"I like it better anyhow," said Molly truthfully. "I'd like nothing
better than to spend the day there, you dearest auntie."
"Then there we will go. Luella wants the day off, anyhow. She says
she must go to town to have a tooth out, for 'the tooth aches something
awful.' That is the third since we came. If she keeps on at this
rate, she will not have a tooth left in her head by fall. It will be
much easier to have a nice little lunch in the woods than to cook a
dinner at home, don't you think? Suppose you and Mary run over to Mrs.
Fowler's and see if she can let us have a boiled lobster; she generally
is ready to put them on about this time of day, and you might stop at
Skelton's on your way back and get some of those good little
ginger-snaps."
"Aunt Ada is such a dear," said Molly, as the two started off. "I
don't believe she would ever, ever want you to get another pin, Mary,
and if I were you I would tell her all about it to-day; it will be such
a good chance."
"I'll see about it," said Mary evasively.
There was no lovelier spot on the Point than Elton woods. Here the
great trees grew to the very edge of the cliffs, and the way to them
was through paths bordered by ferns, wild roses, and woodland flowers.
In some places the trees wore long gray beards of swaying moss and
stood so close together that only scant rays of daylight crept under
them; in others they shot up high and straight above their carpet of
pine-needles, which made a soft dry bed for those who lingered beneath
them to gaze at the white-capped waves chasing each other in shore, or
who, lying down, watched the fleecy clouds drifting across the sky.
Near by was a pebbly beach where one could gather driftwood for a fire,
or could pick up smooth water-washed stones to build walks and walls
for tiny imaginary people. There was no end of the material the place
afforded for amusement, and when they reached there, Molly eagerly fell
to devising plays.
Yet, alas! She missed Polly's fertile brain and imaginative
suggestions. Polly was always able to discover fairy dells and
gnome-frequented caves. It was she who invented the plays which were
the most delightful. Mary was rather tiresome when it came to anything
more than sober facts. She would play very nicely with the dolls, but,
when it came to make-believe creatures, she was sadly wanting, and the
best response Molly could expect to get when she built a fairy dwelling
was: "Oh, I say, that is a proper little house, isn't it?" or "What a
duck of a tree that is you are planting; it is quite tiny, isn't it?"
"We always take some of these little bits of trees home with us," Molly
told her, "and they live ever so long."
"I wonder could I take one to England," said Mary.
"Why, yes, I should think you could easily. We will get some the very
last thing, and I am sure they'll live quite a while."
"It would be jolly nice to have one, wouldn't it?" said Mary as she
watched Molly patting the ground smooth around the one she had just
planted in the fairy garden. "I'd like to take some pebbles and some
starfish, too. Reggie would be so pleased with them; he would be quite
vexed if I brought him none after telling him about them."
"How often you say vexed, don't you?" remarked Molly. "We hardly ever
say vexed."
"What do you say?"
"Oh, I don't know; we say mad and angry and provoked."
"But then I really mean vexed," returned Mary after a moment's thought.
"I don't mean anything else," and Molly had nothing more to say.
It was after they had finished the lobster, the egg sandwiches, the
buttered rolls and gingersnaps and were delicately eating some wild
strawberries the children had gathered, that Molly made a sudden
resolution to plunge Mary into a confession.
"If you lent some one a diamond pin and she were to lose it would you
be very--very vexed, Aunt Ada?" she asked, after a hasty glance at Mary.
"If I possessed a diamond pin I might be, but as I haven't such a thing
I couldn't be vexed," her aunt said.
Mary jumped to her feet, startled out of her usual reserve.
"But, Aunt Ada, you did have one!"
"When, please? You must nave dreamed it, Mary, dear."
"But you did have. Oh, do you mean you know it is lost?"
It was Miss Ada's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, child?"
she said knitting her brows. "I never had a diamond pin to my
knowledge. I always liked diamond rings, and I have two or three of
those, but a pin I never possessed. What are you talking about?"
Mary laced and unlaced her fingers nervously. "I mean the one you lent
me to wear the night we dressed up for the party at Green Island. Was
it some other person's, then? Oh, Aunt Ada, had some one lent it to
you, for if they did"--she faltered, "I lost it coming home." She sank
down at Miss Ada's feet on the mossy ground and buried her face in her
aunt's lap.
Miss Ada put a kind hand on her head. "And all this time you have been
distressing yourself about it, you poor little kitten? I ought to have
told you, but you were so pleased in thinking it was real I thought I
would let it go, and I have not thought of it since. Why, dear, it was
of no value at all, a mere trumpery little rhinestone that cost only a
couple of dollars."
Mary lifted her tearful eyes. "Oh, I am so relieved," she said. "I've
searched and searched for it ever since."
"Yes, Aunt Ada, and she has been nearly sick over it," put in Molly.
"She cried herself to sleep last night, and the reason she wouldn't go
sailing with us the other day was because she wanted to hunt for the
pin."
"You poor little darling, how can I make up to you for all this
trouble?" said Miss Ada compassionately. "I am so sorry; it is all my
fault for not telling you in the first place."
On the strength of this there seemed no better time to confess her
doings of the afternoon when she had gone to Green Island in the
_Leona_, and so Mary faltered out her tale, Molly once in a while
coming in with excuses and comments so that in the end Miss Ada was not
"vexed" at all but only said, "If it had been any one but Ellis, I
might feel inclined to warn you against going out in a row-boat, but he
is a good, careful little lad, and if you will call it quits, Mary, I
will, for I am conscience-stricken my own self; but next time, dearie,
ask me when you want to go on the water."
"Oh, I will, I will," said Mary fervently. "It was because I felt so
dreadful at losing the brooch that I didn't tell this time."
"It is a perfect shame," said her Aunt Ada, cuddling her close. "I
hope now you will never find the old pin. I never want to see it
again, for it would remind me of how my dear little niece suffered."
"But I was bad. I deceived you." Mary's head went down again in her
aunt's lap. "I was afraid to tell you," she murmured.
"Afraid of what, dear child? Not of your Aunt Ada?"
"I don't know, oh, I don't know why I was so scared. Miss Sharp is
always so terribly severe when we are careless or try to get out of any
thing we have done wrong."
"But I'm not Miss Sharp, honey. Just forget all about this, if you
love me. Of course you weren't quite frank, but you were scared and it
is as much my fault as yours; mine and Miss Sharp's," she added half to
herself.
Yet they were destined to see the pin again, for that very afternoon,
as they were coming home, whom should they meet but Polly and Grace.
"Guess what we've found!" cried Grace.
"See, Miss Ada, we were looking for birds' nests between your cottage
and ours, and we found this caught in the grass just near where a
sparrow had built. Polly says she thinks it is yours, that it looks
like one you lent to Mary to wear to the party." And she held out the
little shining star in the palm of her hand.
Miss Ada took it and gave a whimsical look at Mary. "Yes, I believe it
is mine," she said. She tossed it back and forth from one hand to the
other as she stood thinking.
"Ellis Dixon came along just after we found it, and he seemed awfully
pleased," Grace went on.
Miss Ada laughed softly. "Thank you very much, Grace, dear," she said.
"It was good of you to bring it right to me." Then changing the
subject she asked, "How is your grandmother to-day?"
"Not so very well," Grace replied. Then with sudden remembrance, "I
must go right back, for she worries if I am not in time for supper."
And she sped away.
Miss Ada stood still smiling and looking from one of her nieces to the
other. She continued to toss the little star from one hand to the
other. "I know what I am going to do with it," she said looking at
Mary. "I'm going to give it to Luella for a wedding present."
_CHAPTER VIII_
_Ellis and the Baby_
That evening Polly was told the whole story and was properly contrite.
She felt a little aggrieved that she had not been one of the party to
go to Elton woods, but she realized that it was her own fault, and
offered at once to "make up" with Molly and Mary. So all was serene
again, and the three children sat side by side all evening before the
open fire, listening to a fascinating story Uncle Dick read aloud to
them, and at last the three fell asleep all in a heap, Molly's head in
Polly's lap, and the other two resting against Miss Ada's knees. When
they all stumbled upstairs to bed, they were not too sleepy, however,
to kiss one another good-night, and indeed were so bent upon showing no
partiality that they all tumbled into the same bed, which happened to
be Mary's, where they went to sleep, hugging each other tight.
The brightness of the restored pin seemed to be reflected upon them all
after this. Uncle Dick was so tremendously funny at breakfast that
Polly fell from her chair with laughter, and Luella giggled so that she
held a plate of griddle cakes at such an angle that the whole pile slid
off on the floor; then every one laughed more than ever and Molly said
that her jaws fairly ached and that she would have to spend the day
with Cap'n Dave's old white horse, for he had such a solemn face it
made you want to sigh all the time. Of course this started the
children off again and they left the table in high spirits.
Yet before the day was over they had occasion to look serious without
the society of old Bill horse, for about ten o'clock Ellis appeared,
trouble puckering his pleasant face into worried lines. He had
forgotten all about the finding of the pin in a more personal interest,
for the cares of life had been suddenly thrust upon him. His brother
Parker the day before had sailed away to the Grand Banks for
sword-fishing. He had left his young wife and little baby in Ellis's
charge. Now Leona had fallen ill, "and," said Ellis, "it's up to me to
take care of the baby."
"Is there no one else?" asked Miss Ada, as Ellis told his doleful tale.
"Ora Hart is taking care of Leona," Ellis answered; "but she has as
much as she can do to look after her own children. She's Leona's
cousin and she's awful good to come in at all. You see most
everybody's got folks of their own to see to, and they can't spare much
time, although they're all willin' enough to do what they can. I ain't
much used to babies myself. I got Nellie Brown to look after her while
I come up here. I knew you'd wonder why I didn't bring them clams I
promised, and so I come to tell you why. I hope it won't put you out,
Miss Ada."
"We can have something else just as well," she told him. "We are
rather used to not getting just what we plan for," she went on,
smiling, for be it known one could never tell, at the Point, just how
an order might turn out. If one expected lamb chops like as not "Hen
Roberts hadn't fetched over no lamb," or if mackerel had been ordered
like as not the fish delivered would be cod, and the excuse would be
that some one came along and carried off the entire supply of mackerel
before the last orders were filled; therefore it was no new experience
for Miss Ada to have to alter her bill of fare.
"I'm awful sorry about havin' to stay home just now," said Ellis
disconsolately, "for this is when I expected to get in some time with
the boat. I promised two or three parties to take 'em out, and now
I'll have to get some one else to take my place, but I'll have to let
'em go shares. Park's let me have the _Leona_ whilst he's away, but,
if I could run her myself, I could make twice as much."
The three little girls listened attentively, and presently Polly
twitched her Aunt Ada's sleeve. "Couldn't we take care of the baby?"
she whispered.
Miss Ada looked down at her with a smile, but shook her head.
"Oh, why not?" said Polly in ft louder whisper. "I'd love to."
"So would I," came from Molly on the other side.
Miss Ada beholding the eager faces said: "Wait a moment, Ellis. I want
to talk over something with these girls of mine." She led the way
indoors, leaving Ellis on the porch. "Now, lassies," she said when
they were all in the living-room, "what is it you want to do?"
"We want to take care of Ellis's baby," chanted the two, and Mary
coming in as a third repeated the words.
"But do you realize what it would mean? You would have to give up much
of your playtime, and could not go off sailing or rowing or picnicking."
"We could go picnicking," insisted Polly, "because we could take the
baby with us."
"Very well, we will leave out the picnic. I might get Luella to stay
afternoons sometimes, but you know she goes home to help her mother,
for Mrs. Barnes has more laundry work than she can do, and Luella has
to help her when she can; those were the only terms upon which she
would consent to come to me; so you see we can't count on Luella."
"It may not be for very long," said Polly, hopefully. "Leona may soon
get well."
"If it is typhoid, as they suspect, she is likely to be ill a long
time."
"Well, I don't care; I'll give up my afternoons," decided Polly.
"And I'll give up my mornings," said Molly, not to be outdone. "And
then the baby does sleep some, so we can play while she is asleep. Oh,
Polly, we could have lovely times playing with something alive like
that."
"Wouldn't it be jolly to have a real live baby for a doll," put in Mary.
"I see you are not to be put off," said Miss Ada, laughing, "so I will
allow you to undertake the charge for a week, and at the end of that
time if I think it is too much for you, I shall have to insist that you
give it up."
"Oh, we'll never think it is too much," declared Polly with conviction,
and the others echoed her.
So they all trooped out to Ellis. "We have the loveliest plan," Molly
began eagerly.
"You can have all your time," put in Polly.
"I am so very pleased to be able to do something for you when you were
so kind to me," said Mary earnestly.
Ellis looked bewildered.
"The girls propose to take care of your brother's little baby for a
week, Ellis," Miss Ada explained.
"Oh, I can't let 'em do that," said Ellis bashfully.
"Oh, but we are just wild to," Polly assured him.
"Yes, we truly are," Molly insisted. "We adore babies. When can you
bring her over, Ellis? Shall we keep her day and night, Aunt Ada, and
may she sleep with me?"
"Oh, Ora's sister says she can take her at night," Ellis hastened to
say. "She can't leave home very well, and she is too busy during the
day to look out for her, for she has a lot of children, but none of
them are little small babies; the youngest is three, and she says she
doesn't mind having the baby at night."
"Then we'll arrange for the day only," said Miss Ada with decision;
"that is when she would require your time, Ellis, and we are glad to
help you out so you can take out the boat when you have the
opportunity."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Ellis awkwardly. Like most of the
"Pointers" he was unused to showing his gratitude. To his mind any
display of appreciation was poor-spirited. He was too proud to let any
one see that he felt under obligations and to say even as much as he
did was an effort. Nevertheless, he trotted off feeling a great weight
removed, and in half an hour was back again with the little
four-months-old baby.
For that day, at least, the small Miss Myrtle Dixon was overwhelmed
with attentions. Polly sat by when she slept, ready to pounce upon her
and take her up at the slightest movement. Molly was on hand to urge a
bottle of milk upon her if she so much as whimpered. Mary dangled
be-ribboned trinkets before her the minute she opened her eyes, and
they were all in danger of hurting her with overkindness.
The second day she was less of a novelty, though sufficiently
entertaining for each of her three nurses to clamor for her.
"She is too dear for anything," said Molly ecstatically. "See her
laugh, Mary, and flutter her little hands. She is to be my baby this
morning. Let's go around the side of the house, where it is shady, and
play. You can have the place under the porch for your house, Polly,
and Mary can have the wood-shed. I'll take the cellar."
"Oh, but that will be too cold and damp for the baby," said Mary. "You
take the wood-shed and I'll take the cellar," she added generously.
Molly agreed and presently baby was established in a crib made of the
clothes-basket where she lay contentedly sucking her thumb. Mary,
hugely enjoying herself, kept house in the cellar. She sat at the door
in a rocking-chair which she rocked back and forth with a blissful
expression on her face. If there was any American comfort which Mary
did appreciate it was a rocking-chair. She had never seen one till she
came to the United States, neither had she ever before made the
acquaintance of chewing-gum. This was a luxury seldom allowed the
little girls. "It is a disgusting habit," Miss Ada declared, "and I
don't want you children to acquire it. Your mother, Mary, would be
shocked if she saw you use it." But once in a while Uncle Dick slyly
furnished each with a package and Miss Ada allowed them to have it,
though protesting all the time to her brother. This special morning
Uncle Dick had hidden a package under each of their breakfast plates,
and it is needless to say that three pairs of jaws were working
vigorously as they played house.
"I'm agoing to ask Aunt Ada if we may go barefoot," announced Molly;
"it is plenty warm enough to-day."
Mary jumped up, tipping over her rocking-chair as she did so. "Oh,
does she allow you to do that?" she cried. "I've always secretly
longed to, but Miss Sharp is perfectly horrified when we ask her."
The other two looked at each other with a little smile, for it was not
such a great while before this that Mary herself had been horrified at
the suggestion.
"Aunt Ada doesn't care, if it is warm enough," Molly informed her. "I
always go barefoot up here, if I feel like it and it isn't too cold.
I'll go ask her now. Watch the baby for me, girls."
They promised to be faithful nurses while Molly went on her errand.
She was gone some time and when she returned she was carefully bearing
a plate of fresh doughnuts. "Which would you rather have, Polly," she
cried, "doughnuts or chewing-gum? you can't have both, Aunt Ada says."
"Doughnuts," decided Polly without hesitation taking the chewing-gum
from her mouth and slapping it securely against a stone in the
foundation of the porch. "Don't they look good? So brown and sugary.
I do think Luella makes the best doughnuts," and she helped herself to
a specially fat, appetizing one.
"Which do you choose, Mary?" asked Molly.