Letty and the Twins

When she had finished grandmother exclaimed in a low voice:

“Why, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, how charming. What if you have discovered a genius!”

Tears came into Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s eyes.

“So it seems to you, too, that she has a good voice?” she murmured eagerly. “I have wondered, and am most impatient to take her to the city to have her voice tried. I have heard her singing to herself now and then and although I know nothing about voice culture, I thought one or two notes appeared to have an unusual quality. And, dear Mrs. Baker, I shall never forget that it was really Jane who discovered Letty for me; her sweet kindliness for a ‘little sister in heaven.’ The child’s coming has made a great difference in my life already.”

“What is the song all about?” demanded Christopher of Letty, sitting upright in his curiosity. “What was the dream?”

“I don’t know what the dream was, but——”

“Why don’t you know? There must have been some sort of a dream, because the song says, ‘and tell the sky your dream.’ And who was talking, anyway?”

“Why, the sky was talking to the earth, I think.”

“And did the whole earth dream? And why did the sky want the earth to wake up and tell its dream to the sky? Why didn’t it say, ‘and tell me your dream’? And why in the world don’t they tell what the dream is? I think it’s a silly song, anyhow.”

“Kit Baker, you are a rude boy!” exclaimed his sister indignantly. “It isn’t a story, it’s a song. And songs don’t have to mean much, do they, Letty, as long as they are pretty.”

“Well, I think there ought to be another verse, telling the dream. Can’t you make up another verse as you go along, Letty? Seems to me I just must know what that dream was.”

“I guess there were lots and lots of dreams,” said Jane musingly. “All the flowers and birds dreamed. I could make up one dream; that an ugly little flower dreamed it was a lovely pink tulip, all pale and wide-open and satiny.”

“Huh, I’d rather be a red one, with yellow streaks down the middle. They’re lots showier and they live longer, too. The gardener that was putting our bulbs out last fall told me so.”

“But they’re beastly ugly. People don’t dream about being something ugly, even if it is strong and healthy. I’d rather not live so long, if I could only be so beautiful that people just had to stop and look at me. Wouldn’t you, Letty?”

“I don’t think looks matter so much,” said Letty practically, “if you keep your soul all nice and clean inside you. Then it shines out through your eyes and your smiles and makes you beautiful that way. Even cripples are beautiful if their souls are clean. My Sunday-school teacher, dear Miss Reese, told me that once. She was beautiful—very beautiful, and until then I had thought it was because she had nice white skin, pink cheeks, dimples and a pretty silk dress. But after she told me that, I knew it was just her angel soul looking out through her eyes.”

“What color were her eyes?” asked Christopher. “And could cross-eyed people look beautiful? I don’t see how they could on the outside, even if their souls were ever so clean.”

Grandmother and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, who could not help overhearing this conversation, smiled at each other. Just then Joshua drove up in the carriage and everybody knew that it was time to go home.

“I understand that Sally has a birthday day after to-morrow,” said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to Jane.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, she will be three years old,” replied Jane, with all the pride of a doting mamma. “Uncle Gus gave her to me when I lost my first tooth. The fairies gave me a big silver dollar for the tooth, too. I wrapped it up in tissue-paper and put it under my pillow and they took it away in the night and left a shining silver dollar.”

“The blessed fairies! Now suppose you let me give Sally a birthday party? It would give Letty and me such pleasure to arrange it.”

Jane glowed with delight and accepted in both Sally’s name and her own, with alacrity. Christopher pricked up his ears. A doll’s birthday party did not appeal to him, even with the inducement of the “party.” Why would not that day be the very opportunity for his excursion with Billy and Jo Perkins?

“Please let the children come early, Mrs. Baker,” Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said to grandmother, “so that we may have a long afternoon together. Or, if you wish, Letty could drive out after them in the pony carriage.”

“Oh, thank you, I can send them quite easily. There is always some one driving into the village. But are you sure that you want them again so soon? You must not let them bother you.”

Grandmother did not want the twins to become a nuisance to any one, although in her secret heart of grandmother-hearts, she did not see how any one could see too much of Jane or Christopher.

Christopher said his good-bye very politely but very briefly.

“Please, grandmother,” he said, “will you wait for me a minute? I’ve got to speak to Bill Carpenter about some very important business.”

He bolted around the corner of the house and Jane’s lip quivered. She felt suddenly offended. What important business could Christopher have that he had not confided to her?

After their guests had gone, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones drew Letty down to a low stool beside her chair and said:

“My dear, has any one ever told you that you sing very well?”

Letty flushed crimson with surprise and delight.

“Oh, do I?” she cried. “I’d rather be able to sing than anything in this wide, wide world! It is so wonderful! But nobody ever told me I could sing. I have never had any lessons, you know.”

“And did you never sing to any of your teachers, in school or Sunday-school?”

“There was never any singing at school, except among a few of the bigger girls who took private lessons. And at Sunday-school I did not care for the singing much. They sang ‘regular shouters’ as Kit calls them,” she laughed.

“But sometimes in church—the church I told you about, where the little boys sang—I used to join in a little, sometimes. Once they were singing such a beautiful hymn. It was in the afternoon when there were not very many people in the church and the music was so lovely, all high and sweet and soft! I forgot for a minute where I was and sang out quite loud. The organist turned right around and looked at me. It frightened me terribly for I thought perhaps it was against the rules for any one but the small boys to sing and that some one might come and put me out. Indeed, I was afraid to go to church again for three or four Sundays, and when I did I always kept at the back of the church and did not sing again. But it could not have been against the rule, for a great many people joined in the singing and the organist did not look at them at all.”

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did not tell her, what was so evident to herself, that the organist had been attracted, not by the child’s loud singing, but by the quality of her voice.

“Would you like to take singing lessons when we go back to town?” she asked presently.

“Oh, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, would it be possible?”

“Not only possible, but it could be done very easily, my child. We shall talk about it some other time. Now, I have some plans to suggest for Sally’s birthday party. We must invite Anna Parsons and there must be a cake.”

“With candles,” agreed Letty, bringing her mind away from the singing with difficulty.

“I should like to make Sally a present, too,” went on Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “Do you suppose we could buy a toy bed at the ‘store’? It would be nice to make a pretty bed for Sally to rest in when she comes to spend the afternoon.”

“And I could make the bedclothes. I love to sew,” cried Letty. “My mother taught me; hemming, overcasting—a great many things.”

“You must have had a very good, sweet mother, Letty.”

“Oh, yes!” breathed the girl, and her brown eyes filled suddenly with great tears.

The tears came to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s eyes, too, and she caught Letty to her arms in a long, close embrace.

“You have no mother and I have no little girl!” she whispered brokenly.

That evening Mrs. Hartwell-Jones wrote a very long letter to the lawyer in the city who had always managed her business for her. She glanced often at Letty as she wrote, but the little girl, busy over a puzzling problem in arithmetic, did not even dream of the wonderful ways in which that letter would change her life.

CHAPTER XIII—THE TULIP’S DREAM

Christopher’s request that Jo Perkins might have the use of a horse and wagon for the afternoon to take him and Billy Carpenter on a picnic was granted with some hesitation.

“Jane is going to the author-lady’s to have a silly party for her old doll and I don’t want to go,” he said. “Perk’ll look out for Bill and me all right. You’ve often let me go fishing with Perk, grandfather.”

“Yes, but then there was no other boy along to suggest mischief.”

Christopher looked a wee bit guilty, remembering the swimming project.

“We aren’t going to get into mischief,” he exclaimed hastily. “It’s just to be a picnic and do the things boys do; roast potatoes in a fire and—and all sorts of things.”

“Very well, then,” replied grandfather a little absent-mindedly. “Only remember that we’ve got to hand you and Janey over, whole and sound, to your father and mother in less than a month.”

Mr. Baker gave his permission with a little less consideration than he usually gave to the twins’ requests, perhaps because his mind was busy with his own affairs. One of the letters which Christopher had brought from the postoffice had been from the city about some business which grandfather was afraid he would have to go into town to attend to himself.

“I can’t bear to think of your tramping about those hot city pavements in this August weather,” exclaimed grandmother in distress, when he told her about it. “Can’t you possibly arrange it by letter?”

“No, I must see two or three men personally. If Kit were home” (he meant his own son, Christopher’s father), “he could attend to it for me, but as it is, I can’t see anything for it but to go myself. I shall start to-morrow and get back in three days.”

Christopher was secretly glad that his grandfather was going away for a few days. When he returned and was told that Christopher had learned how to swim, he would be very glad, the boy felt sure.

Grandmother felt quite dismayed when she was told that the three boys were to go off on a picnic. It seemed like a very great responsibility for her to bear by herself; but as there was no real reason why she should ask Christopher to put off his excursion she said nothing about it.

The day of the party arrived and Jane was so impatient to start that she would have gone without even finishing her dessert if grandmother had permitted.

“But Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said to come early. Oh, dear!” she groaned as Christopher passed his plate for a second helping. “If you’re going to sit there and stuff all day, Kit Baker, we might as well not go at all. You won’t have any room in your tummy for your picnic, and Huldah has packed an awful big one.”

It had been arranged that Joshua was to drive the twins into the village. He had left a horse in the blacksmith’s stable overnight, while a certain special shoe was made, and he intended to ride it home. Jo Perkins had not quite finished his work at the stable, so he was to follow on his bicycle and join the others at Billy Carpenter’s house.

“Now, remember, Kit, you are to go back to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s to get Janey, and be sure to be there promptly at half-past five; not a minute later,” exclaimed grandmother for about the twentieth time; and she proceeded to give the same instructions and many more to Jo Perkins.

Joshua had harnessed the most reliable old horse in his stable to the wagon that was to be entrusted to Jo Perkins’s care for a whole afternoon—a horse that had never been known to look twice at any object and which would have been perfectly content to sleep through the day as well as the night. He lumbered over the country road at an easy trot, and when they were only half-way to the village Christopher looked over his shoulder and spied Jo Perkins speedily overtaking them on his bicycle.

“Oh, I say, Josh, make him go, Perk’s coming. Don’t let him catch up,” and he squirmed on his seat with excitement.

Joshua good-naturedly urged the horse into a swifter trot, then into a clumsy gallop as Jo Perkins bore down upon them over the level road. Jane clasped Sally tight to her breast with one hand while she hung on with the other. The road was still level and Perk was gaining steadily. He was bent double over the handle bars, pedalling frantically. Soon a long, gently sloping hill gave the horse the advantage, for he kept up his easy gallop, while Perk dropped far behind, laboring hard. Christopher sent a derisive yell after him, but he rejoiced too soon. Jane had more foresight. She remembered the down slope on the other side of the ridge.

“Perk’s going to beat,” she declared calmly, “’cause Josh won’t let the horse trot down-hill.”

“Oh, Josh, do, just this once,” urged Christopher, almost falling off the seat in his excitement. “It won’t hurt his old knees just for once.”

But Joshua was firm.

“I’m not going to abuse your gran’pa’s horses,” he said severely, permitting the horse to slacken his pace to a walk. “An’ what’s more, you’ve got to promise me, honest Injun, that you an’ Perk won’t let him trot down any hills, nor run races.”

“We aren’t going down any hills,” answered Christopher sulkily.

He looked over his shoulder again and saw Perk appear at the top of the hill, red-faced and panting. With a hoot of triumph, the boy cocked his knees over the handle bars and whirled down the hill, letting the pedals take care of themselves.

“Yah!” wailed Christopher, “he’s coasting! He’ll pass us like greased lightning.” And as he spoke, Perk flashed by them, an exultant grin on his face.

“Ah, you think you’re smart!” jeered Christopher in a vexed tone.

But pride always has a fall. As Perk reached the bottom of the hill he glanced back to see how much of a gain he had made, and the wheel of his bicycle struck a large stone in the road. Over toppled Perk on his head, tumbling into a heap by the roadside. Jane screamed and even Joshua was startled. He urged the horse into a trot again.

“Oh, Perk’s not hurt!” declared Christopher scornfully. “A fellow can stand lots worse croppers than that.”

And Perk was not hurt. By the time they reached him he had scrambled to his feet and was examining his bicycle to see if any harm had come to it. But he rode quietly behind the wagon all the rest of the way into the village.

Billy Carpenter was standing in front of his gate, watching for them, and the impatient Christopher could hardly wait while Perk stowed his bicycle in Mr. Carpenter’s barn and Joshua escorted Jane to Mrs. Parsons’ front door.

“You’re in an awful hurry to have me go,” Jane exclaimed to Christopher, a bit jealously.

For a moment she forgot Sally’s birthday party, and wished she was going on the picnic too. It hurt to think that perhaps Christopher did not want her—was glad she was not going. He really acted as if he were!

But her disappointment soon vanished—vanished the moment she set foot in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s sitting-room. The party planned was so perfect! In the first place, there was the present for Sally—a dainty little bed in which to take her rest when visiting the lady who wrote books. Mr. Carpenter had found the small wooden bedstead stowed away in a loft over the post-office, left over from a stock of Christmas toys. Letty, with deft fingers, had painted the dingy, dust-grimed wood white with tiny pink rosebuds (difficult to recognize, perhaps, as rosebuds, but very pretty) and had made, with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s help, a dainty white canopy, tied back with pink ribbons. There were sheets and pillow-cases and even a little kimono made of a scrap of white cashmere and edged with pink ribbon.

“Where is Christopher?” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones as Jane mounted the stairs alone. “I had a surprise for you all.”

“Kit has gone on a picnic with the boys. He didn’t want to come to Sally’s birthday,” replied Jane with a catch in her voice.

“Never mind, dear. Boys seem to like to get off by themselves now and then, don’t they, dear? We’ll have a little dove party. But I have answered a question of Kit’s, however, which now he will miss hearing,” she added, glancing at a pile of closely written pages on her writing desk.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jane, looking from Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to Letty, her cheeks growing crimson. “You’ve written the story you promised—just for us!”

“Yes,” laughed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, “just for you. I got my idea from Letty’s song and Christopher’s questions about it. Shall I read it now, while we are waiting until it is time for the party?”

“Oh, yes, please! And I can be putting Sally to bed.”

Letty, who had been in a flutter of excitement all day as she watched those pages of story growing, flew over to the table for the manuscript, and bustled about, making Mrs. Hartwell-Jones more comfortable and arranging the light.

“Oh, perhaps Anna might like to hear the story, too! Might she come?” she asked impulsively.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said yes, graciously, feeling secretly proud of Letty’s thoughtfulness.

“Now,” she said, when shy little Anna Parsons had been brought up-stairs and everything was ready, “we must have Letty’s song first, as a sort of introduction.”

So Letty sang the “Winter Lullaby” again, sweetly, simply, without any thought of herself or how she was doing it, but evidently enjoying the soft, plaintive melody. When she had finished Mrs. Hartwell-Jones took up her paper and read:

“The Tulip’s Dream

“Once upon a time a little tulip lived in a lovely big garden. It was the middle blossom of the front row of a bed of beautiful, pale yellow tulips, whose petals shone like the softest velvet. But alas for this poor little front tulip! It had broad red streaks running down the middle of each of its petals, making them seem bold and flaunting and common. And none of the other tulips in the bed would speak to it; they had not even a word of sympathy to offer.

“The lady who owned the garden had taken great pains to have this particular tulip bed planted with just the shade of flowers that she wanted, and it was such a disappointment to have had the very front blossom of all turn out to be so different and ordinary. She used to visit the garden every day with her little daughter. Standing in front of the bed they would discuss the ugly little tulip.

“‘I have half a mind to pluck the flower,’ she said one day. ‘It looks so horrid that it quite spoils the effect of the bed. But all the other blossoms are out and if I took this one away it would leave such a gap.’

“‘The flower can’t help having red streaks in it, mother,’ replied the little girl. ‘P’rhaps it feels bad at being different from all the rest! But it is ugly,’ she added.

“The poor little tulip drooped its head and pined. It is very, very hard to be thought ugly and different; and harder still not to be wanted. So the tulip drooped and faded and dropped its petals long before any of the other flowers in the bed.

“And when the lady found the red and yellow petals lying on the ground she exclaimed:—‘Why, how odd that this tulip should have died first. I always thought that those common, hardy varieties lasted longest!’

“Her little girl picked up one of the scattered petals and stroked it.

“‘See, mother, it is really very pretty,’ she said. ‘I wonder if the flower was not nicer than we thought after all?’

“Although the lady had spoken of the tulip as dead, because the blossom was gone, of course we all know that it was not dead. But that down, down in its brown little root, or bulb, under the warm, moist earth, its life was throbbing as strong as ever. The tulip heard the little girl’s words, therefore, and was somewhat comforted by them. But it still mourned over the red streaks down the middle of its petals, for it was quite sure that it had not meant to be that way, but soft, pale yellow like all the other tulips in the bed.

“‘You ought not to take it so to heart,’ whispered a gentle shower to the falling petals, and it bathed them in soft, warm drops. ‘Your petals are red because the sun has kissed them.’

“But the tulip would not be comforted. It shed its satiny petals and crept down inside its bulb-nest to sleep away its sorrow and disappointment.

“After a time the tulip bulbs were dug up by the gardener and carried away to the cellar to make room for other flowers that would bloom during the summer. In the autumn they were brought out and planted in their bed again, and as it happened, the little red and yellow tulip was put exactly where it had been before. The warm, dark earth snuggled it close to her fragrant bosom and whispered: ‘Sleep well, little tulip, and dream that you are the most beautiful, pale yellow tulip in the world.’

“So the little tulip fell asleep and lo, at the first call of the spring robin it waked, feeling very, very happy.

“‘Go, tell the sky your dream,’ whispered Mother-Earth, and pushed the bulb upward. The tulip shot up a delicate, whity-green stalk through the dark clods,—up, up, until it saw the great, deep-blue sky far above it. The air was sweet and warm and a few early birds were singing. Becoming more and more happy and excited, the little tulip pushed upward and spread its petals to the smiling sky. And lo, they were of the loveliest pale yellow, and shone like the softest velvet!”

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had ceased her reading for quite a full minute before the children realized that the story was ended.

“Oh!” sighed Jane. “I am so glad that the tulip was happy at last!”

“But what do you suppose made the petals turn?” asked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones.

“Blossoms do change colors, different years. I’ve seen ’em in our own garden,” said Anna Parsons practically.

“Oh, it was because the tulip wanted it so much!” exclaimed Letty.

“Yes, it was because the tulip wanted it; but there are different kinds of wants, Letty, dear. Some people want things selfishly, just because the things would give them pleasure. But the little tulip felt that it had disappointed some one by being the color it was—and so felt that it was not doing its real duty in the world. So, by wishing and hoping and waiting patiently, it got what it wanted. If it had been a person instead of a flower, of course just hoping and waiting would not have been enough. There would have been work to do, as well.

“But if whatever we want is right, and of some benefit to the rest of the world, we are pretty sure to get it in the end.”

“Oh, do you think so?” cried Letty eagerly; looking as if she had some particular thing in her mind.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones smiled and patted her hand.

“Yes, I really think so, dear child. But it is time for the tea-party now,” she said.

CHAPTER XIV—WHERE IS CHRISTOPHER?

After the tea-party was over, Jane dressed Sally again and she and Anna Parsons took their dolls for a walk down into the garden, while Letty carried the plates down-stairs to be washed, and made the room tidy again.

“What is it that you would like so much to do, Letty, dear?” asked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones presently. “There is something on your mind, I know.”

“Oh, there is, dear Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. If only I could learn to sing! Sing right, you know. It would be wonderful!” And Letty clasped her hands eagerly.

“Well, my dear, it will all depend on yourself.”

“How do you mean?” asked the girl breathlessly.

“I mean that when we go back to the city I am going to have your voice tried. That is, I am going to have you sing before a certain good teacher of singing and if he thinks it worth while to give you lessons, you shall study with him. He is a wonderful master, and will take only pupils who have really good voices.”

“Oh!” cried Letty, the sound being more a sigh than an exclamation. She was really breathless with joy at the thought of what happiness might be in store for her.

“But suppose he shouldn’t be willing to give me lessons!” she cried in sudden dismay, her voice coming back with a little gasp.

“That remains to be seen,” replied Mrs. Hartwell-Jones with a serene little smile that did not look as if she were very much worried.

Then they went back to the subject that always proved so deeply interesting to them both; the subject of Letty’s studies in the fall, and so intent did they become that they forgot all about the time until Jane rushed suddenly into the room, crying:

“Where is Kit? It’s much after half-past five, Letty. Oh, where is he!”

Letty sprang to her feet and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones looked anxiously out of the window at the lengthening shadows.

“I’ll look and see if he’s coming down the road,” said Letty, and ran quickly out of the room, followed by Jane.

Letty looked up and down the road, straining her eyes, but no horse and wagon was to be seen. Jane climbed on the gate and swung on it gloomily, back and forth.

“Do you suppose the horse has run away with them?” she asked with a catch in her voice. “I spoke crossly to Kit when he went away. I hope he isn’t—isn’t killed!” And she began to cry.

Mrs. Carpenter came out of her house next door and called to Letty across the fence:

“Are you looking for those boys? Most likely they won’t get home before dark. Boys never know what time it is.”

“Kit’s got a watch,” wailed Jane, still swinging disconsolately on the gate.

“Don’t you worry, little girl. Watches don’t mean anything to boys when they’re off on a picnic. Nothing has happened with Jo Perkins to take care of them. When I get my Billy home I shall spank him and put him to bed without any supper.”

Jane’s tears flowed faster than ever at the thought that a like punishment might be in store for Christopher. Sadness can come so very quickly on the heels of joy! She had been perfectly happy only a short half hour ago.

“Janey, dear,” called Mrs. Hartwell-Jones from her up-stairs window, “Letty would better drive you home in the pony carriage, and then, if your grandmother thinks best, she can send Joshua out to hunt up the boys. Come up to me, little girl, and get comforted while Letty harnesses Punch and Judy.”

In the meantime, where was Christopher?

The three boys were in the highest of spirits as they drove off into the woods. The swimming hole that Billy Carpenter had in mind was situated farther up the stream than Christopher had ever been. It was very, very pretty. Pine trees grew close to the water’s edge, and the needles that had dropped into the pool made the water clear and brown and gave it a delicious, spicy smell.

Perk unharnessed the horse and tied him by the reins to a neighboring tree. Then the boys undressed and Christopher, with mingled feelings, stepped into the water. He understood all the principles of swimming; it was only confidence he lacked, and the desire to appear well in the eyes of his companions gave him courage. The pool was shallow, nowhere was the water over the boys’ heads; it was in reality as safe as a bath tub. In a very short time Christopher was paddling about in great glee, keeping his head nicely above water.

It was a grand frolic and after dressing again, they were all very ready for Huldah’s nicely packed luncheon. Christopher insisted upon building a fire in a hole to roast the potatoes, in true camping out fashion. The potatoes were somewhat lumpy when done, and burned the mouth. Still, they were quite eatable with plenty of salt and butter.

It was nearly four o’clock when the picnic lunch was finished. But the August afternoon was close and sultry. The boys had got hot and grimy over the potatoes. They lay about on the ground, throwing pine-cones at a family of chattering squirrels and trying to feel cool.

Christopher looked at the still clear brown pool and sat up exclaiming:

“Say, fellows, let’s go in for another dip. Just enough to cool us off.”

“No, you mustn’t. It is bad to go into the water right after eatin’,” said Perk.

“Oh, what are you givin’ us?” chaffed Billy Carpenter, who had begun to undress at Christopher’s first word. “I have been in hundreds of times, right after a big dinner.”

“Besides, we’ve been through eating a long time,” added Christopher. “’Most ten minutes, I guess.”

“But you oughtn’t, Kit. What will your grandfather say?”

“Grandfather’ll be glad I know how to swim.”

“Are you quite sure you know how?” insinuated Billy. He thought he saw signs of weakening in Christopher’s resolution and did not want to lose any fun.

“Of course I’m sure,” retorted Christopher indignantly. “Just you hold on and I’ll show you!”

“Well, if you boys are set on doin’ it, I guess I’ll have to go in too, to keep you out of mischief,” drawled Jo Perkins, untying his cravat as he spoke. His remonstrances had not been very strong, but they had satisfied his conscience.

The second bath proved to be even more fun than the first. The water was delightfully cool and refreshing; Christopher soon lost the last bit of dread he had had of going under. He and Billy began to swim a race across the pond and back. They had crossed, had splashed into the shallow water to touch a certain pine branch that had been chosen as the half-way mark (like the first stake in croquet) and were starting back.

Billy was in the lead, but Christopher was gaining on him, when all at once he felt a queer sensation in his arm, as if someone had struck him a sudden blow. The pain was intense and increased every moment. Christopher doubled up his elbow involuntarily and stopped moving his other arm, forgetting in his sudden discomfort that he was not on solid ground. Naturally, he went under. His mouth being open at the time, he swallowed quantities of water and did not find it pleasant. He gasped and splattered and tried to call for help, but the water filled his mouth and nose and eyes. He could not breathe, much less speak. And all the while the pain in his arm increased. His struggles pushed him upward again and as his head appeared above the water he gave a wailing cry. If he had had presence of mind enough to stand upright on the sandy bottom, his head would have been almost entirely out of water. But he was in great pain and very badly frightened. Was he drowning, he wondered? And if so, would everybody be sorry? Would grandfather blame him for having gone to the swimming hole without permission? He hoped he would not be held up to other boys as a sad example of disobedience. Where in the world were Billy and Perk and why did they not come to his assistance? Oh! Oh! Another effort to shout and another nasty dose of water.

Drowning people were supposed to review their whole past life, he remembered. He could think of nothing except that he had learned in school that Socrates had met his death by being compelled to drink hemlock. There was hemlock enough in this water to kill a horse, Christopher felt sure. If he escaped from drowning, therefore, he was sure to be poisoned. It was certain death however you looked at it, and he gave up struggling. The pain in his arm made him feel weak and numb.

Just then he was grabbed by rough but friendly hands, his head propped above water and his body propelled speedily to shore. It had been a very few seconds from the time Perk had seen him go under and had swum out and seized him by the hair. So short had the time been, indeed, that Billy Carpenter did not know that anything had gone amiss until he reached the goal of the race and turned to jeer his victory. Then he saw Perk wading swiftly through the shallow water, half carrying, half pushing Christopher before him. The boy was almost unconscious when they got him to shore, and he lay in a heap on the pine-needles, his cramped arm bent pitifully beneath his body. Perk threw a coat about him and went to work in a businesslike, capable way to revive the boy.

“He’s swallowed an awful lot of water, and it has made him sick,” Perk explained to Billy. “It’s that right arm that’s cramped. Haul it out straight, Bill, and pound it. Never mind if he hollers; it’ll help bring him to. Keep poundin’ and don’t let him double it up again. We’ve got to get the muscles limbered up.”

It took half an hour’s hard work to restore Christopher to anything like his usual cheerful self. Then they all realized with a pang how late it was. The sun was so near setting that it had already darkened the woods. In a panic of alarm the boys harnessed the horse and drove as rapidly as they dared in the growing dusk, down the winding wood road.

“There is no use in going into the town,” said Jo Perkins as they emerged from the gloom of the trees into the lighter twilight of the open road. “Jane will have got home somehow before this. Letty’s taken her home, most likely. I shouldn’t be surprised if they had searching parties out for us,” he added, eyeing the reddening western sky.

“Oh, shucks,” boasted Christopher, “I guess they know we can take care of ourselves.” But his voice had not quite so confident a ring as usual. “Besides, Perk, there’s no other way to get home except by going through town.”

“We can go along Birch Lane to the crossroads. It is only half as far that way.”

Both boys whistled under their breath. Birch Lane was a lonely road by night!

“But how about me?” asked Billy. “I guess I’ve got to get home.”

“Yes,” chimed in Christopher, “it wouldn’t be polite not to take Bill home. He’s our company.”

“Besides, Perk, there’s your bicycle that you left at our house.”

“We can drop Bill at the turn. It’s only two miles from there home, and I guess that’s nothing of a walk for you, is it, Bill? I’ll come in after the bicycle in the morning.”

“I don’t think it’s treating Bill right, to dump him like that,” argued Christopher. If he did not relish the drive along Birch Lane in Perk’s companionship, Birch Lane with its ghostly, whispering white sentinels, the silver birch trees, how much less must Bill look forward to walking by himself along the deserted wood road? Christopher was sincerely sympathetic. “Besides,” he added, “I feel pretty sure that Jane will be waiting for us, Perk. I told her I’d come for her, and she knows that I always keep my word.”

“Oh, pshaw! She knew long before this that you weren’t coming for her, leastways, not at the time you said. And I guess your grandma’s pretty nigh crazy by this time. No, we’ve got to get home as soon as ever we can and take our thrashings. Bill ain’t afraid to walk, and here’s the turn. Hop out, Bill.”

“Who’s afraid?” demanded Billy, in a boastful voice, jumping out over the wheel with affected alacrity. “And it’s only girl-boys that get thrashed for staying out late. I’ve been out lots later than this. My, Jo Perkins, if I was as old as you I guess I wouldn’t let anybody thrash me! Not much. Not for anything like that!”

With which parting taunt, Billy trotted off, whistling to keep up his spirits.

Christopher sat rather close to Jo Perkins and stared stolidly ahead. As each birch tree came in sight he eyed it roundly, even watching it over his shoulder in passing, as if to stare it out of countenance. Then he took to counting them off as they went by; it helped to keep his thoughts from the present homecoming and grandmother’s face. It was growing darker and darker.

“I hope she won’t cry,” he said suddenly. “Women are such babies. I’d rather she’d thrash me than cry.”

“I guess you won’t get the thrashing until your grandpa gets home,” Perk answered grimly. “But I tell you, Kit, this is a pretty bad scrape for me. I was put in charge of you two young ones, and I didn’t do right to keep you out so late. I ought to have watched the time a bit closer. And I almost let you drown, too,” he added soberly. “Gee whizz, I guess mebbe it’ll cost me my place! I’m powerful sorry about it all.”

“Oh, Perk, did I really nearly drown?” asked Christopher in awe.

He shuddered as the recollection of his recent experience came over him.

CHAPTER XV—LETTY’S FUTURE

When Letty and Jane reached Sunnycrest they found grandmother climbing into the carriage to drive to Hammersmith, fully convinced that the worst had happened. Gathering Jane, silent and frightened, into her arms, grandmother felt half comforted. But a cold dread still clutched at her heart. Where was Christopher?

“Oh, why did we let him go off like that!” she cried. “And your grandfather away. I did think Jo Perkins was to be trusted. What can have happened? Joshua, you must go in search of them. Oh, Janey, Janey, if only your grandfather were here!” and she burst into tears.

Jane’s heart grew big and tight with all kinds of alarms. It was so very unusual for grandmother to be upset. She was generally calm in the face of any calamity, however great. Why, even that time when the whole kettleful of raspberry jam fell off the kitchen range and splashed on the cat, grandmother had only said:—“Mercy me, it’s lucky the kittens weren’t there, too.”

“Oh, Mrs. Baker,” exclaimed Letty in distress, “I don’t believe anything serious has happened. Mrs. Carpenter said she thought that they had just forgotten about the time; she said boys never could keep track of the time when they were off on a picnic; and she did not seem at all worried about Billy.”

“She was just cross,” added Jane. “She said she was going to spank him when he did get home. Shall you spank Kit, grandmother?”

“Bless the boy, he will have to be punished some way,” replied Mrs. Baker, drying her tears. “If only he comes home safe and sound,” she added mournfully, watching the carriage disappear down the road into the dusk. “Letty dear, don’t you think you would better start back home? There is enough worry on hand without giving Mrs. Hartwell-Jones a fright about you.”

“I don’t believe she will worry, Mrs. Baker. She said I might stay as long as I could be of any use here and I should like to wait until Kit gets back,” answered Letty earnestly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just talk a bit, you and Jane,” said grandmother, “if you think it all right to remain. It will keep my mind off imagining all sorts of horrors about that blessed boy. How did the party go off, Janey, dear? I haven’t asked a single word about it.”

Jane was in the middle of an elaborate account of the party when they were interrupted by the sound of wheels. Grandmother had been sitting on the veranda steps with Jane in her lap and Letty on another step close beside them.

“Can Joshua be coming back for something?” exclaimed grandmother, rising.

Jane had already climbed out of her lap and was running down the drive.

“It’s Kit, it’s Kit!” she cried joyfully.

Grandmother kissed Christopher first, and cried over him. Then she took him aside and gave him a long, serious lecture. Christopher knew that he had been disobedient, but he did not realize that he had also been selfish until grandmother pointed out to him how much upset every one had been by his long absence.

“We did not mean any harm, grandmother,” he said. “We only wanted to have a good time. Is it always wrong to have a good time?”

“Why no, dear, of course not. It is right to enjoy oneself and be happy, if one can do so without causing pain or discomfort to others. But it is wrong to do things that are sure to distress or worry other people.”

“Bill Carpenter did not seem to think it was wrong. He said he had often been out later than this. I don’t believe his folks will even scold him.”

Grandmother repressed a smile as she remembered what Billy Carpenter’s mother had said was in store for that boastful young gentleman.

“Billy Carpenter has been brought up differently, Kit——” she began.

“Yes, without being tied to a girl’s apron-strings,” broke in Christopher bitterly.

He did not mean to be rude to his grandmother, but he was tired, hungry and a bit conscience-stricken; all of which are apt to make any one feel a little out of temper.

Grandmother did not reprove him. A new and not very pleasant idea had been suggested by Christopher’s words. Had they made too much of a girl-boy of him? Pampered him and watched him too closely? she asked herself.

She sent Christopher up-stairs to tidy himself while she saw Letty off for home and sent Jo Perkins on horseback to find Joshua and bring him back from his fruitless search. Joshua had taken the main road and so missed the truants on the short cut through Birch Lane.

Jane did not know how to treat her brother. She was so glad to have him safe at home that she longed to hug and kiss him and cling to him. But he had been naughty and she supposed she must not speak to him. She eyed him askance and when he was not looking, felt of his arms and legs gently, to assure herself that he was whole. Her brother rubbed the places she touched and said:—“Shucks!” without turning around.

Christopher himself was surprised at being allowed to come to the supper table. He had fully expected to be sent to bed without any supper at all, but grandmother did not think it healthful to send growing children to bed without anything to eat. She allowed Christopher to have all the bread and butter and minced chicken that he wanted. It was only the sweets of which he was deprived.

Grandmother was very silent and thoughtful all evening and the twins were miserable. When bedtime came she kissed them both good-night very gravely and said:

“You must consider yourself a sort of prisoner all day to-morrow, Kit. I shall trust you not to go off the place. Your grandfather will be home to-morrow night and I am leaving your punishment to him.”

Jo Perkins, too, suffered the tortures of suspended judgment all the next day. He fulfilled his usual daily tasks about the stable, but Joshua gave him no instructions and Perk found a great many idle hours hanging heavily on his hands. He felt sadly left out of the busy farm-life.

In the afternoon, Letty drove Mrs. Hartwell-Jones out to see grandmother and to find out if Mrs. Baker were any the worse for her scare. Letty drove the ponies down to the stable and found Perk moping by himself in the harness room.

“Hello, what’s the matter?” she asked sympathetically.

“I’m wondering what I’ll do when I leave here,” replied Perk bluntly.

“Why, Perk, are you going away? I hadn’t heard that.”

“I guess I’ll get sent away—after yesterday’s doings.”

“Oh, no you won’t. Of course you did not do as you should have done yesterday, but Mr. and Mrs. Baker will forgive you, I’m sure. They are not the kind to shunt a person off without more of a trial than that. You just go to Mr. Baker when he gets home and tell him straight out that you’re sorry and will try to do better next time.”

“I ’most let Kit drown, too,” said Perk, and related the incident of the swimming pool, which Letty had not heard before.

“Well of course it was naughty to take Kit in swimming when you knew his grandfather did not allow it. But it was not really your fault about his cramp. And besides, Kit had had some lessons in swimming, you say. It was not as if he did not know anything at all about it. Anyway, you make a clean breast of it all to Mr. Baker. That’s the best way, always, and I’m pretty sure that he’ll forgive you and let you stay.”

But Perk could not be cheered so easily, and set about unharnessing the ponies in a glum fashion so different from his usual whistling gayety that even Punch and Judy felt the difference.

Letty went straight to Mrs. Baker and told her how badly Perk felt.

“I hope you and Mr. Baker won’t send him away,” she pleaded. “He’s a good boy, but it will make him reckless and bitter if he should be turned off now. He’ll think that if people make so much of a small matter, there won’t be much punishment left for big wrongs, and that it isn’t worth while to be good. Please, dear Mrs. Baker, don’t think I’m trying to preach to you, but I heard my brother talk that way once—he had been dismissed from a situation for some little carelessness—and although I was very young at the time, I’ve never forgotten how he felt about it. I hope you won’t send Perk away?”

Letty’s cheeks were very red and her voice trembled, half with eagerness in pleading Perk’s cause, and half with fear at her own daring.

“Such a thing never entered my mind, Letty,” replied grandmother earnestly. “Of course we should do nothing so severe. But Jo must be made to realize how serious his wrong-doing of yesterday was. For it is very wrong indeed to neglect or betray a trust, you know, however slight the consequences may prove. And Letty, dear, remember that it is the little things, after all, that count in life. The pennies go to make the dollars and the swift little seconds form years. Think of the infinitesimal animals at work in the sea, adding bit to bit through the centuries to make those wonderful coral islands we read about.

“And it is the same with the naughtinesses in the world. If a wee sin is committed here and another there, and pardoned or overlooked with the thought, ‘oh, that did no harm—it was not really wrong,’ why in time the conscience will become hardened and the first thing one knows, one is in a condition to commit any wicked deed.”

Letty looked up with a serious face, from Mrs. Baker to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, who had sat quietly by during grandmother’s little homily.

“I never thought before how very great the little things are, Mrs. Baker,” she said. “I hope I can learn to be more careful after this.”

“You are a good, faithful child, and my lecture was not meant for you, dear. I am glad you spoke for Jo Perkins. Of course we shall not dismiss him. It would be wrong to set him adrift for so slight an offense; we must make the punishment fit the wrong-doing. The offense this time is slight because it turned out all right, but it might have proved very serious. You know that Christopher tried to swim and was taken with a cramp in his arm?”

“Perk told me just now. He feels awfully about it.”

“That is news to me,” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones. “No wonder you are feeling nervous and upset over the ‘might-have-beens.’”

“Yes,” replied grandmother with a little shudder. “I don’t know what to say about it because of course Christopher was not actually forbidden to swim. We did not think about such a question arising. But grandfather will be home to-night, and then everything will be all right.”

“What a comfort to have a strong arm to lean upon,” sighed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones wistfully. Then she turned to Letty. “Run off now and play, child. Jane is hopping her toes through her shoes with impatience.”

Letty ran off and the two ladies discussed every detail of Christopher’s mishap, and how seriously it might have turned out.

“Children can be the greatest sort of cares,” Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said at length, half laughing but wholly in earnest, “almost nuisances sometimes; but they are a blessing for all that!” She paused a moment and then added: “Have you noticed what a fine nature Letty has, Mrs. Baker? What a splendid chance for the development of a noble character?”

“I think that what you have agreed to do for her is a wonderful opportunity for the child.”

“But I should like the tie to be still closer, Mrs. Baker,” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones impulsively. “I am wondering—I desire something very much, and yet I am not sure that it is wise. I have no one to go to for advice except my lawyer. I have consulted him, but he is so cold and businesslike. Might I talk it over with you, Mrs. Baker?”

“Do you mean,” asked grandmother, a look of eager interest kindling in her eyes, “do you mean that you are considering the question of adopting Letty?”

“Just that,” replied Mrs. Hartwell-Jones solemnly. “I am thinking about it a great deal—all the time, in fact. You see, there are so many, many reasons why I should do it, and so few why I should not; that is, that I can see.”

“That is apt to be the way with things we want very much to do,” said grandmother mildly. “But as far as I understand the matter, I agree with you. Will you tell me all about it, please?”

And while Letty played out in the orchard with Jane at being Knights of the Round Table, her fairy godmother (as she secretly thought of Mrs. Hartwell-Jones) revealed to Grandmother Baker a plan which, if carried out, would bring to Letty a more wonderful future than any of which she had ever dreamed.

CHAPTER XVI—UNTYING THE APRON-STRINGS

When grandfather got home he was acquainted promptly with the misdoings of Christopher and Jo Perkins. After the expected thrashing had been given—much against grandfather’s tender heart—and Perk had had his stern lecture, without a word in it of dismissal—to his mingled astonishment and surprised relief—grandfather went into the sitting-room to talk events over with grandmother. Perk and Christopher both felt that great loads had been lifted off their minds. They had suffered penitence and had been punished for their wrong-doing, and they were free agents again.

“My dear,” said grandmother, after she had described minutely all her feelings during Christopher’s prolonged absence the afternoon before, “My dear, I have been thinking.”

“Not really!” interjected grandfather with pretended great astonishment, and chuckled.

“Yes, I have, seriously, and I have come to the conclusion that we coddle Kit too much; treat him too much as we treat Jane—too much like a girl, in fact.”

Grandfather looked genuinely surprised this time.

“I begin to think that there is something in this ‘telepathy’ that the newspapers talk about,” he said, taking an envelope from his pocket. “Just read this letter from Kit’s father. I got it at the post-office on my way home this evening.”

Grandmother took her son’s letter and put on her glasses. Grandfather pointed out the page to which he wished to draw her special attention.

“That is the part I meant,” he said and grandmother read:

“‘I have been thinking a good deal lately about Kit’s and Jane’s comradeship. Doesn’t it strike you and mother that we make too little distinction? We are anxious that the children should be congenial, and in trying to keep their tastes alike and yet have Jane gentle and ladylike, isn’t there some danger of making Kit girly-girly?

“‘After all, Kit is a boy and Jane is a girl. They will have to draw apart some day and I am wondering if the time has not come to begin. Aren’t there some nice village boys in or about Hammersmith? There used to be. Suppose you let Kit play with them a bit and rough it like other fellows do. Now that you have found Letty again and she is as nice a child as she was three years ago, she will make a nice playmate for Janey, who won’t miss Kit so much. I really think it will do them both good.’

“Exactly the opinion I had reached,” declared grandmother, dropping the letter. “We must untie the apron-strings.”

Grandfather looked puzzled for a moment over this expression, then he laughed heartily.

“That’s a very good way of putting it, my dear,” he said, “only we must not untie them all at once. Too much freedom at one time is as bad as an overdose of anything else. Besides, if we begin all at once to give Kit full swing, it will set him to thinking of his old restrictions and in his new liberty he will grow very sorry for himself and consider that he had been greatly abused.

“We must not let him think he’s been molly-coddled. We must be diplomatic. I shall tell him, in a day or two, that as long as he has got on so well with his swimming, he might as well go ahead with it. We’ll send him off with Perk, too, now and then, to show Perk that we still trust him; although I shall go along the first time or two to see how things are. I do trust Perk, my dear. He is a good lad, although like all boys, he’s fond of a lark.”

Grandmother sighed, but it was not at the thought of Jo Perkins enjoying a good time.

“Our baby Kit has gone,” she said dolefully, “and a big boy has come in his stead. I do hope Janey won’t miss him too much. She has seemed a little offended at times, when Kit goes off with Billy Carpenter, but just now her heart is so full of Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, Letty, and her dolly’s new bed, that she is happy even without Kit, bless her.”

“How different boys and girls are, from the very beginning,” said grandfather soberly, as if he had just made a great discovery. “The girls love their dollies and the boys their swimming holes.”

“Do you realize that you are quoting Tennyson, after a fashion?” smiled grandmother, and she recited: