CHAPTER IX
THE LONELY ROAD
The day of the circus was not a happy one for Mary Hart. She watchedSue go down the street, and her heart went out toward her friend. Whata darling she was! How pretty she looked, and how well the plumed hatset off her delicate, high-bred face, and the little air she had ofowning the world and liking her possession! Now that there were nomincing steps beside her, she walked with her own free, graceful gait,head held high, eyes bent forward, ready for anything.
"She ought really to be a princess," thought humble-minded Mary; andin her glow of admiration she did not see the troubled look in Sue'sbright eyes.
The day went heavily. The boys, too, went off to the circus in theafternoon. Mary might have gone with them, but she had been given herchoice between this treat and the concert that was coming off a weekor two later, and had chosen the latter. If she and Sue could havegone together with the boys, that would have been another matter. Shelonged to tell the boys her secret, and beg them to keep an eye onSue, in case she should get into any trouble. Several times the wordswere on the tip of her tongue, but the thought of her promise drovethem back. She had promised in the solemn school-boy formula, "Honestand true, black and blue"; and that was as sacred as if she had swornon any number of relics. There was a dreadful passage in "LallaRookh": "Thine oath! thine oath!"
She and Sue had decided long ago that they would not take oaths, butthat a promise should be just as binding. The promise lay heavy onMary's heart all day. She found it hard to settle down to anything.Sue's face kept coming between her and her work, and looked at herfrom the pages of her book. Her imagination, not very lively as arule, was now so excited that it might have been Sue's own. She sawher friend in every conceivable and inconceivable danger. Now it was arailway accident, with fire and every other accompaniment of terror.She could hear the crash, the shrieks, and the dreadful hiss ofescaping steam; could see the hideous wreck in which Sue was pinneddown by burning timbers, unable to escape. Now a wild beast, a tigeror panther, had escaped from his cage and sprung in among theterrified audience of pleasure-seekers. She saw the glaring yelloweyes, the steel claws. This time she screamed aloud, and frightenedLily Penrose, who, luckily, came over at that very moment to askadvice about the cutting of her doll's opera-cloak. Mary forcedherself to attend to the cloak, and that did her good; and there wasno reason why Lily should not be made happy and amused a little. Thenthere were some errands to do for her mother, and then came her musiclesson; and so, somehow or other, the long day wore away, and thetime came for the arrival of the circus train from Chester. The timecame, and the train with it. Mary heard it go puffing and shrieking onits way. She stationed herself at the window to watch for Sue. Soonshe would come by, twinkling all over, quicksilvering with joy as shedid when she had had a great pleasure--making the whole streetbrighter, Mary always thought. But Sue did not come. Five o'clockstruck; then half-past five; then six. Still no Sue. In an anguish ofdread and uncertainty, Mary pressed her face against the pane andgazed up the fast-darkening street. People came and went, going homefrom their work; but no slight, glancing figure came swinging past.What had happened? What could have happened? So great was Mary'sdistress of mind that she did not hear her mother come into the room,and started violently when a hand was laid on her shoulder.
"My dear," said Mrs. Hart, "I think the boys must have missed thetrain. Why--why, Mary, dear child, what is the matter?" for Maryturned on her a face so white and wild that her mother wasfrightened.
"Mary!" she cried. "The boys! Has--has anything happened? The train--"
"No, no!" cried Mary, hastily. "It isn't the boys, mother. The boyswill be all right. It's Sue--my Sue!"
Then it all came out. Promise or no promise, Mary must take theconsequences. On her mother's neck she sobbed out the story: herfoolish "solemn promise," the day-long anxiety, the agony of the lasthour.
"Oh, what can have happened to her?" she cried. "Oh, Mammy, I'm soglad I told you! I'm so glad--so glad!"
"Of course you are, my dear little girl," said Mrs. Hart. "And now,stop crying, Mary. Thank goodness, there's your father driving intothe yard this moment. Run and tell him; he will know just what to do."
* * * * *
"MARY STATIONED HERSELF AT THE WINDOW."]
The glory was over. The scarlet cloths and the gold spangles haddisappeared behind the dingy curtains; the music had gone away ingreen bags; and the crowd poured out of the circus, jostling andpushing. Sue was walking on air. She could hear nothing but thatmaddening clash of sound, see nothing but that airy figure dashingthrough the ring of flame. To do that, and then to die suddenly, withthe world at her feet--that would be the highest bliss, beyond allother heights; or--well, perhaps not really quite to die, but swoon sodeep that every one should think her dead. And then, when they hadwept for hours beside her rose-strewn bier, the beautiful youth inpale blue silk tights, he with the spangled velvet trunks, might bendover her--having read "Little Snow-white"--and take the poisoned combout of her hair, or--or something--and say--
"Ow!" cried Clarice, shrilly. "That horrid man pushed me so, he almosttore my dress. I think this is perfectly awful! Say, Sue, let's go andsee the Two-headed Girl. We've lots of time before the train."
Sue for once demurred; she did not feel like seeing monstrosities; hermind was filled with visions of beauty and grace. But when Claricepressed the point, she yielded cheerfully; for was it not Clarice'sparty? But already the glow began to fade from her sky, and the heavyfeeling at her heart to return, as they pushed their way into thesmall, dingy tent, where the air hung like a heavy, poisonous fog.
It happened that they were just behind a large party of noisy people,men and women laughing and shouting together, and the showman did notsee them at first. They had made their way to the front, and weregazing at the two slim lads who, tightly laced into one crimson satinbodice, and crowned with coppery wigs, made the Two-headed Girl, whenthe showman--an ugly fellow with little eyes set too neartogether--tapped Sue on the shoulder.
"Fifty cents, please," he said civilly enough.
Sue looked at him open-eyed.
"Fifty cents," he repeated. "You two come in without payin'. Quarterapiece, please."
Sue put her hand to her pocket, which held both purses (Clarice had nopockets in her dresses; she said they spoiled the set of the skirt),but withdrew it in dismay. The pocket was empty! She turned toClarice, who was staring greedily at the monstrosity. "Clarice!" shegasped. "Clarice! did you--have you got the purses?"
"No," said Clarice. "I gave mine to you, to put in your pocket; don'tyou remember?"
"Yes, of course I do; but--but it is gone! They are both gone!"
"Come, none o' that!" said the man. "You've seen the show, and you'vegot to pay for it. That's all right, ain't it? Now you hand over themfifty cents, little lady; see? Come! I can't stand foolin' here. I gotmy business to attend to."
"But--but I haven't it!" said Sue, growing crimson to the roots of herhair. "Somebody--my pocket must have been picked!" she cried, as thetruth flashed upon her. She recalled the dense crowd, the pushing, therough lad who had forced his way between her and Clarice just at thedoorway.
"Oh, Clarice," she said, "my pocket has certainly been picked! Whatshall we do?"
"What shall we do?" echoed Clarice. "Oh, Sue, how could you? I don'tsee why I let you take my purse. There was a ten-dollar gold piece init. I might have known you would lose it!" And she began to whimperand lament.
This was poor comfort. Sue turned from her friend, and faced the angryman bravely.
"I am very sorry," she said. "My pocket has been picked, so I cannotpay you. We did not know that we had to pay extra for the side-shows.I hope you will excuse--"
"Not much I won't excuse!" said the man, in a bullying tone, though hedid not raise his voice. "You'll pay me something, young ladies,before you leave this tent. I ain't runnin' no free show; this isbusiness, this is, and I'm a poor man."
&
nbsp; Sue looked round her in despair. Only vacant or boorish faces met hereyes; it was not a high-class crowd that had come to see theTwo-headed Girl. Suddenly a word of Mr. Hart's flashed into her mindlike a sunbeam:
"If you are ever in danger away from home, children, call a--"
"Is there a policeman here?" she asked eagerly. "There must be oneoutside, I am sure. Will you call him, please?"
"No; there ain't no policeman!" said the man, quickly. He glancedwarily about him, and added in a conciliatory tone: "There ain't noneed of any policeman, young ladies. I guess we can settle this littlematter right now, between ourselves, friendly and pleasant. You stepright in this way, out of the jam. There's a lady here'll be realpleased to see you."
He half led, half pushed, the frightened girls into an innercompartment of the tent, where a stout, greasy-looking woman wascounting greasy coppers into a bag. The woman looked up as theyentered, still counting: "Seventy--seventy-five--eighty--and twenty'sa dollar. What's the matter, Ed?"
"These little ladies got their pockets picked, so they say!" said theman, with a wink. "They're real ladies; any one can see that with halfan eye. They don't want to rob a poor man like me. Maybe they've gotsome jew'lry or something they'd like to give you for the money theyowe. You see to 'em, Min; I got to go back."
With another wink at the woman, and a leer at the children which wasmeant to be attractive, he slipped out, and left them alone with thestout woman.
"Well!" she began, in a wheedling voice, "so you had your pocketspicked, my dears, had you? Well, now, that was a shame, I should say!Let me see!"
She advanced toward Clarice, who retreated before her, cowering in acorner and crying: "I haven't got any pocket; it's her! She took mypurse, and now she's lost it. Oh, dear! I wish we hadn't come!"
"Let me see, dear," said the woman.
She felt Clarice all over with swift, practised fingers.
"Sure enough, you ain't got no pocket," she said. "I thought you mightbe makin' a mistake, you see. There! why, what's this? Stand still,ducky! I wouldn't hurt ye for the world; no, indeed--such a sweet,pretty young lady as you be. Ain't this a pretty chain, now? and alocket on the eend of it--well, I never! It ain't safe for youngladies to be goin' round alone with such a lot of jew'lry. Why, youmight be murdered for it, and laid welterin' in your blood. I guessI'll take this, dear, to pay for the show; it'll be safer for yougoin' home, too. What's this, again? gold stick-pins? Well, now, Icall them dangerous! I don't see what your ma was thinkin' of, lettin'you come out rigged up like this. I'm doin' you a kindness takin' 'emoff'n ye; they might cost ye your life, sure as you stand here.There's a terrible rough set o' folks round these grounds, speciallycome night."
All the while she was talking she was quietly stripping Clarice of hertrinkets. Clarice was too frightened to speak or move; she could onlymoan and whimper. But after the first moment of stupefaction, Sue cameforward with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks. "How dare you?" shecried. "How dare you steal her things? Her father or Mr. Hart--Mr.George Hart of Hilton--will send you the money to-morrow, everythingwe owe. You shall not steal our things, you wicked woman!"
The woman turned on her with an evil look. "Highty-tighty!" she said."Ain't we fine, miss? I wouldn't talk so free about stealin', afteryou stealin' our show, sneakin' in and thinkin' you'd get it free. Noyou don't!" And she caught Sue as she tried to slip past her out ofthe tent. "Let's see what you've got, next."
"Police!" cried Sue. "Help! police!"
Instantly the woman's hand was over her mouth, and she was held in agrasp of iron.
"You holler ag'in, and I'll strip the clothes off yer back!" shehissed. "Hold yer tongue, or I'll call Ed. He won't stand no foolin'!"
Sue struggled fiercely, but it was of no use. The woman shifted hereasily to one arm, and with the other hand searched her pocket.
"Not even a handkerchief!" she said. "No jew'lry, neither. Well, yourmother's got sense, anyway. Hallo! here's a ring, though. Guess I'lltake that. Le' go, sis, or I'll hurt ye."
"It--it's not my ring!" gasped Sue, shaking her head free. "It'shers--my friend's. Don't take it!"
"Guess it's mine, now!" said the woman, with a chuckle. She forcedback the girl's slender fingers, and drew off the gold mouse-ring.
"There! now you can go, dears; and next time, you take my advice, andget some of your folks to take you to the circus. Ah! and be thankfulI've left you them pretty hats. I know a little girl as would bepleased to death with that hat with the feathers; but you might takecold if I let ye go bare-headed, and I'm a mother myself."
Trembling, half fainting, the girls found themselves outside the tent.The grounds were well-nigh deserted, all the spectators being gone.Here and there a group of stragglers leaned on the railings of theneighboring fence, smoking and talking. Rough-looking men were at workabout the tents, and some of them looked curiously at the girls asthey hurried along. Neither spoke. Clarice was still whimpering andcrying under her breath. Sue's eyes were blazing; her cheeks felt onfire. She ran hastily across the grounds, dragging Clarice after herby the hand. She felt every moment as if they might be seized andcarried back to that horrible den. Suppose the man should be comingafter them now! He might put them in prison, and her mother wouldnever know where she was. She choked back the sob that rose in herthroat. On, on, as fast as feet could fly! At last the palings werereached and passed. Now they could stop to draw breath, for they wereon the highroad, and out of sight of the hated inclosure. Panting, Sueleaned against the fence, and waited till she should have breathenough to speak some word of encouragement to her companion. No onewas in sight; there was no sound save the crickets keeping time in thegrass. All was as peaceful and serene as if there were no dreadfulthings or wicked people in the world. They were not far from thestation now, and once in the train for home, with the friendlyconductor, who knew her and would take charge of them both--
Then, suddenly, a new thought flashed into Sue's mind, and struck iceinto the fever of her blood. How long had they been in that dreadfulplace? How was it that no one was to be seen going toward thestation, of all the throng that had come up with them in the train?
"Clarice!" she gasped. "I am--afraid--we may miss the train. We mustrun. It isn't far now. Run as fast as you possibly can!"
Clarice answered with a sob; but she began to run as well as herfoolish dress and shoes would let her. But another answer came at thatmoment: a whistle, long and clear, loud at first, then growing fainterand fainter till it died away. In desperation the girls flew on alongthe road--to reach the station and find it empty! The long curve ofthe rails stretched away toward home. The train was gone!
CHAPTER X
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
Six o'clock was supper-time in the little town of Chester, so theusual loungers had left the station as soon as the train departed; andby the time the girls arrived it was deserted, even by theticket-seller. No one was in sight; at least, they saw no one. Theywere too much absorbed in their trouble to notice two faces thatpeeped at them for a moment round the corner of the station, and thenvanished. They were alone, six miles from home, with no money. Whatwere they to do?
Clarice broke out in tearful reproaches:
"Sue Penrose, you have brought us to this! It is all your fault! Inever should have thought of coming up here if it hadn't been foryou."
Sue looked at her, but made no reply. Clarice's eyes dropped under thesteady look; she faltered, but hurried on:
"And losing all my money, too! If you hadn't lost my money, I shouldnot have been robbed of my beautiful jewelry--all I had in the world!and it was worth lots and lots."
Sue, in bitterness of spirit, thought, "How about the diamond chain?"but she said nothing. She felt, suddenly, many years older thanClarice. Was this a girl of fifteen, whimpering like a baby? Was thisthe friend for whom she had given up Mary?
"And how are we ever to get home?" asked Clarice, in conclusion.
"We must walk!" said Sue, briefly.
"W
alk!" shrieked Clarice. "Sue Penrose, are you crazy? It's twentymiles, if it's a step!"
"Nonsense!" said Sue. "It's a short six miles."
"That's just as bad!" moaned Clarice. "You know I should die beforewe had gone a mile; you _know_ I should, Sue! Isn't there some one wecan borrow money from? Can't we go to the hotel and telephone tosomebody at home?"
They might indeed have done this, but in her excited state Sue couldnot think it possible. Her high-strung, sensitive nature was strainedbeyond the possibility of sober judgment; she could only act, and theaction that began instantly was the only one that she could think of.Besides, to see more strangers, perhaps meet with more insults--never!They must walk home; there was no other way; and they must start thisinstant.
"I am sure you can do it, Clarice," she said, speaking as cheerfullyas she could. "You can take my arm, and lean on me when you are tired;and every little while we can sit down and rest. Come! we must startat once; it will be dark before we get home, as it is."
Clarice still protested, but yielded to the stronger will, and the twogirls started on their lonely walk.
As they turned their backs on the station, a head was cautiouslyadvanced from behind the building; a pair of sharp eyes followed theretreating figures for a few moments, then the head was as cautiouslywithdrawn.
The road from Chester to Hilton was a pleasant one. On one side wasthe railway, with the river beyond; on the other, green meadowsrolling up and away to the distant hills. There were few houses, andthese scattered at long distances. To Sue the road was familiar andfriendly enough; but to Clarice it seemed an endless way stretchingthrough an endless desert. She was thoroughly frightened, and herblood was of the kind that turns to water; very different from thefire that filled Sue's veins and made her ready to meet an army, orcharge a windmill or a railway-train, or anything else that shouldcross her path.
Over and over again Clarice lamented that she had ever come to Hilton.
"Why did I come to this hateful, poky place?" she wailed. "Aunt Janedidn't want me to come. She said there wouldn't be anybody here fitfor me to associate with. Oh! why did I come?"
"I suppose because you wanted to!" said Sue; and it might have beenMary that spoke.
"Come, Clarice," she went on more gently, "we might as well make thebest of it. Let's tell stories. I'll begin, if you like. Do you knowabout the Maid of Saragossa? That is splendid! Or Cochrane's 'BonnyGrizzy'? Oh! she had to do much worse things than this, and she neverwas afraid a bit--not a single bit."
Sue told the brave story, and the thrill in her voice might havewarmed an oyster; but Clarice was not an oyster, and it left her cold.
"Grizzy is a horrid, ugly name," she said. "And I think it was realunladylike, dressing up that way, so there!"
"Clarice!"--Sue's voice quivered with indignation,--"when it was tosave her father's life! How can you? But perhaps you will care moreabout the Maid of Saragossa."
But after a while Clarice declared that the stories only made hermore nervous. She was unconscious of the fact that they had carriedher over two miles of the dreaded six.
"Besides," she said peevishly, "I can't hear when you are talking,Sue. Listen! I thought I heard footsteps behind us. I do! Sue Penrose,there is some one following us!"
Sue listened. Yes, there were footsteps, some way behind. "But, mydear," she said, "this is the highroad! Why should they be followingus? People have a right to walk on the road--as good a right as wehave."
They stopped a moment, instinctively, and listened; and the footstepsbehind them stopped too. They went on, and the steps were heard again,light yet distinct, keeping the distance between them, neither morenor less.
Clarice grasped Sue's arm. "They are tramps or robbers, Sue! We aregoing to be murdered. Oh, I shall scream!"
"You will _not_ scream!" said Sue, grasping her arm in return, andresisting the impulse to shake it. "You are talking nonsense,Clarice! I believe--I believe it is nothing in the world but an echo,after all. If it were not for this fog, we could see whether there wasany one there."
She looked back along the road, but the river-fog was rising white anddense, and closed in behind them like a curtain.
"They can't see us, anyhow, whoever they are!" said Sue. "Why, it'sexciting, Clarice! It's like the people in the forest in'Midsummer-Night's Dream.' If we were only sure that these were nicepeople, we might call, and they could answer, and hunt round for us,and it would be fine."
"Oh, it's awful! It's just awful!" moaned Clarice; and she shook withreal terror. "And the worst of it is, I can't walk any more. I can't,Sue! It's no use! I am going to faint--I know I am."
"Nonsense!" said Sue, stoutly, though her heart sank. "Keep up alittle, Clarice, do! There is a watering-trough a little farther on,and we can bathe our feet. That will be a great help; and we must benearly half-way home now."
But tight lacing and tight shoes are not nonsense. They are very realthings, and poor Clarice was really suffering more than Sue had anyidea of. The stitch in her side was not imaginary this time. Shestopped involuntarily to draw breath; and the footsteps behind themstopped too, and went on when they did. There was no longer any doubt;the girls were being followed.
Clarice began to cry again; and Sue set her teeth, and felt that acrisis was coming.
"Clarice," she said, "let me see if I can carry you! I think I can! Iknow the way Sir Bedivere did with King Arthur: he made broad hisshoulders to receive his weight, you know, and round his neck he drewthe languid hands--kind of pickaback, you see. You are not heavy; Ithink I can do it!"
And she actually took Clarice on her back, and staggered on perhaps ahundred yards--till they both came to the ground, bruised andbreathless.
"I'm going to die!" said Clarice, doggedly. "I won't walk anotherstep. I may just as well be murdered as plain die. I--can't see!" andthe poor girl sank down, really half fainting.
Sue set her teeth hard. She dragged Clarice back from the road, andpropped her against a tree, then took her stand in front of her. Shefelt no fear; the quicksilver ran riot in her veins. If she only hadher dagger, the good sharp dagger paper-knife that she had worn in herboot for two whole months, while she was playing cow-boy! It hurt agood deal, and made holes in her stockings, so she had given it up.What would she not give for it now! Or if she had something poisonedthat she could hand to the people when they came up,--like LucreziaBorgia,--and see them drop dead at her feet! But she had nothing!Stop! yes! her hat-pin, the hat-pin Uncle James had sent her fromRussia! Carefully, with a steady hand, she drew out the long, sharpsteel pin, and felt its point; then set her back against the tree, andwaited.
The footsteps behind the fog-curtain hesitated, stopped altogether.There was a silence, but Sue's heart beat so loud, the sound seemedto fill the air. All at once, from the opposite direction came anothersound, the sound of horses' hoofs, the rattle of wheels; and, as if ata signal, the footsteps came on again, quickened their pace, wereclose at hand. Two figures loomed through the white fog; paused, as ifreconnoitering in the dim half-light. Then, at sight of Sue standingalone before her prostrate companion, they broke into a run, and cameup at racing speed, panting.
"Anything wrong?" asked Tom.
"Because we're right here!" said Teddy.
"Right here, Quicksilver!" said Tom.
The hat-pin dropped from Sue's hand. A great sob rose and broke,--onlyone!--and then--oh! it didn't matter now if she was getting to be abig girl. Her arms were round Tom's neck, and her head was on his goodbroad brotherly shoulder, and she was crying and laughing and saying,"Oh, Tom! Oh, Tom!" over and over and over again, till that younggentleman began to be seriously alarmed.
"I say!" he said; "I wouldn't, Quicksilver! Come! I wouldn't if I wereyou! Teddy, you've got the handkerchief, haven't you? I had thepeanuts, you know."
But Teddy, who was going to be a surgeon, was stooping over Claricewith keen professional interest.
"We might haul her down to the river and put her head in!" he said."This hat w
on't hold water any more; will yours? I say! don't theystill bleed people sometimes, when they haven't got salts and things?My knife is just as sharp!"
Poor Clarice started up with a faint scream. Altogether, these fourwere so absorbed that they never heard the approaching wheels, and Mr.Hart almost ran over them before he could pull up his horse.
"Hallo!" he said. "What upon earth--now, Mary, Mary, do be careful,and wait till I--Dear me, sirs! What a set of children! Stand still,Jupiter!"
For Mary had scrambled down among wheels and legs, and had thrownherself upon Sue and Tom; and Teddy, abandoning Clarice, exhaustedhimself in a vain endeavor to get his short arms round the three.
"Oh, Mary, Mary! is it really you? Can you ever forgive me?"
"Sue! Sue, my Sue, don't talk so, dear! It is all my fault, for nottelling Mammy this morning. Oh, Tom, you blessed boy, I might haveknown you would take care of her!"
"Young people," said Mr. Hart, bending over from the wagon, "perhapsif you would kindly get in, it might facilitate matters, and you cancontinue this highly interesting conversation as we go along. Othergirl faint? Hand her here, Tom! Put your arm round my neck, mychild--so! there we are!"
They jogged along in silence for a few minutes. Sue and Mary hadnothing to say at first--in words, at least. They sat with their armsround each other's neck and their heads together. Now and then onewould make a little murmur, and the other respond; but for the mostpart they were still, too full of joy to speak.
"What happened, Tom?" asked Mr. Hart, when he thought time enough hadelapsed to quiet the excitement a little.
"Why, sir," said Tom, "we saw the girls, of course; but then we lostsight of them after the circus,--I don't know how" (Sue shuddered andClarice moaned),--"so we went straight to the station. So when theydidn't get there in time for the train, we thought we'd better waitand see how things were. So we followed them along--"
"Oh, Tom, we were so frightened!" cried Sue. "Of course you didn'tknow how frightened we were, Tom--but I had my hat-pin all ready tostick into you!"
"No! had you?" said Tom, chuckling.
"You young ninny!" said his father. "Why didn't you join the girls,instead of hanging behind and scaring them half to death?"
Tom hung his head. "I--it was awfully stupid!" he said. "Because I wasa fool, sir, I suppose, and thought--"
"Because _I_ was a fool, Mr. Hart!" said Sue. "Because I had beenwicked and hateful and ungrateful, and a Perfect Pig, and he knewit!"
Mrs. Hart sat at her window, sewing her seam and listening to themusic she loved best, the music of children's voices. There were fiveof them, her own three and the two Penroses; and they were all sittingon the broad door-step, husking sweet corn and talking. Sue had justcome over; she had been helping Katy, who had a lame arm. She lookedpale and grave, for the adventure of two days before seemed still verynear; yet her eyes were full of light as she looked from one to theother of the children, gazing as if she could not get her fill. Nowand then she and Mary held out a hand and exchanged a silent squeezethat meant rivers of speech; but somehow Tom seemed to be doing mostof the talking.
"Look at that!" he said, holding up an ear like glossy ivory, everyrow perfect as a baby's teeth. "Isn't that bully? Save the silk, Sueand Lily! We want to make wigs for the harvest feast to-night."
"Oh, tell me!" cried Sue, her eyes kindling. "A harvest feast? Whatfun!"
"Why, hasn't Mary told you? You and Lily are coming to tea, you know, andwe thought we would make it a harvest tea. So we are all to wear corn-silkwigs, and we're going to put the candles in Jack-o'-lanterns--little ones,you know; squashes, of course, or apples."
"Apples will be best!" said Mary. "I have some pound sweets all pickedout. We meant this for a surprise, you know, Tom, but never mind! It'sreally better fun for us all to know."
"Lots!" said Tom. "I forgot, though, about the surprise part. Andthen--it'll be full moon--we'll go out Jack-o'-lanterning, and that'llbe no end; and then Mammy says we can roast chestnuts, and Father hasthe bonfire all ready, and we'll have a celebration. A QuicksilverCelebration, eh, Sue?"
"Oh, Tom!" said Sue. "Not Quicksilver any more; just stupid, stupid,grubby lead--and rusty, too!"
"Lead doesn't rust," said Teddy, gravely.
"This lead does! And--I've got something to read to you all. It ispart of my penance, Mary. Yes, I will! It isn't all true, but part ofit is."
She drew a letter from her pocket (it was written on pink paper,scented with cheap scent), and began to read:
"Miss Clarice Stephanotis Packard presents her compliments to Miss Susan Penrose, and tells her that I am going home to-morrow with my Papa, and I never shall come to this mean place any more. It is all my fault for assoshating with my soshal inpheriars, and if you hadn't have poked your nose into my afairs, Miss Penrose, and put your old candy in my pew, I shoud not have been robbed and most murderd. The girl here says I could have the law of you to get back the money my mouse ring cost,--"
"What girl?" asked Mary.
Sue blushed hotly.
"The--the chambermaid," she said. "She--Clarice has made a kind ofcompanion of her. She isn't a very nice girl, I'm afraid."
Then resuming the reading--
"but Papa says he will get me a new one, and I shall see that nobody gets that away from me. You never will see me again, Sue, but you will have those common Harts; I supose they will be glad enouf to take up with you again.
"So I remain, Miss Penrose,
"Yours truly,
"Miss CLARICE STEPHANOTIS PACKARD."
Sue's eyes remained fixed on the paper; her cheeks glowed with shameand mortification; she could not meet her friends' eyes. There was amoment of dead silence; then came a sound that made her look uphastily, blushing still deeper.
"Why! why, you are all laughing!" she cried.
"My dear, of course we are laughing!" cried Mary, catching her in herarms. "What should we do but laugh? And we _are_ glad to take up withyou again, aren't we, boys?"
"Rather!" said Tom. "Why, Sue, it's been only half living without ourQuicksilver."
"Have you really missed me?" cried poor Sue. "Oh, Tom! Of course Iknow Mary has, because I know how wretched I have been, really, allthe time, even at first, when I didn't know it. But you, too, andTeddy? Oh, I am so glad! so glad! And now there are five of us, aren'tthere, Lily?"
Lily answered with a warm caress. She knew privately that she was thehappiest of the five, but she did not know how to say it.
"Five of us!" echoed Teddy. "I say! we ought to have a name. TheFrisky Five! No! that isn't good. Somebody else try!"
"The Festive Five!" suggested Tom.
But Mary shook her head. "I have it!" she said. "Join hands, all! theFaithful Five! Hurrah for us!"
The five children stood up and held hands, looking at one another witha certain solemnity.
"The Faithful Five!" they repeated. "Hurrah for us!"
And Teddy added: "But we'll make a toast of it to-night withshrub--lots of shrub!"
"And now we must make the wigs!" said Mary. "We'll do that in the barnchamber, so that we sha'n't mess with the silk."
"And then can't we climb a tree?" said Sue, plaintively. "I haven'tclimbed a tree for a month, Mary! I will be Isabella of Buchan, if youlike, and you can all capture me and put me in the cage in thegreening-tree."
"All right!" "Hurrah!" "Come on!"
The joyous voices died away; and Mrs. Hart took off her glasses andwiped her eyes, but not before a tear had fallen on her work. "Blessthem!" she said. "And hurrah for them! This may have been a goodthing, after all."
An hour later Sue was bending once more over her journal; but thistime Mary's arms were round her, and Mary's eyes were looking over hershoulder as she wrote.
"My troubles are over, and they were all my own fault; but now I amhappy, and nothing but death can part me and Mary. I have the dearestand best friends in the world--"
"Oh, don't, Sue!" said Mary.
"I shall!" said Sue, and wrote on:
"And I have told Mamma all about everything, and she has forgiven me,and now we are all different, and she is perfectly lovely, and weunderstand all about things together, like Mary and her mother. And Ihope I am going to be a better girl now all my life; but still thename I shall always love best is that I am Mary's own
'QUICKSILVER SUE.'"
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original documenthave been preserved.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Quicksilver Sue Page 9
