Janet, a twin

CHAPTER VII

A STRANGER IN THE KINGDOM

Janet halted in her climb up the steep bank at the back of the deserted house and smiled down at the ground. The perfect outline of a bare foot made a path ahead of her straight to the steps of the porch.

It was one of the warm, golden days that come sometimes in the fall, as though the summer, being sorry to go, sent it to bid a last regretful good-by.

A week had passed since the fair, and during that time Janet had made many trips to her Kingdom and she and Peter had become fast friends. They read their favorite books aloud to each other and played a game of "pretend" that would have been impossible to two people who had not both understood the meaning of loneliness.

To-day Janet found Peter deep in a thick, uninteresting-looking book, but as she appeared in the window he closed it and jumped up.

"Good morning, Princess," he greeted. "I thought you were never coming, I chopped wood, fed the chickens and did all I could think of so that I wouldn't be missed."

"I couldn't get away a minute sooner,"—Janet made a comical face. "Mrs. Blake came to see grandmother yesterday, and of course she had to tell her that she was so surprised to learn that I didn't like to sew. Grandmother didn't say much, but this morning she made me hem some dish towels, for of course she knows I can sew passably well when I want to. Now she'll show them to Mrs. Blake the next time she comes." A note of affection crept into her voice as she added, "Grandmother's like that."

"What are you reading?" she inquired a minute later.

"A book about sheep," Peter replied. "It's kind of dull, but I like it. I imagine sometimes that I—" He hesitated and blushed.

"What?" Janet encouraged.

"Nothing, anyway you'd laugh at me if I told you."

"I would not!"

"Well—"

"Well, what?"

"Oh, it's just a crazy notion of mine, but I like to think sometimes that I own this place, and then I plan what I'd do with it, and one of the plans is to turn it into a sheep farm,"—he laughed nervously—"I guess I'd better stop dreaming though and get to real work now."

Janet noticed that he laid stress on the word "now," and she looked at him inquiringly. He pretended not to notice her.

"Peter," she said finally, "it isn't nice to be mysterious. What is the matter with you?"

Peter ran his fingers through his red hair but he did not reply. Instead, he put the big book back on its shelf and went over to the window.

"It's awfully dark in here, don't you think? And it's so bully out of doors. Let's go fishing," he suggested.

Janet nodded.

"All right; we won't catch anything but it will be fun anyway. Come ahead."

Peter led the way toward the shore and up to a dark green canoe. Janet was properly excited; she had never been in a canoe before. None of the girls she knew were at all interested in boating except to go off in sailing parties for picnics, and because the bay was very often rough and always dangerous none of the boys were allowed to have them. She smiled as she remembered Mrs. Waters' terror when Harry, the summer before, had screwed up his courage to ask for one. Yet here was Peter acting as though the most ordinary thing in the world was to go fishing in one.

"What a beauty!" she exclaimed. "Is it yours?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I found it over in our barn and I asked Mr. Blunt if I could use it. He didn't think much of the idea, but he said if I could make it watertight I could have it and welcome. A summer boarder left it here a couple of years ago. Here you go; let me help you in. Sorry I haven't any pillows," he apologized.

Janet looked up at him and laughed.

"What under the sun would I do with a pillow?" she exclaimed.

"Stick it behind your back, of course. It makes it lots easier. That is, most girls tuck 'em in all around, and they seem to like it." Peter sometimes gave Janet a feeling that he was years and years older than she by the way he talked of things, people and places.

"How do you know?" she inquired as she settled herself gingerly on the floor of the canoe.

"Seen them, by the dozens."

"Where!"

"Any place where there are canoes and girls,"—Peter grinned. "Dad and I always paddled wherever and whenever we could, and we used to laugh sometimes."

"What at?" Janet was making no effort to hide her curiosity.

Peter was busy turning the canoe around and did not answer at once. Janet watched him, fascinated. He paddled so softly and yet with so much strength that they skimmed along over the water as though they were flying. Once out into the bay and headed for the mouth of a small creek, where Peter decided was the place to fish, he returned to the subject.

"When I said just now we laughed," he explained, "I was thinking of last summer. Dad and I took a trip up the Delaware River and of course we passed lots of summer places on the way, and we'd see fellows, about eighteen, out with girls all dressed up and sitting all packed in with pillows. They looked all right, but I would hate to have had them with us in some of the storms we pulled through and some of the rocks we had to pass."

"I see,"—Janet laughed, then she said hurriedly, "Peter, what an exciting life you have had. I wish you'd tell me some more about it."

Peter shrugged his shoulders.

"Not so very," he said; "you see there was only Dad and me, and Dad was a civil engineer and he had to be on the go most of the time. Wherever there was a bridge being built or a railroad put through or a dam built he was always there, and so naturally I was too. That is, I shouldn't say naturally, because lots of people, especially women, thought it was very strange, but Dad said I was all he had left and he wasn't going to have me shut up in a school where he could never see me, so along I went, and I tell you I had some grand old times. But it's all over now and I guess I'll go to work."

"Where!" Janet asked softly.

"Out West, I guess. I like it out there, and Dad knew a lot of ranch men that would give me a job. Dad always wanted me to be an engineer, but that was before—" In spite of himself his voice broke a little, and he paddled with extra zeal.

"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry." Two big tears stood in Janet's eyes. "I wish I hadn't asked you so many questions and started you remembering."

"Oh, I'm always doing that anyway,"—Peter tried to laugh. "And I wanted to tell you about Dad anyway. Do you still feel like fishing?" he inquired, abruptly changing the subject.

"Not 'specially," Janet admitted, "I'd rather just paddle."

"Want me to teach you how!"

"Oh, would you!"

"Of course. Here, wait a minute and we'll land and change places. I wish I had another paddle, then you could paddle bow."

The exchange of seats was made and the lessons began. Janet was an apt pupil, and Peter, remembering his father's instructions of long ago, did as well as instructor. Black clouds rolled up in the west without their noticing them, and it was not until a faint peal of thunder sounded that they realized that a storm was coming up.

"Queer at this time of year, isn't it?" Peter asked, as Janet made for the bank and he took the paddle again.

Janet shook her head.

"We have pretty bad ones sometimes in the fall; sort of breaking up of summer, the fishermen say, and to-day has been hot, you know."

"Well, there's no time to lose for it's coming fast. That creek's a bad place; the trees hide the sky." Peter took long firm strokes, and they were soon out into the bay.

It was not long before the storm broke. A zig-zag of lightning and a sharp growl of thunder, and then the rain—great drops of it. The canoe bobbed up and down, but Peter managed to send it forward with every stroke. Janet, though she would never have admitted it, was thoroughly frightened, and Peter, kneeling in the stern, very calm and even smiling, began to assume in her eyes the guise of a hero.

After several strenuous minutes that seemed like as many hours they landed just below the deserted house.

"Let's go up and wait until it stops," Peter suggested as he turned the canoe over. "You can't possibly row home in this."

Janet nodded, and they trudged up the hill. They were laughing when they reached the window. Once in the Kingdom with the rain shut out, they felt very secure. Peter pointed up to the ceiling.

"It doesn't leak any more, thank goodness."

Janet felt her nose and smiled. "Then I don't suppose I ought to mind this," she said. "It's still black and blue, and nobody can understand how I ever managed to cut it just there."

"Well, you can't expect me to say I'm sorry." Peter laughed.

"You might say that you wished we had met under different conditions," Janet suggested, but Peter wouldn't agree.

"It was just right the way it was," he insisted.

"I suppose so; anyway we'd never have had such fun together if we had been introduced. Just imagine, 'Janet, I want you to meet Mr. Peter Gibbs'; how silly it sounds."

"Instead of 'Your royal highness, Princess of the Enchanted Kingdom, allow me to introduce myself, Lord Carrot Tops. My calling-card is a piece of tin, Bingo! Of course I didn't say all that but I thought most of it."

Peter laughed and Janet joined in.

"Anyway the tin calling-card part is true," she said.

They both laughed on heartily and then stopped short, their eyes on the doorway of the room.

A short fat little man, wearing a heavy gold watch chain and an old fashioned soft black hat, stood frowning at them.

CHAPTER VIII

UNDER ARREST

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head up and down; "what do you mean breaking into some one else's house like burglars? Don't tell me you were hiding from the rain for I won't believe you."

Neither Peter nor Janet made any attempt to tell him anything. They were both too startled. They stood frozen to the spot on which they stood.

"Nothing to say, eh?" the old man went on in his excited, squeeky little voice. "Well, that's just as well. You'll come along with me now, both of you."

"Are you the owner of this house?" Peter was himself again, and Janet marveled at the quiet manner in which he spoke.

"Never you mind about that; you'll soon enough know." The old man bustled toward them. Peter stepped in front of Janet.

"Are you the owner of this house?" he demanded again.

"Now look here, young fellow, don't give me any of your impertinence, but come along quick." The quieter Peter's voice got the more excited grew the little man. "What are your names, eh? Tell me that," he squeaked.

"We will do nothing of the kind," Peter said firmly.

"What, what, what! You tell me at once and no more nonsense," the old man fairly spluttered.

"We refuse to tell our names to any one but the owner of this house." By now, Peter was thoroughly enjoying himself, and he winked ever so slightly at Janet.

Janet was chuckling to herself, but not at Peter. She was wondering what would happen if she did tell her name. From past experiences she knew that from blustering the old man would apologize and offer to take her home. But he might insist on arresting Peter, and loyalty made her keep silent.

The old man was getting very angry at Peter; he even stamped his foot and his big gold chain jingled.

"You come straight along and tell the owner then," he exploded, "and you'll be sorry you didn't tell me first. I can promise you. I'm a sheriff, and you are both under arrest. Now then, what have you got to say?"

Peter and Janet looked at each other, and Peter laughed.

"We have nothing to say until we see the owner," he said.

The sheriff turned on his heel. They followed him through the hall and out of the back door, of which he had the key. A buggy was standing in the woodshed, and they all got in. The rain had stopped and soft mud spattered them as they drove along.

"I'm awfully glad he isn't the owner," Peter whispered in Janet's ear.

"Oh, so am I," she agreed, "but of course I knew he couldn't be and look like that."

The sheriff did not notice them in any way. His ridiculous little fat face tried to look grim, but only succeeded in looking funny. He was thinking very hard and wondering if the owner would approve of his actions. He had not bothered to explain, when he said he was a sheriff, that he was a retired one, without the slightest right in the world to make an arrest.

"Where does the owner live?" Peter inquired, breaking a silence that had lasted a mile.

"Never you mind where," the sheriff retorted; "all that concerns you is that you will find the owner at my house to-day."

Peter and Janet exchanged glances.

"We're in for it," Peter whispered, "but it can't be very bad, and anyway we will see him at last."

"I'm almost sorry," Janet sighed. "He was always such a thrilling mystery to me. Do you suppose those are his gloves on the library table?"

Peter did not have time to reply, for they were turning in at the gate of a big farm, and the sheriff whipped up his horse to make a gallant approach.

Once on his own land he regained his assurance, and he opened the door of the tool house as though it were a dungeon cell.

"You'll wait in here," he directed.

There was nothing else to do, so in they went, and Janet heard the key grate in the rusty lock with a queer sinking feeling. But a look at Peter's face made her swallow her fears and manage a little laugh.

"What do you suppose will happen next?" she asked.

"Nothing very terrible," Peter assured her. "You see, we never did any harm to anything, and if we explain about the books, it ought to be all right."

"That will depend on the owner,"—Janet's voice sounded frightened in spite of herself. "If he is nice, he will understand, and I suppose he is if he owns the Kingdom; still, why doesn't he live in it?"

"Why, that's the mystery,"—Peter laughed. "We will find out soon enough. Mr. Sheriff is probably telling all about us now, and I guess he is not saying anything to help our case much."

Janet was silent for a minute, then she drew a long heartfelt sigh.

"Oh, Peter, do you realize that we can never go to the Kingdom again? It isn't enchanted any more; it's just a house that belongs to a man that probably has a bald head and whiskers."

"I hadn't thought of that," Peter said gravely.

The door opened, and the little man stood before them again.

"Come with me," he said, and led the way to the house.

"He's not nearly so starchy," Janet whispered; "maybe he is nice after all."

"Of course he is," Peter assured her.

They passed through a big clean kitchen, full of shiny pots and pans, and then into a dark little hall.

"Wait here," their guide directed, as he shoved them into a little room that looked like an office.

They waited, and a minute or two later the door opened.

It would be hard to say just what either Peter or Janet imagined the owner of the deserted house to resemble. Janet, when she thought of the place as belonging to any one but herself, usually pictured a modern King Arthur who would admit her claims as princess without hesitation. Peter knew that it was a house that his father would have loved, and he thought of the owner as a quiet gray-haired man in consequence. They were neither of them prepared to see a woman.

"Mrs. Todd!" Janet after a stupefied second fairly shouted the name, and it was Peter's turn to be astonished. He looked from one to the other and blushed a little; he realized it might be difficult to explain to a woman, for Peter knew nothing about women.

Mrs. Todd did not say anything. She stood in the doorway and laughed and laughed.

"Is it really your house?" Janet stammered, and she nodded.

"Yes, it's my house, and perhaps you can tell me, for Mr. Simpson's benefit, what you two were doing in it."

Peter looked at Janet, and she started the explanation.

"We weren't doing anything just when he found us," she said, "except waiting for the rain to stop, but this wasn't the only time we've been there. You see, I found it first, oh, ages ago, and I used to row over and read in the Kingdom—I mean the library—"

"What did you call it?" Mrs. Todd interrupted.

"Oh, that was just my name for it. I always thought of it as 'The Enchanted Kingdom' because of all the wonderful books first and then because it was so old and deserted and spooky." Janet looked at Peter and he nodded encouragement.

"I only met Peter the other day; it was the very day of the fair. I came over because—"

"I know; go on about Peter," Mrs. Todd put in.

"He was fixing the roof, and he dropped a piece of tin down on my nose, and then, well, of course we began to talk, and he said he had found the books, too, and so we went into the Kingdom, and it was Peter that made me go back to the fair in spite of—" Janet stopped, confused.

Mrs. Todd surveyed the two before her. There was nothing left of her laughter but the tiniest twinkle in her bright blue eyes. She snapped open her old-fashioned watch, looked at the time, and snapped it shut again.

"It's late," she said. "Janet, I'll drive you home. Where do you live?"—she turned to Peter.

"At Blunt's farm. I work there," he answered her.

"Humm, well, you won't have far to go. Good-by. I'll see you again, and thanks for mending my roof," she added, as Peter hurried to the door.

He smiled at her over his shoulder. Janet went with him as far as the gate.

"It's funny, isn't it!" she laughed; "and of course she understands."

"Guess she does," Peter admitted. "Good-by."

"Until next time," Janet added.

"Maybe," Peter hesitated and then finished, "Do you remember asking me what the matter was this morning? Well, it's this. Doc is going to Europe, and I won't let him leave me any money 'cause I know he needs it all himself, so I've got to get work, and I think I'll be starting soon."

"But, Peter, I'll see you before you go," Janet exclaimed in dismay.

"Maybe," Peter drawled as he had done the first time she had ever seen him. "Anyway good-by for now."

Janet watched him walk down the road until the twilight shadows swallowed him up. There was something that felt like a lump in her throat.

CHAPTER IX

THE MYSTERIOUS OWNER

"And now, you amazing child, tell me all you know about Peter." Mrs. Todd let her horse trot along unguided through the dusk and settled back in her seat, with a look of amused expectation on her face.

Janet plunged into a recital of Peter's life, or at least that portion of it that she knew, and before very long the amusement changed to interest and then to pity. Mrs. Todd was a splendid listener and a very understanding woman.

"What kinds of books does he like to read?" she asked, when Janet paused for breath.

"Everything in the library," Janet told her. "He laughs just as hard at 'Alice in Wonderland' as he does over 'Robinhood and his Merrymen,' but of course he likes Robinhood best, especially the part about Little John. He likes the 'Idyls of the King' too, and he just eats up history. To-day I found him reading a stuffy old book about sheep. I think he would like to raise, or do whatever it is you do to, sheep, but of course he can't now because of Doc."

"And who is Doc?" Mrs. Todd inquired.

Again Janet explained as best she could, and this time it was Mrs. Todd's eyes that were wet.

"Hum," she said after a little pause, "perhaps sheep would be a good idea, I never thought of it myself. I'll talk to Peter about it."

Janet sighed a long, happy sigh.

"It's the most perfect fairy tale that ever came true," she said. "Of all the people in the world that I would have chosen to be the mysterious owner of the Enchanted Kingdom, you would be the first, only I simply can't understand why I never knew or why you never lived in it."

Mrs. Todd sighed too, but hers was not a happy sigh.

"My dear child," she said, "that is a very long and a very disagreeable story, but perhaps I can tell you enough of it for you to understand why I left my home and Old Chester.

"When I was not so very many years older than you, say about eighteen, your grandmother decided that I was to marry your father Tom, and my parents thoroughly agreed to the plan. Your father and I, however, did not. In fact I might say that we thoroughly disapproved. We were the very best of friends, but we were both in love with other people; Tom with your beautiful mother and I with Mr. Todd. You know quite well how your grandmother acts when anybody goes against her wishes, so I need only say that my father was just about as stubborn and they had both determined on the match. Now then! to make a very long story short, I ran away with Mr. Todd, and that made them both, your grandmother and my father—my mother, bless her dear heart, understood—very angry. Your grandmother said that I was never to enter her house again. I never did until the other day when I went with you. My father was just as severe and told me that I could never come home with my husband. Well, of course, there was never any idea of my returning without him, and so we stayed away and traveled in every country under the sun and had the happiest three years imaginable, and then he died." There was a long pause before Mrs. Todd continued her story.

"I went home after that with my baby boy and—oh, my dear child, you will think this a very dismal tale, but it's best to finish it. My baby died the next year, and I left the house, I thought, forever. It was mine for my father had died the year after my marriage and left it to me, but for so many years I had been unhappy there that I determined never to come near it again. That was thirty years ago and I have just come back.

"To-day I determined to go and see how the old place looked, I was afraid it would be in ruins. On my way I stopped in at the Simpsons and there my courage failed. So, I sent Mr. Simpson up to look at it and see if there was any chance of repairing it. I thought perhaps if it were patched up and swept out and tidied a bit it would not be as hard to return. Now I know I was a very silly and sentimental old lady, and I will go myself to-morrow morning and see about hurrying up the work of repairs. With two caretakers I am sure it has not suffered too much." Mrs. Todd stopped as shortly as she had begun and picked up the reins and chirruped to the horse, as though to say the conversation was finished now and forever.

Janet knew it was, and without quite understanding it she realized the effort it had taken to tell it. She wanted to say something to Mrs. Todd, but she knew there was nothing that could be put into words, so she sat silent for the rest of the drive. This was the second "story" she had heard that day, and the combination of the two opened up a world beyond Old Chester and gave her a sudden glimpse of life, its sorrows, its struggles, its joys and, above all, its victories. The knowledge made her restless, but it made her happy and above all expectant.

If big things happened to the Mrs. Todds and the Peters in the world, surely big things would come to her.

Mrs. Todd stopped at the garden gate of the Pages and held out her hand.

"Good night, child," she said. "Don't think too much of all I have told you, or, if you do, remember this: no matter how much sorrow there is in this old world of ours, there is never a minute of it that is not worth the living. And now, good night; go to your Enchanted Kingdom whenever you like, it is more yours now than it ever was."

Janet held the big firm hand tight, but all she could find to say was "thank you." There were a hundred questions that she wanted to ask, and she finally found the words for the most important of them all.

"Mrs. Todd," she asked softly, "did you know my mother?"

Mrs. Todd looked at her intently for a long time and then she looked at the light that always burned in Mrs. Page's room.

"Yes, my child, I did, and I loved her; but then everybody did with the exception of—" she hesitated; "no, that's not quite fair, so I won't finish. Some day, with your grandmother's permission, I will tell you all I can about her, and now hurry in and eat your dinner or Martha will be having one of her nervous spells."

Janet laughed, and squeezed Mrs. Todd's hand a little harder before she let it go.

"All right," she promised, "I just suddenly realized that I am as hungry as a bear."

Then Mrs. Todd did something that would have surprised her friends. She leaned out of the carriage and kissed Janet.

Martha was on the verge of a nervous spell, Janet found her looking out of the front hall window. She tiptoed up behind her and said "boo."

"Miss Janet, you're home at last; wherever have you been!" Martha exclaimed. "I have been worried to death over you out in that storm."

"Oh, but I wasn't out in all of it,"—Janet laughed. "I've been driving with Mrs. Todd."

"I might have known that," Martha said, exasperation written large on her face. "Ann Hitchens was always one to upset things. Here we've been living in peace for years and the minute she comes back, oh, deary me, everything's a-flutter and topsy-turvy, I wish she'd go away again, I do indeed."

"But she won't," Janet replied happily. "She is never going away again, and I am so glad I could dance."

Martha sniffed, and when Martha sniffed it was never necessary for her to put her meaning into words.

"Well, don't dance into your grandmother's room," she advised. "Walk like a little lady and go at once. She has been worrying about you all afternoon."

Contrary to all expectations, Mrs. Page had nothing to say about the lateness of the hour. She greeted Janet as usual, told her to wash her hands and eat her dinner; then she turned her face to the wall, her way of saying good night.

Janet was about to leave the room, but something made her pause at the foot of the bed.

"Grandmother," she said slowly.

"Well!" Mrs. Page sat up and looked at her.

"Grandmother," Janet began again, "I am sorry if I worried you by being out late."

"Who told you I was worried?" Mrs. Page demanded.

"Martha," Janet said.

"Martha talks too much," Mrs. Page snapped. "I was worried, but you are back now so don't talk any more about it."

Janet left the room, closing the door very softly behind her. In the hall she studied the grandfather's clock with apparent interest, but it is a question whether she saw it at all. She was realizing for the first time in her life that her grandmother was a very old lady.

Martha called her, and she went in to her dinner.

CHAPTER X

PETER

Martha was cleaning house; rugs were hanging in the kitchen yard and clouds of dust testified to the strength of her arm. Indoors all the chairs were turned over, and white sheets covered the rest of the furniture. Janet and Boru fled to the "widow's walk" to escape.

"I hate house cleaning," Janet complained; "if I ever have a house of my own I will go away on a trip and not come back until there's enough dust to make things look comfy again." Boru, who had a marked respect for Martha's broom, folded his paws over his nose and looked sympathetic.

"I wonder what will happen to-day," Janet went on; "everything has been so exciting for the last few weeks that I love to wake up in the morning. I wonder if it wasn't all a dream about Mrs. Todd and that absurd little man and Peter. I don't really believe that I ever paddled that canoe yesterday at all."

A whistle interrupted her musings, and she leaned over the railing and saw Harry Waters at the garden gate.

"What do you want?" she called.

It was a little time before Harry could locate her, but when he did he beckoned.

"Come on down."

"All right, wait a minute,"—Janet sighed. Harry was not the form of excitement she would have chosen for the day, but he was better than talking to Boru or listening to Martha's beating the rugs.

"Hello," she greeted when she had joined him in the garden. "How's Roy?"

"Oh, he's all right. He caught a rabbit the other day." Harry bragged as though the credit were his.

"I think that was horrid of him. That's just the trouble with those hunting dogs,"—Janet flared up—"they are always catching some poor little animal that never did anybody any harm. If Boru ever did such a thing I would whip him good and hard, I can tell you." Boru hung his head; no doubt the memory of countless innocent rabbits weighed heavily on his doggish conscience.

"Ah, shucks," Harry grumbled; "that's just like a girl. They make a fuss and even kiss a dog if it gets a splinter in its paw, but the minute one does something worth while they want to whip it."

"Well, I don't like to think of a little dead bunny. They're so soft and snuggly,"—Janet defended herself; "and I don't care who knows it."

"Scared!" The word was hardly out of Harry's mouth before he regretted it.

Janet eyed him with so much scorn that words were unnecessary.

"If I were you, Harry," she said at length, but Harry interrupted her.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking of, but that's different," he protested; "my mother says so. Anyway, I didn't come over here to argue," he finished crossly.

Janet wanted to ask him what he had come over for, but she was just a little ashamed of the way she had been acting. After all, Harry was an old friend of hers, and it wasn't his fault that he was fat and always complaining. She gave herself a little shake and smiled.

"It is silly to scrap; let's go for a walk," she suggested.

"All right, if you want to," Harry agreed, "but I came over to tell you that there's a letter for you at the post office, and Miss Clark says you haven't been for mail for over a week, and there are some letters for your grandmother and a newspaper. I'd have brought them to you but the old crosspatch wouldn't let me. She said I'd lose them on the way, and she was responsible for the U.S. mail. I don't think much of Miss Clark any—" Harry stopped rambling, and stared at Janet. "Now what have I done!" he demanded.

Janet marched off down the road, and he followed.

"Gee, but you're queer lately!" he grumbled.

Janet stopped to look at him. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes danced with excitement.

"Harry Waters," she said, "if I were a dog I think I'd bite you."

The rest of the way to the village Harry had hard work keeping up with her.

At the post office, Miss Clark insisted on asking innumerable questions about Mrs. Page.

"You didn't come for the mail for such a long time that I said to my sister last night, 'I wonder if Mrs. Page has had a turn,' so this morning I told the Waters' boy to tell you that there were several letters in your box—"

"May I have them, please,"—Janet tried politely to stem the tide, but Miss Clark did not even notice the interruption.

"Time was when one letter a week was all most folks looked for, but, lands sakes, nowadays with all these advertisements and picture postcards, your box is full before you know it. Did you say your grandmother was sick?"

"No, she is quite well, thank you. Er—may I—?" Janet tried again, and Miss Clark did walk over to the box.

"Well, that's a blessing," she said over her shoulder. "I do think that when a body must lie abed all day that they ought to have good health except for that. Now when my aunt Lucy— Why, I do declare—" Miss Clark interrupted herself this time—"I clean forgot to tell you there was a letter for you. It's from your brother. Now that seems odd; he always writes to your grandmother, but this certainly is for you. I can't imagine why it slipped my mind. I've been thinking about it all week."

"May I have it, please?" Janet held out her hand, and with apparent reluctance Miss Clark gave her the little bundle of letters. She took them, said a hasty thank you, and escaped from the post office before there was time for any more conversation.

She studied the envelope with its Arizona postmark and made sure that it was directed to her. Then she tore it open to find a penciled note inside that read:

"Dear little Firebrand sister of mine:

"I am almost everything that you accused me of being, except my appearance, and that is a little better than you feared. To prove it to you I am going to come in person to see you and then we can talk over all those worrying things you spoke of. Until I get there please try and think a little better of me than you have through all your short, little life, and please believe that I am heartily ashamed of myself, but that I solemnly promise to make up for it in the future.

"Your affectionate big brother,
        "TOMMY."

Janet read the letter over three times and then she sat down on the carriage block and read it again.

Harry watched her and shook his head. He had no doubts now that Janet was anything but an ordinary, and by ordinary he meant queer and unreasonable, girl.

"Now, what's the matter!" he asked again, this time very forlornly.

"Matter?" Janet's laugh rang out happily. "Not a single thing in all this wide wide world, Harry!" she exclaimed.

"Then what are you crying about?" he demanded.

Janet brushed away the two big tears that had filled her eyes, and jumped up.

"I'm not crying, silly," she denied hotly. "Anyway you wouldn't understand. I'm going home. Good-by."

"Well, I'm darn glad I can't," was Harry's parting, and he walked off in the opposite direction.

Janet read her letter all the way home. It was such a surprise, for she had quite given up all hopes of ever finding the letter she had written a month before. She had never entertained the idea of receiving an answer, and such an answer, full of every sort of promise. And he was coming, and coming soon. She consulted the postmark and found that the letter had been in the post office six days.

The sight of Martha still patiently beating rugs was unbearable. She hurried into the house and took the rest of the mail to her grandmother. As she handed them to her, she saw to her surprise that one of them was from her brother. Perhaps he was writing to tell her that he was coming home, and that would make it unnecessary for her to mention her letter.

"A letter from your brother," Mrs. Page said solemnly. "Please wait, Janet, and I will read you what he says." She opened the letter with her customary precision and read it first to herself. Apparently she thought better of her promise to read it aloud, for she folded it up and put it back into its envelope.

"Your brother is well," she said at last, "and he is coming home. This letter is a week old so that I imagine he will be here before long. Please tell Martha not to make so much noise in the hall and don't say anything to any one about Thomas's proposed visit."

"But, grandmother, why in the world not!" Janet could not help saying.

"Because I dislike gossip," Mrs. Page snapped. "When he comes all the village will know it; that will be soon enough."

"Yes, grandmother." Janet left the room, but she forgot to tell Martha not to make so much noise. The house was unbearable, and she decided that even if she could not share her secret with Mrs. Todd, it would be a comfort to go and see her and talk about the Enchanted Kingdom.

She was hardly on her way with the idea fixed in her mind when she heard horse's hoofs coming toward, and after a minute she saw Mrs. Todd in her carriage. She stopped her horse at sight of Janet, and beckoned to her.

Janet jumped in beside her.

"I was just coming to see you," she said. "Have you been over to your house this morning!"

Mrs. Todd was plainly upset about something. She was frowning, and there was not a spark of fun in her eyes.

"No, child, I haven't," she answered. "I went over to find Peter early this morning, and the Blunts told me he had gone away. They said he had told them that he was going west and that he could not leave any address, but he left a letter addressed to Dr. Peabody in Boston. Now I happen to know Jack Peabody. He was a very dear friend of my husband. Of course I haven't seen him in years but I am going up to Boston this afternoon and give him Peter's letter, and between us we ought to be able to find the boy. It's dreadful to think of his hunting for work and with no money."

"I think it's splendid," Janet said shyly.

"That's because you are a silly, romantic child with your head full of story-book nonsense," Mrs. Todd said briskly. "What I wanted to see you about was to ask you if that foolish boy gave you any hint as to where he was going."

"No, indeed, he didn't," Janet said. "I didn't even dream he was going. Oh, Mrs. Todd, do you think you really can find him!" she asked suddenly.

"There, there, child, don't worry your head about it," Mrs. Todd comforted. "Of course we can. Peter's hair is too red to allow him to run away unnoticed."

Janet tried to smile, but it was difficult. The more she thought of Peter's going, the more she realized how much she would miss him, and half the joy in her brother's return was lost when she realized that she could not introduce him to Peter.

"Do you think you could manage Clinker,"—Mrs. Todd was speaking—"if you do I wish you would drive over to Simpsons' this afternoon and give him a letter for me."

"Why, I think I could drive him," Janet replied. "I'll just let him walk and I'll be awfully careful of him."

"Very well, then, that's settled." Mrs. Todd spoke with her usual briskness, and a little of the laughter returned to her eyes as she added, "It will be a sorry dose for our friend the ex-sheriff, but I think it will do him good."

CHAPTER XI

ANOTHER LETTER

At two o'clock Janet was waiting in front of the rectory. She was to drive Mrs. Todd to the station and then go on to Simpsons' and deliver the letter. Alice and Mildred came out on the steps to see them off, and their faces mirrored their thoughts. Mrs. Todd had never let them drive Clinker, and they could not understand why Janet should be allowed the privilege. There was an air of mystery about their cousin's sudden departure, and Janet holding the reins and watching Clinker's ears importantly added to it.

"When are you going to bring the carriage back?" Alice inquired.

"Oh, I won't be late," Janet answered evasively.

Mrs. Todd's "Hurry along now, child, or we'll miss the train," put a stop to further questions.

"I do hope you won't be away very long," Janet said softly when they were on their way. "Something exciting, that I can't tell you about, is going to happen, and I think I will simply die if you are not here."

"Mercy, child, you sound mysterious,"—Mrs. Todd laughed. "Why can't you tell me about it?"

Janet did not reply; it would sound so rude to say, "Grandmother won't let me."

Mrs. Todd understood her silence and laughed again.

"Well, I can see that I'll have to come back and find out for myself then," she said; "when is it going to happen?"

"Soon, I hope," Janet told her. "It can't happen too soon for me."

Mrs. Todd considered for a moment. "Of course I haven't the slightest idea when I will come back. It all depends on when we find that boy. Oh, but I shall give him such a talking to when I find him. Why couldn't he have waited until to-morrow and saved all this fuss?"

"It was really to save fuss that he ran away," Janet reminded her. "Poor Peter! I just hate to think that maybe he's hungry, but just the same it was a splendid thing for him to do."

"Splendid, fiddlesticks!" Mrs. Todd ejaculated, as they drew up to the station platform.

She said good-by very briskly, and Janet watched her, preceded by a porter carrying her bags, get into the parlor car. Clinker did not approve of the noisy engine, and she turned his head and started off before the train pulled out.

It was a long drive to the Simpsons', and she let the horse set his own gait, and so it was well over an hour later before they reached the Simpsons' place. Janet, remembering the style in which Mr. Simpson had driven in the day before, touched up Clinker with the tip of the whip and the cart swung into the gateway and rolled briskly down the drive.

Mr. Simpson came out of the barn at the sound of Clinker's hoofs, and was as startled as Janet could have wished.

"How do you do, Mr. Simpson!" she said in her sweetest manner. "I have a letter for you here from Mrs. Todd. She asked me to deliver it to you." She held out the envelope, and Mr. Simpson, after carefully wiping his hands on his overalls and finding his glasses, took it from her.

"Where's Mrs. Todd herself?" he asked sulkily.

"She had to go to Boston, so she won't be able to come over to the house to-day," Janet explained.

Mr. Simpson eyed her suspiciously, then he read the letter. Janet watched his face, and at the sudden change of expression, she could not repress a smile.

"Are you Widow Page's granddaughter?" he inquired at last.

Janet nodded and tried to look solemn.

"Did you and that boy from Blunts' know all the time that the owner of that house was Mrs. Todd!"

This time Janet shook her head.

"Did you have permission to go there when you liked!"

"No."

"Did you know I weren't no real sheriff!"

"No."

"Weren't you scared!" The question was asked with so much anxiety, that Janet could not find it in her heart to disappoint the little man before her.

"Indeed I was," she said. "I was frightened to death. You see, you looked so very severe that I thought at first you were the owner. It was lucky for us, wasn't it, that Mrs. Todd did own it, for of course she didn't mind a bit."

Mr. Simpson stroked his chin slowly and tried to hide the smile of satisfaction on his round face.

"Waal," he said condescendingly, "I'm sorry I scared you, though I must say neither of you looked very frightened; but, you see, I had to do my duty as a one-time officer of the State."

"Of course," Janet agreed.

"I hope you'll tell Mrs. Page that I am sorry my duty lay in the direction it did," he continued. "I wouldn't like to have her put out with me."

"I'll tell her," Janet laughed, and added, as she turned Clinker around, "I am going to the house on the hill now, so please, if you happen in as you did yesterday, ring the bell and let me know you're coming. I'd hate to be frightened that way ever again."

Mr. Simpson was now thoroughly sure that he was not the object of ridicule, and he beamed upon Janet and all the autumn landscape.

"Don't you worry, little lady," he chuckled; "now that I know who you are I won't never question your right to be any place in this county, and any time I can do you a service you just call on me and you'll find I'm your man."

Janet thanked him graciously and drove off, without giving herself away by even a smile. Once on the road and out of earshot, however, she laughed so heartily that Clinker pricked up his ears and started to run.

"There, there, old fellow, I didn't mean to frighten you,"—she quieted him—"take your time and do stop frisking. It would be too awful for words if you ran away and dumped me anywhere. Think what Alice and Mildred would say."

Clinker obligingly settled into a trot, and they were soon at the entrance to the Enchanted Kingdom. Janet had never before approached it from the land side, and she was surprised at the broad sweep of driveway before her. The house and barns looked more imposing from this side too.

"It is truly a fairy castle," she said aloud.

Clinker submitted to being tied under one of the sheds, and Janet hurried around to the front porch. Mrs. Todd had offered her the key Mr. Simpson had, but she had said she would rather go in the old way.

Everything was very still, and somehow she felt the loneliness of it all more than ever. The roof seemed to sag dejectedly, and a few dead autumn leaves swishing in the wind against the front door added to the unnatural dreariness.

She shivered a little before she slipped through the window. She wanted more than anything else in the world at that moment to hear Peter's cheery "hello."

Once in the library, she went straight to the books and ran her hand over them as if to find consultation in their worn backs. She finally selected a little book bound in red. It opened readily, more readily than usual, at a little poem. Janet sat down on the floor and started to read aloud to herself. There was something in the rhythm that always comforted her when she was lonely. Surely Mrs. Browning had understood much when she wrote "Little Ellie." Janet read it idly:

"Little Ellie sits alone
'Mid the beeches of a meadow,
By a stream-side on the grass.
And the trees are showering down,
Doubles of their leaves in shadow
On her shining hair and face.

"She has thrown her bonnet by
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow;
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands all sleek and dripping
While she rocketh to and fro."

"Little Ellie sits alone,
And the smile she has been using
Fills the silence like a speech,
While she thinks what shall be done
And the sweetest pleasure chooses
For her future within reach."

Many and many an afternoon Janet had read the beginning of the little poem and then chosen the sweetest pleasure for herself and lost the rest of the day in dreams.

She looked up from the pages with a sigh, then her eyes fell on a folded piece of paper lying on the floor beside her. She picked it up and opened it. Idle curiosity gave place to excited interest as she read:

"Dear Princess:

"I am sorry to go away without another good-by, but I must. Doc was coming here to see me, and I knew if he talked to me I would give in and that wouldn't be fair to either of us, and Dad would never approve. I'm awfully glad you know the owner of the 'E.K.,' for now I can always think of you there.

"I left the canoe on the bank below your house, and I rowed your boat back. When I get a job in the West I will write and tell you about it if you want me to, and of course some day I will see you again.

"Good-by again, and thanks for being such a good little pal.

"PETER GIBBS."

Janet's eyes were blurred long before she came to the end of the letter, and as she finished reading two big tears splashed on to the book in her lap.

She stood up and looked about the room forlornly; the old gloves were gone from their accustomed place on the table.

CHAPTER XII

JANET'S PASSENGER

Janet left the house by the cellar window instead of the easier way. It would be hard to explain her reasons, but it was noticeable that when she had safely climbed out and stood on the ground by the window, she leaned over and picked up something and put it away hastily in the pocket of her dress. A great many years were to pass before she showed it to another soul.

"Come along, Clinker," she said briskly, as she went to the shed. "It's high time we were starting." She jumped into the cart, and Clinker, only too delighted to start for home, set off at a brisk pace.

It was a long way by road back to the village, and it was dusk before they neared it. As they came within sight of the railroad station Janet heard a train pulling in, and remembering Clinker's dislike for locomotives she slowed up to wait until it left the station.

It was the train from Boston, and she could not help wishing that Mrs. Todd and Peter were on it.

When the last puff of the engine was lost in the distance, she drove past the station very slowly. Of course there was no sign of Mrs. Todd or Peter, and she drove on, disappointed in spite of herself. A short stretch of wood made the road quite dark ahead of her for a way. Clinker pricked up his ears as they entered it but Janet did not pay any attention to him and was therefore thoroughly startled when a voice, coming apparently from nowhere, called:

"Wait a minute there, will you!"

She pulled Clinker to a sudden stop and waited. A man walked out of the shadows and came up to the cart.

"I beg your pardon," he said, taking off his hat. "I didn't see it was a lady driving."

"Well, but what difference does that make?" Janet answered awkwardly. "Won't I do?"

The man laughed and showed a set of the whitest teeth Janet had ever seen.

"Well, as a matter of fact," he explained in his low voice, "I was going to ask for a lift."

Janet looked at him for a minute and decided she liked him, and therefore it would not be necessary to treat him the way she usually treated strangers.

"Why can't I give you one?" she asked, laughing too.

"Well, now, that's mighty nice of you, and I'm very much obliged," he said. "My bag is a little too heavy to make walking any fun." He got in with surprising quickness, and Janet started Clinker by a word.

"That's a mighty fine horse you've got there," he said quietly.

"Yes, isn't he a beauty! His name's Clinker," Janet replied. "He doesn't belong to me, though. I only wish he did."

They were out of the wood by now, and she turned to look at her passenger. He was, to judge from the way he had to pull his knees up, a very tall man and certainly he was handsome. His face was burned a dark tan, and his eyes were set far apart and deep in his head. His hat covered most of his hair, but Janet knew it was brown like his eyes. There were lines at his temples that proved, if proof were necessary, that he laughed a good deal. He had big broad shoulders and nice long lean hands, that looked as though he could do almost anything with them.

"Well?" he asked, laughing, and Janet realized she had been staring.

"I really couldn't help it, you see," she apologized, very much confused. "Why, I've forgotten to ask you where you wanted to go?" she added.

"To a hotel if there is one," the man replied.

"Oh, but there isn't," Janet laughed. "We have a boarding house where most every one stays. The post mistress keeps it, but I'm afraid you won't like it very much."

The man considered for a minute or so, and then smiled and shrugged.

"Then I must take the chance of being mistaken for a tramp in these dusty clothes and go straight home."

"Where's home?" Janet inquired. "I don't like to be inquisitive, but we are almost to Main Street now."

"Not at all, I didn't realize I hadn't introduced myself. I'm Tom Page; perhaps you know my little sister Janet."

Whatever Janet did no one will ever know, but Clinker, and he showed his disapproval of it by almost jumping over the shafts. If Tom had not caught the reins and made him come to order he might have succeeded in running away.

"Well, well, what happened?" he inquired, when Clinker was walking quietly again. "I didn't see anything to frighten the animal, did you?"

"I—I did it," Janet gasped. "Can't you see! I'm Janet, and you—oh, I know I'm dreaming."

"You!" It was Tom's turn to be surprised. "Why, you can't be. Janet is just a youngster and you are a very grown up young person."

"But I'm Janet just the same, and, well—how do you do, Tom; I'm very glad to see you." She held out her hand.

"Bless your heart!" Tom put his arm around her and in spite of Clinker gave her a hearty kiss. "What luck for us to meet like this!"—he laughed—"and I had pictured it so differently, and you are just about fifty times as nice as I thought you were going to be."

"Well," Janet sighed happily, "you certainly are heaps nicer than I thought you were going to be."

They turned the corner by the rectory, and Clinker, without asking any one's permission, turned in at the gate.

"We will have to leave the horse here," Janet explained. "He belongs to Mrs. Todd. I was just doing an errand for her."

"Mrs. Todd." Tom was thoughtful. "I seem to remember her—oh, yes,"—and he laughed. "I'd like to meet her."

"But she's in Boston," Janet replied. "She's only visiting at the rectory."

"Well, you'd better let me out anyway," Tom suggested. "I don't want to meet anybody to-night. You rustle along, and I'll wait here." He jumped out, and Janet hurried to the barn, where the hired man was waiting to unhitch Clinker.

Mrs. Blake came out on to the back porch.

"Is that you, Janet?" she called.

"Yes, Mrs. Blake, I was a little delayed in getting home. I hope you haven't been worried," Janet replied.

"Only a little uneasy," Mrs. Blake confessed; "won't you come in and see the girls?"

"Oh, not to-night, thank you. I must really hurry home." Janet spoke with so much concern that Mrs. Blake did not urge her, and after a hurried good night she was able to join Tom.

"It's quite a long walk home," she apologized. "I wish I could have driven all the way. Won't you let me help you with that bag!"

Tom laughed his hearty, good-natured laugh, and caught his little sister by the arm.

"You little featherweight! I could carry you and the bag and never know you were there. But we'll take it easy, and that will give us more time to talk. First of all, how is grandmother?"

"Oh, she's well; that is, of course, she is in bed always, but I think she feels all right otherwise," Janet replied.

"Yes, of course. I was forgetting. Let me see, who else is in the house?"

"Why, just Martha and me; that's all."

"Any friends? Your letter sounded as though you were lonely."

"I am sometimes," Janet confessed; "that is, I used to be. Lately I haven't had time because there's been Peter and Mrs. Todd."

"Who's Peter?" Tom inquired. "The boy that was afraid of snakes?"

"Certainly not," Janet denied hotly; "that was Harry Waters."

Tom started to ask a question, thought better of it, and said instead:

"How about girls?"

Janet did not reply at once. Her own mind was far from made up on the subject, and it was difficult to answer Tom.

"I don't know any girls, really," she replied slowly. "The ones I have met didn't like me much, and I didn't like them. When I wrote that letter to you I thought I wanted a girl friend more than anything else in the world, but now I guess boys are better; anyway, they don't say mean things behind your back."

"All girls are not alike, little sister of mine. There are lots of girls in the world that are just like you and you'd like them, even better than you like boys."

There was a long pause, and finally Janet said:

"Tom, do you remember what I said in my letter about wishing you were a sister instead of a brother?"

"Even to the exact words,"—Tom laughed. "You said that I would be much more of a comfort to you as a sister. That's what made me come on at once. I wanted to prove that brothers are some use in the world."

"Don't tease," Janet begged. "I only reminded you of it so that I could say I was sorry."

"But you would like to have a sister too, wouldn't you?" Tom asked anxiously.

"Oh, of course,"—Janet laughed. "I'd like to have one too, but not in place of you."

"Then that's all right,"—Tom gave her arm a tight squeeze. "Isn't that our house?" he inquired, as the light from Mrs. Page's room twinkled in the distance.

"Why, yes, but how did you know?" Janet asked, surprised.

"Oh, I was ten years old before I left for school," Tom explained. "You were a tiny baby then."

Janet lapsed into another thoughtful silence.

"Tom," she said seriously, "why didn't you ever come back!"

Tom's voice was very gentle as he answered her:

"That, little sister of mine," he said, "is one of the many things I am going to tell you about after I have talked to your grandmother."