fact, it looks like it," nodded the friend. "Well, it's a bad
thing, but no one's at fault. Mac couldn't help it. The little beggar ran
right under the horses."
"Oh, Mac's not to blame," said the first speaker hastily, "but it's an
awful calamity just the same, to run down a kid. Well, we must pacify the
ladies." So the two walked back and up to the side of the coach, when the
big hats under the parasols leaned over and allowed their fair owners to be
diverted with all sorts of comforting things. And presently little Doctor
Fisher came rushing along in his gig, out of which sprang Porter Knapp
before the horse could be persuaded to stop.
[Illustration: "Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.]
No one said a word, least of all Miss Taylor, except the Doctor, who
ordered them to right and to left, as assistants. And before long, Larry
opened his blue eyes.
"Why--where?" he began. He didn't even know he had been hurt--not till
afterward when the pain and suffering set in.
"Easy--easy there," said little Doctor Fisher.
"Great Scott!" The young man who had pronounced him dead crammed those
hands of his deeper yet in their pockets and gave a whistle.
"Oh, Larry," said Miss Taylor gently, bending over him.
"What is it?" Larry tried to move, and felt a strong hand laid on him just
where it made any motion impossible. Beside, a great wave of pain swept him
suddenly into such astonishment as well as suffering that all he could do
was to shut his eyes and let his head sink back.
"Now, then!" Doctor Fisher glanced up to the coach-load. "All of you get
down," he said curtly, and before the women quite knew how, the pretty
gowns and hats and parasols were all descending, a gay, fluttering bevy all
chattering together.
"Miss Mary, I'll trouble you to hop up there," and a dozen hands helped her
into position on the coach. "Now, then, Mr. Dyce, and you"; he nodded over
to Harry Delafield, the little doctor did, then rapidly picked out two more
men. "Up with you, please," and quicker than it takes to tell it all, they
were in position, and Larry had been lifted gently into their laps, his
head on Miss Taylor's arm.
"Ugh!" Betty Cameron gave a worse shiver than before. "How Mary Taylor
can!" she exclaimed, with a grimace. "Oh, dear me! I'm as faint as I can
be, just to think of it. I should die outright to be up there with him."
"Well, we've got to walk home, I suppose," observed one of the other girls
disconsolately, who, now that Larry could really speak, thought it quite
time to turn attention to her own discomfort, and she thrust out her dainty
shoe.
The boys, when they saw that Larry was really alive, stopped howling,
especially as each and all had felt the glare of the eyes back of Doctor
Fisher's big spectacles. And they set off on a run by the side of the
coach, and as far ahead of that vehicle as possible, as Mac handled the
ribbons with his best style, trying to drive as gently as possible for the
patient.
"To his home, of course," said the little doctor, turning his spectacles up
to Mac. Then he got into his gig, whipped up, and took the lead.
Porter Knapp went across streets and got there first and was leaning over
the stone gateway when the little doctor's gig drove up.
"Eh!" exclaimed Doctor Fisher, looking at him over his glasses. "Well, you
have a pair of legs! Joel was right; he says you beat everything in
running."
Porter looked much pleased and glanced down at his legs affectionately.
Then he remembered Larry and sobered at once.
Doctor Fisher, while going up the steps, said in passing:
"Larry'll pull through all right, I think."
"She's here," cried Porter suddenly. He had heard the words, but something
had abruptly come in between, and he wildly dashed at the little doctor.
Doctor Fisher turned around and saw, flourishing up to the gateway, a gay
little runabout, and in it Larry's mother and sister.
"My goodness!" He was down by its side. And off in the distance, but coming
surely and steadily on, was the coach bearing Larry to his home.
"Yes, yes, how do you do? Don't stop," cried the little doctor, waving his
hand that was free from his bag of instruments; "go on to the stable."
"Oh, no, I'll stop here." Mrs. Keep had her foot on the step, and put out
the hand not occupied with her flowing draperies. "Eleanor is going on to
see a friend. Well, how do you do?"
"You had better drive on to the stable," said the little doctor, "both of
you."
This time he had such an imperative manner that, thoroughly bewildered,
Mrs. Keep stepped back into her seat and motioned Eleanor to obey.
"Isn't he awfully funny!" said Eleanor, turning in at the driveway, more
puzzled, if possible, than her mother.
"Yes," said Mrs. Keep, "he is, but then I suppose he has a good deal on his
mind. You know they say his practice is getting to be tremendous. Well, we
must run in and see him," as they drove down to the stable. "And you can go
afterward to see Mary Taylor."
[Illustration: "Yes, sir," called Joel back, from the alcove.]
"All right," said Eleanor, and one of the stable boys coming out to meet
the pony, they both jumped out of the runabout and ran up the back veranda
steps.
"It's funny he didn't come down this way, if he wanted us to drive to the
stable," cried Eleanor. "Mamma, do say you think it's queer. It would be
some comfort if you would."
"Well, I will, then," laughed Mrs. Keep, and there stood Doctor Fisher at
the dining-room door, and the minute she saw his face she knew that
something dreadful had happened.
"Well, Joel, my boy." Old Mr. King, who had been consulting his watch every
five minutes, whirled around in his big chair. "Time to lay down the work,"
he called cheerily.
"Yes, sir," called Joel back, from the alcove.
"And I'm sure if ever an hour was long, this last one has been," the old
gentleman was saying to himself. Joel, who was rather stiff in the joints
when first getting up from his work on the carpet, now came out feeling his
arms, and then indulging in a good long stretch.
"It seems rather good--eh, Joe?--to swing your arms," cried Grandpapa with
a laugh, and a keen glance into the black eyes.
"Yes, _sir,_" declared Joel, with another stretch, and wondering if
ever anything was so good in this world as to be told the hour was up.
"Take care," warned the old gentleman; "those long arms of yours will have
things off from my table. My goodness, Joe! you must really go out of doors
and stretch, you make such a sweep," and he laughed again.
"I can reach so far." Joel ran all around the table and stretched out his
brown arms. "See, Grandpapa," he cried; then he got on his tiptoes and
leaned over to achieve greater and more astonishing results.
"You'll be over on your nose, if I don't rescue you and the things on my
table," said Mr. King, bursting into a heartier laugh than ever. "Come on,
Joey, my boy, let's get out of doors, in a larger place." So he gathered up
one of the sprawling sets of fingers, and summarily marched him out.
"Now I suppose the next thing in order is to race after Frick and those
boys," observed old Mr. King, when the garden walk was attained.
"Yes, sir," cried Joel, his black eyes alight and his feet dancing.
"Well, be off with you."
No need to say more; Joel's heels beat the hastiest of retreats, as he
scuttled off at the liveliest pace of which he was capable.
Old Mr. King, left alone, nodded to himself two or three times, and smiled
in a pleased way. "The very thing," he said at last, and in as great
satisfaction as if he had been talking to a good listener.
XVII
JOEL'S ADVENTURE
Joel rushed along at a breakneck pace to make up for lost time. How good it
was to sniff the fresh air, and to be free, and then to think of that hour
put into solid work over the book-list! Why, he glowed all over with
delight at the very thought.
"Whoopity-la!" Down the bank of Spy Pond into one of the curves most
frequented by the boys of his set, he ran. "My! but I'm glad to get here,
though! Hey, there?"
There was no response as Joel dashed into what the boys called their camp,
a rough enclosure the wealthy men who owned the pond on the outskirts of
the town had allowed to be built. As some of the boys were their own sons,
every indulgence in the way of using the pond had been granted, and Mr.
Horatio King being the largest owner and the most indulgent, Joel's set, to
a boy, decided to call it the "King Camp." It was in a knot of pines, and
in the summer was a most attractive place, overrun with vines and creepers
and gay with the colored boat-cushions that were always thrown about.
"Hey there!" shouted Joel again, running about within and without the
little wooden structure. "Are you all deaf? Hey--whoopity-la!" but nobody
answered, save a little bird from the tip of the tallest tree.
Joel stood transfixed with amazement; then he dashed off suddenly down a
descent to the little cove. "It must be that they are out on the pond," he
said to himself, in vexation, and he craned his neck and peered up and down
the shining water as well as he was able for the many curves. "But I don't
see how they can be, for Larry's boat is here"--he had dashed up again to
the camp--"and Mr. Hersey's, that's the one they would take"--surveying the
collection of rowboats and dories drawn up on the beach--"and Webb's
father's and Porter Knapp's." Besides, there was a goodly number of others,
all in such situations as by no means suggested a party expected to be on
the pond at short notice that morning.
"Well, I'm going out, anyway," declared Joel, snapping his fingers, "and
catch up with them. Most likely they've taken the fishing-tackle; I won't
stop for that." So, pushing off his row-boat, he picked up the oars and
headed down the pond in the direction most likely in his mind to overtake
them.
But although he pulled lustily at his oars and ran his boat in and out the
curves and hallooed and shouted, he didn't catch a glimpse of them; and the
pine groves and wooded glens that ran down to the curving bank only echoed
his own calls, or sent a bird note out to him. There wasn't the first
suggestion of a boy anywhere about.
"Where in the world are they?" cried Joel in vexation, resting on his oars.
"Hi--there they are!" He turned suddenly, knocked against one of the oars,
it slipped, and before he knew what it was about, there it was in the
water. And to make matters worse, the sound that had filled him with
delight proved to be a big, black dog, scrambling through a thicket of
underbrush, and coming out to stare at him from the edge of the pond.
"Oh, you beggar!" exclaimed Joel, not to the dog, but to the oar drifting
off quickly. It was an easy thing, however, so he thought, to recover it,
and he made no special haste to paddle along as best he might after it.
Just at this moment another boat came suddenly in sight around a curve. It
didn't hold Joel's friends, but a wholly different set, some city boys who
had no rights on the pond. And having stolen their opportunity, and helped
themselves to a boat down below, they meant to have as good a time as
possible, knowing it would probably be their last. So here was a grand
chance, a boy alone in a rowboat, and at their mercy, one of his oars
drifting off.
"Hi--fellows!" When they saw it, they yelled with glee.
The black dog on the bank, who belonged to them and was following, as best
he might, their course, danced about and gnashed his teeth in his rage that
he couldn't join actively in the excitement, sniffing at the water and
drawing back as it lapped his feet.
"Now then, look alive," cried the one who appeared to be the leader, and
the whole crew bent to their oars with a right good will; and grinning all
over their faces with the prospect of fun ahead, they made straight for
Joel in his boat.
Joel drew himself up, his black eyes flashing, and paddled with all his
might. But it was no use; his boat went round and round, or zigzagged
along, and in a trice the unlucky oar was seized by the triumphant crew, as
it was drifting off into some lily pads, and drawn with a worse yell than
ever into their boat. Good luck! here would be easy game!
"Now then!" There was no limit to their delight as they saluted Joel in
every conceivable way best fitted to get him worked up. "How are you, snob?
Don't you want your oar?" and such things, every boy contributing at least
a few selections to the general hubbub, the black dog on the bank emitting
shrill, ear-splitting barks of distress.
"Give me back my oar," roared Joel, sitting very straight and unconsciously
rolling up his sleeves.
"Hi there! Come on and fight, if you want to," cried several of the crew,
with sneers and catcalls, and they brandished the oar at him over their
heads, yelling, "Why don't you come on and fight?"
[Illustration: The unlucky oar was seized by the triumphant crew]
"If you don't give me back my oar," cried Joel angrily, and paddling for
dear life toward them, "it 'll be worse for you, I can tell you. My
Grandpapa----"
He was drowned in a storm of yells: "Your granddaddy? Fellows, this baby is
talking of his granddaddy," and they screamed in derision, snapping their
fingers and swinging the oar as high as they could tantalizingly at him.
Round and round went Joel's boat, describing a series of curves, that
despite all his efforts only carried him away from his tormentors. What he
would have done, had he reached them, hadn't entered his head, his only
thought being to get up to them. In the midst of this interesting
proceeding, a sharp clap of thunder reverberated over their heads, to be
almost immediately followed by a piercing gleam of lightning. It produced
the greatest consternation in the boat-load, and a sudden jump on the part
of nearly every boy in it, made it careen, then turn completely over, and
before they were fully aware, every single one was in the water, screaming
and struggling wildly.
In the upset Joel's oar had been carried out, too; and as it happened to
drift toward him, he leaned over the side of his boat, managing to reach it
with the other one.
"Don't catch hold of each other," he yelled, his mind intent on helping
some of them into his boat. But as well talk to the wind. The boys who
couldn't swim--and most of them were in that plight--were grabbing this way
and that, to seize upon anything that would give them a support.
"Catch hold of your boat," roared Joel at them. But instead of that, some
of them preferred to catch hold of his, the consequence being that it would
soon have been upset, had he not screamed at them (and they knew he meant
it), "I'll bang you across the head if you try it"--lifting his oar
sturdily.
"You fellows who can swim, hold up the others, and I'll take you all off to
the bank, if you won't crowd."
And seeing that this was all they could get, and that Joel was as good as
his word, one after another was helped in, the others wisely catching hold
of the overturned boat--an example speedily followed, till all were either
in Joel's boat and rowing quickly off to shore, or hanging to their own
craft.