"Leave me hyah all night I s'pose," she said, "mebbe I'll ketch cold and die; 'most wisht I would."

Then she heard some one call "Bubbles, Bubbles," but though she answered, no one came.

It grew later and later, the sun went down, and the sky sent up little puffs of pink clouds overhead.

Bubbles lay down on her back, and looked up at the sky. After a while a little star peeped out, then disappeared again, like a baby playing "Peep-bo."

"Angels, I reckon," thought Bubbles. "S'pose I won't git to see 'em. I reckon stealin's awful," and she lay there in a very humble frame of mind, till she went to sleep.

"I cannot imagine what has become of Bubbles," said Mrs. Dallas to her husband when he came in. "I have looked the house over, and called her in every room. She cannot have followed the children. I never knew her to stay away before."

"Hasn't Sylvy seen her?"

"Not since early in the afternoon. She has looked all over the place." And so she had, but Bubbles asleep on the roof did not hear her, and a limb of the tree on that side hid her from view.

"There is no reason for her running off, is there?" asked Mr. Dallas.

"No, unless Dimple has threatened her with the orphan asylum once too often. She has such a horror of it, but I told Dimple not to do so again, and she is not apt to disobey."

They sat down to tea, and it was not till an hour later that Bubbles was rescued. Mr. Dallas was walking about, smoking his cigar, when he heard a doleful voice saying,

"Lordy, Lordy, I'm awful bad, just as well go to the orphan asylum. I'll die hyah, plum sho'."

He listened, and walked a few steps further.

"Wisht I was a bird, I'd get up in that tree. Wisht I had a raven to bring me my supper—s'pose I'll starve and die too."

"Bubbles, where are you?" called Mr. Dallas. He heard a scrambling overhead, and a delighted reply.

"Hyah, sah, hyah I are."

He looked all around, but did not see her.

"Where are you?" he asked again.

"On de roof, sah."

"Well, why don't you get down?"

"Ain't no way, sah; done tucken de ladder away."

Mr. Dallas found the ladder and put it up, and Bubbles scrambled down.

"Have you been up there all this time?"

"Yas, sah," said Bubbles, scraping one foot with the bare toes of the other.

"How came the ladder down?"

"Miss Dimple done did it."

"What for?"

Bubbles hung her head, and began scraping the other foot.

"What for?" again asked Mr. Dallas.

"I done stole," said Bubbles, solemnly.

"And she did it to punish you?"

"Yas, sah."

Mr. Dallas could not avoid smiling, but he said, "Go along into the house, and tell Mrs. Dallas about it. By the way, didn't you see any one looking for you?"

"No, sah. I was clean tuckered a waitin', and I went to sleep. 'Specs they came then mebbe."

"Well, go along," he said, and Bubbles started for the house, while he went to bring home the girls.



CHAPTER VI

The Tea-Party

When the carriage left the house Mrs. Hardy directed the driver to go through one of the pleasant roads leading from the town.

"Which is your favorite drive, Dimple?" she asked.

"Oh, Pleasant Valley and Big Run," answered she. "Don't you think so?"

"I hardly know," said Mrs. Hardy. "I have been around so little; you will have to be our guide and tell us the pretty places."

Dimple felt quite important, and chatted away at a great rate.

"Didn't Rock make our dolls pretty hats?" she asked. "Mrs. Hardy, I wish he were my brother. He couldn't be, could he? Even if he could only be my cousin, I should like it."

Mrs. Hardy looked at Rock, who laughed and said, "That is more likely than the other."

"I don't see how," said Dimple.

"You will see," said Rock. But at a look from his mother he was silent.

They leaned back on the soft cushions, breathing the sweet air, spicy with the scent of the pines through which they were driving.

At Big Run they all begged to get out, to see if there were any fish in the water. They clambered about on the bank and over the stones, till Mrs. Hardy told them it was too late to stop longer, and they drove toward town.

After they had reached the house where Rock and his mother were boarding, they took off their hats and were ready for tea. They wondered if they were all to sit with Mrs. Brisk's family at the table, and dreaded it a little. However, when Rock said, "Come this way, girls," they were a little mystified, for he took them out into the garden.

Under a trellised summerhouse there was set a little table for three, and on the bench a very small table with two little chairs.

"That is for the dolls," explained Rock.

"Oh, Rock!" exclaimed the girls. "Where did they come from? Did you make them?"

"Yes," said he. "Do you like them?"

"They are perfect," said Florence. "Dimple, do see how nicely Celestine sits up to the table."

"And Rubina, too," said Dimple, as she took off her doll's hat. "Don't they look lovely? Look, Rock. What a boy you are."

Rock laughed, and they turned to their own table, which had a tiny bouquet by each plate and a pyramid of fruit in the centre.

The long drive had given them all an appetite, and they did full justice to the croquettes, muffins and fried potatoes before they thought of the jelly, fruit and cake.

"How will we get our chairs and table home?" said Florence.

"I will take them to-morrow," said Rock.

"Oh, no," said Dimple. "It was enough for you to make them, without taking them home, too."

"Well," said Rock, "if the cabinetmaker can't take home his own goods, I think it is a pity."

The girls laughed, and so the matter rested.

"What shall we do now?" asked Rock. "Will you look at pictures, or play games, or what?"

Dimple looked at Florence, and Florence looked at Dimple.

"I think pictures are nice in winter, when you can't be out of doors," said Florence, who never could get enough of out of doors.

So they concluded to play out of doors.

"What nice long grass this is," said Dimple. "We could almost hide ourselves. We might play we were rabbits, and hop about and make nests."

"Let's hide ourselves," cried Florence. "I speak for first count.

"'Onery Twoery, Dickery Day, Illava, Lullava, Lackava Lay, One condemn the American line. Umny Bumny, Twenty-nine. Fillason, Folloson, Nicholas John. Queevy, Quavy, English Navy, Signum, Sangnum, Buck!'

"You're out," she sang out to Rock and then went again rapidly over the count, making herself "It."

Then Dimple and Rock stole softly off to hide themselves, while Florence covered her eyes by a tree.

"Whoop!" called Dimple, presently.

"Whoop!" called Rock, a moment later.

And Florence went in search of them, but before she found them, she discovered something else and called out:

"Rock! Dimple! Come here, quick. I have found something so funny and cunning."

Out of their nests started the children to see Florence standing over another nest in a trellis, in which was a family of little baby wrens, opening their small beaks and clamoring to be fed.

"Sh! Sh!" Dimple said, softly. "Don't let's scare them, poor little things. See, there is the mother bird. She is distressed because we have found her babies. Oh Rock, don't let any one else know they are here, for they might hurt them."

"Let us go away now," said Rock, in a whisper. "The poor mother bird is flying around, and is so troubled. She doesn't know that we wouldn't harm her little ones for anything." So they tiptoed away and left the mother in possession.

"What kind of bird was it?" Florence asked, in a low voice.

"Why, don't you know? That was Jenny Wren," returned Dimple, more accustomed to creatures of woods and fields.

"Was it really Jenny Wren?" exclaimed Florence, delightedly. "I'm so glad I've seen her."

"Didn't you ever see her before? You have heard Mr. Wren sing, haven't you? Oh, how he sings! I think house-wrens are such dear, dear birds. We always put up boxes and cans and such things for them, for we like to have them around, and they can build their nests in quite small places. The other big birds try to drive them away sometimes, but we always try to protect them. Mamma says Jenny Wren is a very neat housekeeper, and takes excellent care of her family. They are such friendly little birds. I love them better than any others."

"Do you believe you have any wrens' nests near the house, this year?" Florence asked.

"Yes, indeed, ever so many. I know just where to look for them. I'll show you some to-morrow. There's one in the funniest place. You know where the bamboo shade is rolled up at the side of the front porch: well, in one end of that a wren has built a nest, and mamma will not have the shade let down till the little birds are ready to fly."

Florence gave a sigh of content. She enjoyed such things so heartily, and saw none of them in her city home.

"I like the robins," put in Rock, "they are such cheerful fellows. Listen to that one whistle. Doesn't it remind you of juicy cherries?"

Dimple laughed. "Yes, and don't they love cherries! I believe they eat half on our trees, and they always pick out the very finest ones."

"Of course. So would you, if you were a robin," Rock returned. "Speaking of birds, Florence, have you ever watched the swallows—the chimney swifts—come home? It's a sight."

"No, I never saw them. Are there any here?" returned Florence, eagerly.

"Lots of them. They build in that old chimney, and they come every year on a certain day of the month. They seem to have a sort of system in the way they circle around, and go down the chimney; just as if they were regularly drilled for it. It's about time for them now. Suppose we sit here and watch them."

This they did, and when the last belated swallow had dropped down into the tall old chimney, they went up to the house where Mrs. Hardy was waiting for them, and where they were glad to listen to her tales of California; its big trees, its fine fruits, and the lovely flowers that grow wild there; and she told many funny tales of the Chinese, till Mr. Dallas made his appearance, and with regretful good-byes they took their leave.

All this time the girls had not once remembered Bubbles. They were having such a good time, and it was not till they were on their way home, when Mr. Dallas questioned them, that they thought of how they had left her on the roof.

"Mrs. Hardy is just lovely, mamma," said Dimple, when they reached home. "I hope she liked me, for I liked her, and, oh mamma! I am so sorry about Bubbles."

"I am glad you like Mrs. Hardy," said her mother, "but the next time Bubbles does wrong, I hope you will tell me, and not punish her yourself. You must remember that she is only a little ignorant, colored girl, and that it is no wonder she wants what you have, for you have played with her, and been with her so much. Of course it was wrong for her to take anything without leave. Were you and Florence good girls?"

"Yes, I think so. Mamma, what did Rock mean when he said he was more likely to be my cousin than my brother?"

"Did he say that?" said Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "Well, so you are."

"Mamma, I don't understand."

"No. I know you don't. You will in a few days. Now go to bed."

"Florence," said Dimple, after they were in bed. "There is another secret somewhere, and I cannot puzzle it out. Mamma wants Mrs. Hardy to be fond of me, and Rock is likely to be my cousin, and all that."

"I can't imagine," answered Florence, sleepily.

"I don't see into it," said Dimple, after thinking a while. "Florence, are you asleep?"

But Florence made no answer, having by that time arrived in dreamland, and Dimple soon followed her, dreaming that she was feeding the little wrens on croquettes, and was taking her doll to drive in California, when a big tree came up to her, and insisted on shaking hands, because it said it was her cousin. She laughed right out in her sleep, and frightened a little mouse back into its hole.

* * * * *

When the two little girls ran down to breakfast the next morning, they wore very happy faces, for Dimple had just discovered that her birthday was only a week off, and she and Florence had been planning for it.

"Papa always does something very specially nice for me," Dimple had just announced, "and I always have a lovely birthday-cake with icing and candles. Mamma makes it herself, because I always think it tastes better when she does. And she lets me choose what we are to have for dinner. You tell what you like best, Florence, and we'll have that."

"I like fried chicken better than anything, except, of course, ice cream and cake."

"So do I. I'm so glad you like what I do, and I'm very glad my birthday is in June, for it is such a rosy month, and we can have strawberries with the ice cream. There are so many good things to eat in June; strawberries, and peas, and asparagus and—oh, I don't know what all." This conversation took place before breakfast, and Dimple was sitting on the floor hugging her knees, and looking as contented as it was possible to be.

They were still talking on the important subject when they entered the dining-room.

"What's all this about birthdays?" asked Mr. Dallas, looking up from his morning paper.

"Why, papa, don't you know my birthday will be next week?" returned Dimple, as she went up to give him his morning kiss. "Aren't you glad?" she added.

"Is it an occasion for great joyfulness? I'm not so sure of that. Don't you know it makes mamma feel very serious to have a daughter eight—or is it nine—years old? And as for myself, I begin to feel the grey hairs popping out all over my head at the very thought of it."

"I shall be nine years old. But, papa, you are always making out that you are old and that makes me feel sorry. I don't see a single grey hair. People are not very old till they are forty, at least, are they?"

"Well, no, but they are rather decrepit when they reach such extreme old age as that—Uncle Heath is forty you know, and see what a tottering old man he is."

"Now, papa, you are laughing at me. I don't believe you'll have grey hairs for years and years."

"They are starting, I am sure. However, we'll change the subject, if you wish. What do you expect me to give you on that festal day? Not another doll, surely?"

"No—I don't know—perhaps."

"Oh, you are insatiable as to dolls. I believe if any one were to give you a dozen at Christmas you would be glad to have a dozen more on New Years. I don't believe Florence is so doll-crazy."

"Yes, she is. Aren't you, Florence?"

Florence nodded.

"Nevertheless," continued Mr. Dallas, "I'll promise no doll this time. Shall it be books? Perhaps we'd better consult mamma. Come to think of it, I had an idea about this same birthday. It seems to me I thought it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide some amusement for rainy days."

The two little girls looked at each other, and Dimple hung her head.

"What do you think?" Mr. Dallas asked, quizzically. "It seems to me that I have heard that the rain produces a singularly bad effect upon two little girls I know."

"Yes, papa, we were horrid, especially one time. We didn't know what to do, and so—and so——"

"'Satan found some mischief still For idle hands to do;'

was that the way of it?"

Dimple glanced at Florence shamefacedly. "Yes, papa, I'm afraid it was just that way," she replied, meekly.

"Well, as I said before, I think it wouldn't be a bad plan to provide against such trouble. Perhaps that birthday will show you a way out of future difficulty."

And so it proved, for on her birthday morning the secret of the little house was revealed.

"You must wait till after breakfast to see your birthday gifts, daughter," Mrs. Dallas said, as Dimple came bounding into the room to receive her nine kisses.

"Oh, mamma, why? I always have them the first thing. Do tell me where they are. Downstairs or up here?"

"Downstairs, in one sense, but they are not in the house at all."

Dimple's eyes opened wide. "Not in the house? Florence, just listen. There is a great secret. Oh, dear, how can I wait?"

"Well, dearie," returned her mother, "the sooner you are dressed the sooner the secret will come. See, I am nearly ready to go down."

"Please help me, just this morning, mamma. It will make it so much easier, and it's my birthday, you know."

"Very well, since you are the person of importance to-day, I will help you."

"Hurry up, Florence," cried Dimple. "Come in here and I'll fasten your buttons while mamma does mine; then we'll get through all the sooner."

Although Dimple, the day before, had carefully selected the day's bill of fare, the breakfast was scarcely tasted, her favorite waffles offering no inducement for her to linger over them, so great was her excitement, and she watched eagerly till her father pushed back his chair, and declared himself ready for orders. It seemed to Dimple that he had never had such an appetite before, and she watched with anxious interest as he helped himself to waffles from each plateful that Bubbles brought in. There was a twinkle in his eyes as Dimple at last heaved a long sigh, and he immediately arose and led the way through the garden to the little new house between the house and the stable.

"We'll look in here," he remarked, as he unlocked the door.

Although Dimple had been quite curious to see the inside of the "house for little chicks," she was rather disappointed at the delay, for she thought, perhaps, her papa had something for her in the stable, a fox terrier, or maybe a goat, since she had expressed a wish for both. But when the door of the little house was opened her surprise was so great that she gave expression to one long-drawn "Oh-h!" and looked from one to the other half bewildered.

For, instead of a brooder and an "inkybator," she saw before her the dearest little room with white curtains at the window, a rug upon the floor, a small cooking stove in one corner, a table, chairs, and all to suit a little girl. Upon the shelves were ranged plates, cups, saucers and dishes, and a cupboard in the corner looked as if it might hold other necessary things for housekeeping. Moreover, her family of dolls sat along in a row on the window-seat, looking as expectant as is the nature of dolls to look.

"Well, Dot, how do you like it?" asked Mr. Dallas, smiling down at the child whose color came and went in her fair little face.

"Oh, papa! Oh, papa! is it truly my house?" she asked, clasping him closely.

"Yes, it is truly yours. I thought a rainy day house might help to keep our little chicks out of mischief, because here they can peep as loud as they choose and it will not disturb any one."

"You said it was for little chicks, and I never once thought you meant us. Did you, Florence? It is lovely, lovely. Oh, papa, you are too good."

"I think it is a matter of self-defence, for if you and Florence are so ambitious as to take violent possession of your neighbors' houses, it seemed to me there would be no end of complaints, and the best way to prevent further housebreaking was to give you a house where you could cook and sweep and exercise your domestic tastes to your hearts' content."

Dimple understood all this banter, and she laughingly said, "Florence, we are like the birds that try to take the wrens' houses to live in. But now we have a nest of our own we won't do it any more, papa. Thank you so much. It is the most lovely surprise I ever had in all my life."

"I'm glad you like your house, Mistress Eleanor Dallas; but, dear me, I can't stand here chattering. I must be off."

Dimple gave him an ecstatic parting hug, and returned to a survey of her house.

"Papa gives you the house, and I the furniture," her mother told her. "You must try to keep the place neat and clean. Of course, Bubbles can help you, sometimes, but I want you to learn to take care of it yourself and to be a good housekeeper."

"Like Jenny Wren. Oh, yes, mamma, I will try. Florence, we'll put up boxes for the wrens, up there by the door, and maybe they will come and build. Mamma, may we have our ice cream and cake out here this afternoon?"

"Yes, if you like, and you may go over and ask Rock Hardy to come, and Leila and Eugene Clark too, if you like to have them. That will make quite a nice little party. You can use your own dishes, and have all the fun you choose."

"Won't that be fine!" cried Dimple, softly clapping her hands. "Shall we go now?" she asked.

"Yes, unless you would rather wait."

"No, I'd rather go now, so I won't have to think about it, for I shall not want to leave my house to-day; it is so dear and cunning. And, Florence, when we come back, we'll gather some flowers and make everything look as pretty as possible. Just think, we'll be like grown-up ladies, with a house, and a servant, and—oh, mamma, please let Bubbles wear a cap."

Mrs. Dallas laughed. "I don't believe we will insist upon that, but you can rig up one for her if you like, when she is out here. Now I must go in."

"Come, Florence, we'll go and invite the company, and get that over with, and then we'll have nothing to interrupt us the rest of the day," said Dimple. "Won't it be fine to come out here on rainy days and make all the noise we want. What time shall we tell the children to come?" she called after her mother, who was just stepping off the little porch.

"At four o'clock, I think."

"That's the time Rock had his tea-party," said Dimple. "I am glad we can invite him to our feast, because we had such a nice time over there. I wonder if he knows anything about this being our little house. If he doesn't, won't he be surprised!"

It proved that Rock didn't know, and he was as interested as any one could wish;—so much so, indeed, that he begged to go over at once to see it, and his mother allowed him to do so.

"My! but it's fine," he declared, examining both outside and in. "You might have a pretty little garden out here, and plant some vines to grow over the porch."

"So we might," Dimple responded, "I never thought of that. It will make the little porch so much prettier. Just think, I never dreamed that it was being built for me."

"Your father is awfully good," returned Rock, adding soberly, "I hope it runs in the family."

Dimple laughed, but looked sober herself, immediately after. "I'm afraid I'll never be as good as papa and mamma, for I do horrid things," she said. She looked at Florence wistfully, then lifted one of her cousin's soft auburn curls, and laid her cheek against it; to which Florence responded by giving her a sudden kiss. They both remembered that day in the garret.

Rock became so interested in the idea of a garden, that, after Mrs. Dallas's consent was gained, he spent most of the day in digging up a little patch in which the children planted a remarkable collection of plants, both wild and cultivated. They even put in some corn, so as to have roasting ears, Dimple said, and a pumpkin seed, because she liked pumpkin pies.

They were so busy all day that they were scarcely willing to go in to prepare for their feast.

Leila and Eugene Clark were properly impressed with the new house; yet, with the others, were quite ready to stop their play that they might do justice to the big cake with its nine candles, and its wreath of flowers; while the amount of ice cream eaten showed plainly that the refreshments were quite to the taste of the guests. Leila brought Dimple a box of candy, and Eugene presented her with a bunch of beautiful roses. Rock, too, although he hardly could spare the time to rush home and get his gift for her, had something to donate; an exquisite little fan with carved ivory sticks, that he said was made in China, and which his mother had bought in California. Mrs. Hardy added to the gift a dainty pink sash, and Florence had struggled in secret to make Rubina a new frock, and had succeeded very well. So Dimple felt herself bountifully remembered.

"It's been just the very happiest day I ever had," said the little girl as she stood in her white night gown, ready for bed.

"I ought to be a very, very good girl, mamma; and I have done so many naughty things lately, but I didn't think."

"Didn't Think is a bad enemy to most little girls," said Mrs. Dallas, holding her daughter's fair head against her shoulder.

"Did you have to fight him?"

"I did, indeed."

"That's a comfort. Perhaps when I grow up, I may be a little weeny, weeny bit like you, darling mamsey. Please give me nine more kisses."

"One on your forehead; one on each cheek; one on each eyelid; one between the eyes; one on your chin; one on your mouth, and where shall I put the other?"

"Here, in the tickley place under my chin. Now say 'my blessed child'; that always makes me feel good, and then I'll pop into bed."

But the head was no sooner on the pillow than it was bobbed up again, and there came the whisper, "Mamma, please kiss Florence more than one time, and call her something nice." And when this was done, two very tired, but very happy, little girls kissed each other, and in a few moments were fast asleep.



CHAPTER VII

Housekeepers

"Mamma," said Dimple, with her elbows on the arm of her mother's chair, "what are you thinking about so hard? You have a little puckery frown between your eyes, whenever you look at Florence and me. What have we been doing?"

"Nothing," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I was wondering if it would be wise to leave you two alone here with Bubbles for a day. Mrs. Hardy wants me to go to the city with her to-morrow, and I promised Sylvy some time ago that she should have the day; she wants to go off on an excursion, and has been making great preparations. I could not have the heart to disappoint her, and your papa will not be at home for another week, so I am very doubtful about leaving you."

"Oh! do go, mamma," cried Dimple, clapping her hands. "We can keep house beautifully, can't we, Florence?—and it will be such fun. Do go, there's a darling. We'll be just as grown-up as possible, and do anything you tell us."

"And you will not be afraid?"

"Not in the least. We'll have Bubbles, you know, and she can run awfully fast, if we get ill, and want the doctor," replied Dimple, cheerfully.

"I hope no such effort will be needed on Bubbles' part. You must not turn the house upside down, nor empty all the trunks and chests upon the floor of the attic."

"Now, mamma," exclaimed Dimple, reproachfully, "why do you remind us of that?"

Mrs. Dallas laughed at the woe-begone tone.

"That you may remember not to do it again," she replied; then she added, "Well, I'll think about it a little longer. I promised to let Mrs. Hardy know this afternoon. Now run along and let me think."

"You will tell us as soon as you make up your mind," said Dimple, as she left the room with Florence.

"Yes, yes; don't keep me any longer from my 'think.'"

"Don't you hope she will go?" asked Florence. "I think it would be lots of fun to have the house all to ourselves for a whole day. What shall we do, Dimple?"

"Oh, there will be lots to do," replied Dimple, importantly. "There will be the beds to make, and the house to put in order, and dinner to get. Oh, Florence! What shall we have for dinner? What should you like?"

"I don't know, exactly; baked custards are nice."

"Yes," assented Dimple, doubtfully, "but I'm afraid we couldn't manage to make them just right; they seem sort of hard; and you don't like huckleberry pudding."

"Then let's have apple 'cobbler;' we both like that."

"Yes, and it is easy, at least I think it is, just crust and apples. Well, we'll have that. I do wish mamma would hurry up and tell us."

The two established themselves on the lowest step, as near as possible to the library, where Mrs. Dallas was sitting.

"Don't make such a noise," said Dimple, as Florence, to while away the time, began to sing; "you will keep mamma from thinking. Just let's whisper." So for a half hour or more a little whispering sound went on, interspersed by stifled laughter. Then at the noise of Mrs. Dallas' hand upon the door knob, the two girls sprang to their feet.

"Hurry up, mamma, tell us," cried Dimple, as the door opened.

"When you give me a chance," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I am going. Does that please you?"

"Oh! oh!" cried the two, dancing up and down.

"How flattering you are," said Mrs. Dallas, laughing; "I never had pleasure so fully shown for such a cause. So you will be delighted to get rid of me?"

"Now mamma! Now auntie!" came in chorus. "It isn't that at all, but it will be such fun, and we are going to make an 'apple cobbler' for dinner."

"Are you! Who said so?"

"Why, mayn't we?" asked Dimple, somewhat taken aback.

"Who will make it?"

"Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvy do it often, and I know exactly how. Do, do let us, mamma."

It seemed too bad to dampen their ardor, and Mrs. Dallas, rather dubiously, consented, but charged them not to eat under cooked dough, or raw apples.

Every one was up betimes the next morning. Sylvy had set everything in readiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs. Dallas was to leave on the nine o'clock train.

"I shall be back by eight o'clock," she told the children. "Don't set the house afire, and don't make yourselves ill."

"Now, don't worry over us," said Dimple, loftily; "we shall do finely."

But she did feel a little sinking of heart as her mamma's form was lost to view, and the two girls turned from the gate.

"I wish Rock were not going with them," remarked Dimple. "It would be nice to have him here."

"I don't think it would," replied Florence; "we'd have to entertain him, and maybe he doesn't like 'apple cobbler.'"

"That is true," returned Dimple, her spirits rising at the suggestion of some active employment. "Now let us go and make the beds, while Bubbles does the dishes." And they set to work, with much chattering, to follow out this duty.

"There, now, it looks as neat as possible," pronounced Dimple, as she closed the shutters to keep out the glaring sun. "Just hang up that towel that has fallen down, Florence, and then we'll go downstairs and shut up the rest of the house; by that time Bubbles will be through her work, and we can all play till it is time to get dinner."

Bubbles had just emptied her dish-pan and was about to scour the knives when they entered the kitchen.

"Hurry up, Bubbles," said Dimple, "so we can all go out and play. We want you to take care of Celestine and Rubina, while we go out shopping. Mamma said we might use the pieces in this," holding out a calico bag. "That is, we are just going to roll them up and have them for dry goods. The dry goods shop is to be at the end of the porch, where the bench is. We have cut out a great big newspaper man to sell the goods. We'll have to pin him against the railing, Florence, or he won't stand up, he is so limp. Isn't he fine and tall? His name is Mr. Star, because we cut him out of the Evening Star."

Their play proved to be so very interesting that it was after twelve o'clock before the little housekeepers remembered that they had a dinner to prepare, and that the making and baking of their apple pie would take some time. Then it appeared that Bubbles, in her haste to join the play, had forgotten the fire, which was nearly out.

"Never mind, we'll put in some wood," concluded Dimple, cheerfully. "I've seen Sylvy do it lots of times, to hurry up the oven. Run, Bubbles, and get some wood. Then you can pare the apples, while I make the crust."

"Let me pare the apples," suggested Florence; "it is such fun to put them on that little thing and turn the crank, while the skin comes off so easily."

"Well, you do that," agreed Dimple. "And Bubbles can set the table."

"Why doesn't this apple go right?" said Florence. "It wabbles around so and—there!—it has gone bouncing off to the other side of the kitchen; how provoking!"

"It is a sort of 'skew-jawed' one," pronounced Dimple. "I can never do anything with those on the parer. Pick out the ones that are perfectly round and smooth, and they will go all right. I wonder how much shortening I ought to put in. Does that look like enough to you?"

Florence viewed the pan critically. "I don't know," she replied, doubtfully. "I don't believe I know much about it; it looks like a pretty big lump."

"Oh, I'll call it enough," decided Dimple. "There, it is ready to roll out. Somehow, it doesn't roll very easily."

"Let me try," offered Florence, who, having finished paring the apples, was watching her cousin.

"It is not easy," she said, after banging away with the rolling-pin. "Maybe Bubbles can do it; her arms are stronger;" and, after this third effort, some sort of crust was ready, with which to line the pan.

"It seems pretty thick," Dimple declared, looking at it with a dissatisfied eye; "but it is the best we can do."

"Oh, it will taste all right," encouraged Florence. "Now for the apples; what else, Dimple?"

"Sugar, and little bits of butter and—what else? Oh, yes, a little sprinkling of flour. Now the top goes on, and it can go into the oven. I wonder how long it will take to bake. It is one o'clock, and I am beginning to get hungry.

"The oven isn't very hot," she presently pronounced. "Put some more wood in, Bubbles. Oh, what is the matter, Florence?" as an exclamation made her turn in her cousin's direction.

"I have burned my hand," said Florence, trying hard not to cry. "I wanted to look at the fire, and when I lifted the lid, the steam from the kettle came just where I put my hand. I didn't know steam could burn so."

"It is worse than anything else," informed Dimple. "It is too bad. I'll get something to put on it, to take the burn out."

"Kar'sene's mighty good," suggested Bubbles.

"Yes, and so is flour; and linseed oil is good; that will be the best," and the bottle being brought, the wounded hand was bound up and Florence retired from action and sat on the step watching the others, while she nursed her hurt.

"Let me see," went on Dimple, bustling about. "We have chicken, and bread and butter, and sliced tomatoes, and milk, and the 'cobbler.' It is doing, Florence; it is beginning to brown."

"I wish it would hurry up," Florence said. "I'm hungry, and, oh! how my hand hurts."

"Isn't it any better?"

"A little; but it doesn't feel a bit good."

"It is too bad," said Dimple, sympathetically, coming over and putting a floury hand on her cousin's.

"I smell the pie," she exclaimed, jumping up. "It must be burning," and she ran to the oven.

"Is it burned?" asked Florence, anxiously.

"No, only just a weeny bit caught. I'll take it out. Doesn't it look good?"

Florence gave an admiring assent, and they proceeded to take their meal; but alas!—when the pie was cut a mass of sticky dough and raw apple was disclosed to the disappointment of them all.

"We'll have to put it back and eat it after awhile," said Florence. "It will taste just as good then."

"Yes, and we can eat cake for dessert," and the pie was again placed in the oven.

Not long after, a rapping was heard at the side porch. "Who in the world can that be around there!" exclaimed Dimple. "Go and see, Bubbles."

Bubbles looked out, cautiously, for it was not the usual place for any one to make an appearance. Presently she came back with big eyes and a somewhat scared expression. "Hit's a man, Miss Dimple," she said, in an excited whisper, "with a gre't big haid an' long hair, an' somethin' on his back."

Florence and Dimple looked at each other. "Let's peep and see," whispered the latter, as the rapping, which had ceased, began again.

They peeped timidly through the shutters. "He looks queer," said Dimple, "maybe he is crazy."

"Oh!" cried Florence, with a stifled scream, "maybe he is an escaped lunatic. Dimple, let's lock all the doors, and hide," and the two ran into the kitchen, barring and locking the door, and then raced upstairs as fast as they could go, with Bubbles close following at their heels.

Florence buried her face in the pillows and covered up her head with the bed clothes; Bubbles crawled under the bed, then, as the rapping continued louder than before, interspersed with calls of "Hey, there! Hey, there!" Dimple, feeling very brave, opened the window and cried out, "Go away!" then she shut down the window with a slam, and sprang into the middle of the room with very red cheeks and a beating heart.

After a little time all was quiet, and the three timidly ventured downstairs to find the pie baked to such a crisp brownness, that it barely escaped being called black. It was set aside to cool, and after a short parley, the children set out to reconnoitre, armed with such weapons as they thought most useful. Bubbles carried an axe, Florence a bottle of ammonia, which she meant to throw in the face of the intruder "to take his breath away," she declared; and Dimple bore a long rope and a pair of large scissors. She intended, she said, to snip at the man if he came near her, and, when he was overpowered by Florence's ammonia, to bind him hand and foot with the rope.

But, after a long and thorough search, no one was found about the premises, and they all returned to the house to eat the "cobbler," which by this time was cool.

"It doesn't taste like Sylvy's," said Dimple. "I believe I forgot to put any salt in the crust, and where it isn't hard it is tough; there! I didn't put any water in it, of course there is scarcely any juice. I was going to save some for mamma, but I don't think I shall. We'll give it away to the first person we can," she continued to Florence.

This happened to be an organ grinder, who made his appearance at the gate. Bubbles was despatched with the message that they hadn't any money, but there was some pie, and the organ grinder departed, whether grateful or not, they did not learn.

"It seems to me it has been a pretty long day," said Dimple, as the afternoon wore on. "Five o'clock. Three hours before we can possibly expect mamma. I should think she would get dreadfully tired of housekeeping," she continued, remembering her discouraging pie. "I don't feel as if I wanted any supper, do you, Florence?"

"Not now," replied Florence; "but your mamma will want some."

"Oh, well, Bubbles can attend to it," decided Dimple. "I'm tired of seeing dishes and dabs. What shall we do next, Florence?"

"We haven't cleared up the porch yet. Mr. Star is out there and all the pieces."

"Sure enough. Well, we'll get those put away, and then we can dress. I wonder what became of the crazy man."

"Why do you remind me of him?" said Florence, plaintively. "I had almost forgotten, and now I shall dream of him."

"I don't believe he was crazy," said Dimple. "I suppose he had something to sell. I thought so at the time, but I began, to get scared and couldn't stop. Roll up Mr. Star, Florence, we may want him again. There! I have the bag and all the rest of the things. You bring Mr. Star and the dolls."

Just here came a "Hallo!" from around the corner of the house. The children gave a suppressed scream which changed into a hearty laugh when Rock appeared; and with words tumbling over each other they began to give a breathless recital of the day's experiences which amused Rock vastly.

"But how did you happen to be here?" the girls remembered at last to ask. "We thought you had gone to the city."

"No, I didn't go after all. Mr. Brisk was going off in the country, and mamma gave me my choice of places, so I thought I'd not enjoy going shopping very much, and I decided to go with Mr. Brisk. We got back about half an hour ago, and I came over to see if you wouldn't go back to the house with me. I want to show you something I found."

"What is it?"

"Wait till you see."

"I'm afraid we oughtn't to leave the house," said Dimple.

"Can't you lock it up? We won't be gone long, and I'll come back and stay with you till your mother comes. Then I can walk home with my mother, for she'll stop here first."

"That will be very nice, but I don't believe we dare lock it up."

"Let Bubbles stay."

But Bubbles' eyes nearly popped out of her head at this suggestion; and, finally, after many plans Rock went over to the house of the man whom Mr. Dallas employed to take care of the garden and stable, and he promised to stay on the place to give Bubbles countenance, till the others should return.

"I've got a job over there, anyhow," he said, "though I mostly leaves about this time, but I can do what I have to do as well now as in the morning." Therefore the children felt perfectly safe in leaving Bubbles.

Rock led the way to Mr. Brisk's workhouse. "What I've to show you is in here," he said. The girls followed him somewhat timidly, but were reassured when Rock drew out a box of shavings where, cuddled up, they saw a cat and three little bits of kittens.

"Oh! how cunning," cried Dimple, getting down on her knees. "You little tootsy-wootsy, deary things. Aren't they soft? Oh! if we might have them. There are three, just one a piece. Rock, don't you believe we might have them?"

"We'll go and ask," said Rock, and they ran pell-mell into the house.

"What is the matter?" said Mr. Brisk, starting up lest something were wrong.

"We are only going to ask Mrs. Brisk if we may have the kittens," they cried, breathlessly.

Mrs. Brisk was standing in the hall, and heard their story.

"Well! Well! Well!" she said. "If old Topple hasn't another lot of kittens. Have them? To be sure you may, and welcome, when they are big enough to take from their mother."

The girls clapped their hands delightedly and went back to the little blind things, who, with their tight shut eyes, were mewing and nosing against each other.

"Now let's choose," said Rock, after they had taken them out on the grass where it was lighter. "Two black, and one black and white. If you girls like the black ones best I'll take the other, or if either of you like that best, I'll take one of the black ones."

So, after much talking, Dimple chose a black one, and Florence the black and white, while Rock expressed himself delighted with the other black one as really what he liked the best.

"I shall name mine Jet," said he.

"And mine I'll name Onyx, and call it Nyxy for short," said Dimple.

"And mine shall be Marble," said Florence.

So that question being decided they left them, "like birds in their nest," said Dimple, and started for home, for it was growing late.

"We couldn't carry the kittens home to-night, anyhow," said Florence; "but I do hope we can see them often, and that I can take mine home."

She did take it home, and it grew to be a big cat; though before she went, the children often laughed to see Rock coming in with the three little things in a basket, bringing them over for a visit. He did this several times, taking them back to their mother, until one day they came to stay.

Although time dragged, eight o'clock did come at last, and the hour brought Mrs. Dallas.

"And you are really glad to have me back again," she said, with an arm around each little girl, "though you were so glad to have me go. And how did the pie turn out?"

"It wasn't good," admitted Dimple, candidly; "so we gave it to an organ-grinder."

"What charitable, generous children, to be sure," laughed Mrs. Dallas. "By the way, Dimple, I forgot to tell you that possibly the paperhanger might be here; he was to come one day this week to paper the upper hall."

Dimple looked at Florence and Florence looked at Dimple. "We thought he was a crazy man," presently said the latter, in a shamefaced way.

"Crazy! Why, what do you mean?"

"He came to the side door," explained Dimple. "Those were rolls of paper on his back, Florence, and we got frightened and wouldn't let him in."

"You silly little geese! I see I must not leave you again."

"But everything else was all right," Florence informed her, "only I burned my hand a little. I had almost forgotten it, Dimple."

"Then you don't want me to go away, altogether," said Mrs. Dallas.

"No indeed," said they both, in the most emphatic manner.

"You dearest, loveliest," continued Dimple; "it is too delicious to see you again."

"And I didn't dream about the crazy man after all," said Florence, the next morning.



CHAPTER VIII

Adrift

During this time Mr. Atkinson was not forgotten, and the two little girls spent many a happy morning in his beautiful garden, for even the small house which Mr. Dallas had built for Dimple, was not proof against the attractions Mr. Atkinson's place had to offer. They were careful not to venture beyond bounds, and kept in the walks and on the porches, but one hot day they wandered down to where a fence marked the limits of the place in that direction. Then came a steep bank sloping down to Big Run which, a little further on, emptied into the river.

It was a wild, romantic spot and full of charm for the two little girls whose fancies pictured all sorts of possible things. The hollows, in the scraggy willows bending over the stream, might be the hiding-places of nymphs or fairies; yonder soft sward dotted with buttercups and daisies, might be the favorite spot for a midnight revel; among those rocks queer little gnomes might live. Florence was especially struck with it all. She had never been quite so near to such a picturesque spot, and now nothing would do but that they should climb the fence and explore further.

"There isn't a soul anywhere to be seen," said Florence, "and it will be perfectly safe."

"Suppose we should meet a fierce dog," Dimple, a little more cautious, suggested.

"Oh, no, we're not likely to at all. Dogs are not going to such a place as that, at least, I don't think so. It would be perfectly fine to go out on one of those willow trees, and hang our feet over the water."

"Suppose we should slip and fall in."

"Oh, we'll be careful; besides the branches of the trees hang so far over the stream that we couldn't fall very far, anyhow, and it is very shallow there. We'll only get a wetting and it's such a hot day I shouldn't mind if we did. If we should sit there very quietly we might see fairies."

"Do you believe there are fairies, really?"

"Why, yes,—I'm not sure. There may be, you know. Wouldn't it be funny to see a tiny little being, in a red cloak or a spun-silver robe, come out from the hollow of a tree and say, 'Maiden, your wish shall be granted'?"

"What wish?"

"Any wish we happen to be making at the time. Come on, Dimple, I am just crazy to go." And Florence put her foot on the fence and was soon over, Dimple following.

It was not so easy as it seemed, to get out on the trees, and they decided not to attempt it, but thought they would wander along the brink of the stream, and in doing this they discovered all sorts of wonderful things in what Florence called the Fairy Dell: moss-grown rocks from which sprung tiny bell-shaped flowers; a circle of wee pink toadstools, which indeed seemed fit for the elfin folk; a wild grapevine with a most delightfully arranged swing on which the two girls "teetered" away in great joy; shining pebbles, bits of rose-colored quartz, a forest of plumy ferns, and all such like things, over which the city child exclaimed and marveled.

At last they were obliged to cross a little bridge, for the bank became higher and higher on that side, and a little further walking showed them the river.

"Oh!" Florence exclaimed. "Isn't this fine? I wish we could go out rowing. See those girls over there by that funny flat sort of boat. They are going to get on it. Come, let us go down and watch them."

They clambered down and were soon on the brink of the river. Two or three girls, much older than Dimple and Florence, were pulling a small flat barge up on the sands. One of the girls recognized Dimple. "Hallo, Eleanor," she cried. "Where did you come from? Don't you want to get on with us?"

"Oh, do let us," whispered Florence.

"Are you going out on the river?" asked Dimple.

"No, we are only going to get on this flat boat, and sit here where we can get the breeze, and maybe we will fish. We brought some tackle along with us. Come, give me your hand. There, you are landed. Come, little girl, there is plenty of room." She held out her hand to Florence, who eagerly accepted the invitation, and was soon by her cousin's side.

"Isn't it nice?" said Dimple.

"Fine," Florence responded, heartily, as she sat down in the bottom of the boat.

"It's rather sunny, though," Dimple remarked.

"Oh, you mustn't mind that. We're going to fish. Don't you want to try your luck?"

Dimple looked rather disgustedly at the can of angle-worms and decided that she would look on.

"What are you going to do, Libbie?" Dimple's acquaintance inquired of one of the other girls.

"I'm going to try to get the boat out where it will float. It's such fun to have it bob up and down," replied the girl addressed. She had a long pole and was pushing the boat off from the shore. It was fastened to a stake, so it could only career around a little, and Dimple's friend Callie Spear assured the little girls that it was perfectly secure, and so they gave themselves up to their enjoyment.

Both Florence and Dimple felt very proud of being invited to join this company of older girls; and, while the latter amused themselves by fishing, the two little ones set afloat small chips, freighted with the daisies they had gathered, and wondered how far they could go before they should upset.

"Wouldn't it be funny if they sailed all the way to the ocean and were seen by the people on one of the big steamers. They would wonder how in the world the daisy people got out so far." Florence said this as she was watching a chip rapidly drifting down stream. Suddenly she became aware that the shore was further away than she supposed, and she cried, "Oh, how wide the water is! See how far it is to the shore."

The other girls looked up, startled, and to their dismay discovered that their boat had slipped its moorings and was fast drifting down the river, nearer and nearer to the current of midstream. They looked at each other with scared faces, but they did not want to alarm the little girls, and so Callie said, with a forced laugh: "Oh, that's all right. We'll get in easily enough. Some one will see us from the shore, or a boat will come along that can tow us in. It's rather fun to have a little adventure." However, she eagerly scanned the shore and the water; but no help seemed to be near, and the boat was drifting on and on.

Dimple realized that they were moving further and further away from home, as she saw the objects on the shore grow smaller and smaller. The big tears began to gather in her eyes.

"Don't cry, dear," said Callie, soothingly. "We'll get home all right."

"But suppose we shouldn't. Suppose we should drift on and on down to where the steamboats come up, and we should keep going till it got dark, and nobody should see us, and we should get run into and drowned. Oh dear! I want my mamma, and my papa."

Florence took alarm at this, and, putting her head in Dimple's lap, began to cry too.

The older girls were scarcely less frightened, for they knew there was a danger in their reaching the rapids, and in being whirled around between the rocks, when they would be very likely to upset, even in a boat like the one in which they were. They managed, however, to show less fear, in their endeavor to calm the younger children.

"Why, we'll get home long before we reach the steamboats," said Emma Bradford, cheerfully. "Haven't you seen the river in a freshet? and don't you know how it carries all sorts of things along? haystacks, and sheds, and even houses with people in them, I've seen, and they are always rescued."

Libbie Jackson was looking over the side of the boat. "It is very shallow here. We could almost walk ashore," she said.

"We are right over the old ford," said Callie. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and began to tear off the skirt of her frock. As soon as she was freed from it she began to wave it frantically. "I see some one on shore," she exclaimed, excitedly. "All shout as loud as you can, girls;" and across the water rang the shrill cry of "Help! Help! Help!"

The man riding along the shore caught sight of the flapping skirt, of hats waving frantically, and the cry of "help" came faintly to his ears. He stopped his horse and looked around. "Them gals is adrift," he said to himself. "Whatever possessed 'em I don't know, but I reckon I'll have to see if I can't stop 'em."

He rode to the water's edge and looked across. "We're right at the ford," he remarked, as if his horse could understand what he said. "It won't hurt you to go out," he continued. "It's a hot day, and you can get cooled off good." And the girls in the boat were rejoiced to see the horse headed toward them.

"Oh, how lucky that we're at the ford," said Callie, "otherwise the man might not venture. See, Eleanor! See, Florence, he can tow us in. Haul up that bit of rope, girls, while I put on my skirt."

The man was not long in coming alongside. "What happened ye?" he asked. "A lot o' gals like you ain't no business gittin' into such a fix. Whar did ye start from, anyhow? How long ye been driftin'?"

They told him how the trouble had occurred, and he replied with, "Humph! I reckon ye'd better not try that agin. You're a matter o' five mile from home, and the boat don't belong to ye, ye say. How do ye expect to git back? And how are ye going to manage about the boat? Do ye know whose it is?"

"No, but we can find out," said Callie. "What do you think would be the best way to get it home again? Isn't it a dreadful fix to be in? Can you suggest any way to help us?"

"I might take it up for ye to-morrow, maybe, but ye'll have to pay for it."

"How much would you charge us?"

"Lemme see; a couple of dollars."

The girls looked at each other, and held a whispered consultation which resulted in Callie's agreeing to the amount, each girl promising to put in her share.

The boat was easily towed to the shore; but here it was wet and slippery, and it required considerable agility to get ashore without slipping in the soft mud. Every one accomplished it safely but Dimple, whose foot slipped, and over she went, full length into the mire. A sorry sight she was indeed, when she was picked up; plastered from head to foot; face, hands and hair full of the soft ooze. But after she had been scraped off, Callie concluded that it would be better to let the sun dry her well, before attempting to get rid of the rest.

"About this job," said the man, "it's worth somethin', ain't it? It's considerable out of my way, travelin' to the middle of the river; besides I've got to look out for that boat, that nobody don't steal it."

"How much do you expect?" asked Callie, meekly. This was getting more and more serious.

"A couple of dollars ain't much when ye consider there's five of ye, and if I hadn't stopped ye, ye'd be goin' yet. My name's Bill Hart, and any one'll tell you I'm safe. Ye needn't be afraid but what I'll bring back the boat."

"Well, if you will come to my house, you shall have your money," said Callie. "Do you know where Mr. Harley Spear lives?"

"Big white house, left side the main street. Yes, I know. You his gal?"

"I'm his daughter."

"All right. I reckon ye can git home now, can't ye? It's a straight road along the river. I must be gettin' on. I'll fetch the boat back to-morrow."

The girls saw him disappear, and stood, a most subdued little group. Dimple felt herself to be in a very unhappy plight, and dreaded meeting any one. How should she get home through the town without being seen? She looked very miserable and woe-begone as she thought of all this.

"Well, girls, we'll have to be up and doing," said Callie. "We've a five mile walk before us, and it's a pretty hot day, so we'll have to take it slowly. You'll have plenty of time to get dried off, before we get there, Eleanor, so don't look so unhappy, you poor little midget. Think how dreadful it is for me who got you into this scrape. I can never forgive myself for it."

"I'll tell you what let's do," said Libbie. "Let Eleanor take off her frock, and we'll wash it out in the river, and dry it as we go along. We're not likely to meet any one, and it's so hot she'll not take cold going without it. We can hold it out between us as we walk along, so it will dry before we get home, and it will be clean at least."

Dimple was so grateful for this suggestion that she could have hugged Libbie; but she did not know her very well, and only expressed her thanks very fervently. At the first opportunity the frock was washed out, and really looked much better. "I wish I could do my stockings, too," said Dimple, "but I couldn't go barefoot. Mamma wouldn't like me to, although I'd like to." So this part of her dress had to remain as it was, and the girls took up their line of march again.

"I am so thirsty I don't know what to do," said Callie. "If I don't have a drink I'll drop by the way. I hate to think of drinking that warm river water; besides, it isn't so easy to get it."

"There's a spring somewhere further along," said Emma Bradford. "If we can manage to exist till we reach it, we can rest there. We shall be half starved, too, by the time we get home."

"If we only had something to eat we could sit down by the spring till it grew cooler, and we'd have a sort of a picnic. Oh, girls, we left all our fishing tackle in the boat! I never once thought of it."

"Nor I."

"Nor I."

"Perhaps Bill What's-his-name will bring it back when he comes with the boat. We've made a pretty expensive trip of it, as it is, without losing our fishing tackle. Think what that four dollars would buy: such a lot of ice cream and soda water," said Callie.

"Don't mention such things when we are consumed with thirst, and are so warm," said Emma.

"We may have to pay for the use of the boat, too," said Libbie. "I suppose we are out at least a dollar apiece, and maybe more. It will take all my pin money for a month. No more soda water for a while, unless some one treats me."

"I suppose we ought to be thankful to get home at all," Dimple spoke up.

"Yes, when you consider it in that light, we're let off cheaply enough," Callie replied. "Oh, dear, where is that spring?"

"Just beyond that turn," Emma told her. And they toiled on till they reached the spot where the cold water bubbled out from a pebbly hollow under an old tree.

"We must cool off before we drink," Libbie warned them. "We'll bathe our faces and hands, and sit here for a while. We are so overheated we ought not to drink right away."

"It's very hard not to," said Callie, "but I suppose you are right."

"I am as hungry as I am thirsty," Libbie remarked. "If we only had one biscuit apiece, it would be something."

They had refreshed themselves with the cool spring water, and were idly sitting under a tree, when Dimple sprang up, crying, "I see something!" And she scrambled up the bank to a ledge beyond. "Girls! girls! here are lots of huckleberries," she called.

"Are you sure?"

"Certain sure. I wish you'd see. Come up." And they clambered up to the spot to find that she spoke truly: there was a patch of huckleberry bushes full of fruit. They set to work with a will and bore their feast down to the spring, near which they seated themselves on a fallen log.

"Did you ever taste anything so good?" said Emma. "I never care much for huckleberries at home, but I shall never despise them again."

Being refreshed they took up their journey again. Weary and warm they at length reached home, glad indeed to see the familiar streets, shady and quiet.

"I am going to see you safely in your mother's hands," Callie assured Dimple; "for it was my fault that you got into trouble. I had no business to tempt you."

"But you only meant it out of kindness," replied Dimple, appreciatively. "I think you were very good to want us; and it would have been all right if the boat had not floated off that way."

"But we did float off, and I want to explain matters to your mother."

"I'll give you the dollar I have in my bank," said Dimple.

"No, wait till we find out about the other man; the one who owns the boat. When he understands that we didn't mean any harm, and that it was an accident, perhaps he won't charge for the boat, and then we'll only have to pay eighty cents apiece. I don't want to take any money of yours if I can help it."

"Oh, but you must. I'm sure mamma will say so."

"Well, we'll see. Just look how nicely your frock has dried. It doesn't look bad at all. A little limp maybe, but it's better that than muddy. I hope your mamma isn't very much worried. I don't believe it is so late after all." And although it seemed to Dimple that she had been days away from home, she was surprised to find that it was only about four o'clock, when hot and hungry they arrived at home.

Callie made her excuses and apologies as contritely as possible, and Mrs. Dallas was so relieved to find that nothing worse had happened, that she said very little in the way of reproof to the two runaways.

"You must never go down to the river again, my children," she said; "that is, unless papa or I, or some trustworthy person is with you. I should have forbidden you to go this time, but you have never ventured there before."

"I know, mamma," replied Dimple, "but it was so easy getting there from Mr. Atkinson's place, that we were there before we knew it. Was it 'Didn't think,' mamma?"

"Not exactly. I suppose you hardly realized that you were doing wrong since there were older girls with you, and it was more of an accident than actual wrongdoing. I think we shall have to keep you at home hereafter, for it seems very easy for little folks to get into trouble when they are away from their mothers. You have your own garden and your own little house to play in, so I think we must set the bounds there, and only allow you to go outside our premises by special invitation."

"Not even to Mr. Atkinson's?"

"No, I think not, dear. It is safer for you at home. Mamma has been greatly worried and distressed, and I am sure you do not want her to pass through such an anxious time again. It is for mamma's sake, dear, as well as your own, that she keeps you close to her. Suppose you had fallen overboard." She drew the child nearer to her, while her eyes grew moist at the thought.

"Dear, dear mamma, I'll never go away again without your leave. I don't want to make you unhappy, mamma. I do love you."

"I know you do, darling; but little girls sometimes forget that it is more by the doing than by the saying that their mothers are made aware of their love. You know papa always tells you that if you really love your parents, you will do the things that please them, otherwise, no matter how much you say 'I love you,' it doesn't mean anything."

Dimple looked very sober, and Florence, too, listened to all this with a very grave face. It had really been a very trying day for the two little cousins, and now that they were safe, they realized how uncomfortable it had been. Therefore, from that time there never was a question of their going outside the gate without permission, and Mr. Atkinson's place was no longer visited unless by his express invitation on Saturday afternoons.

"I feel as if I had been sort of ungrateful," said Dimple, the next day after their rescue. "I just love my home, Florence, and somehow I don't feel a bit bad about not going to Mr. Atkinson's. I believe I know exactly how the little birdies feel when they get back to the nest, after they have been trying to fly. I hope I shall never go so far away again, until I am much older." And the two returned contentedly to their old playground, only too glad to feel the security of familiar sights and sounds.



CHAPTER IX

Down Town

"Don't you want to go down town for me, girls?" said Mrs. Dallas, one pleasant morning. "I can't send Bubbles very well."

"Oh, yes," said Dimple. "What are we to get?"

"Several things," replied her mother. "Go and get ready and I will tell you."

"May we take Celestine and Rubina?" asked Florence.

"I don't think I would, for you will have packages, and they will be in the way."

"Don't let's take them anyhow, Florence," said Dimple. "I was thinking this morning that their frocks are too thick for summer." So they ran off to get ready.

"Now," said Mrs. Dallas, as they came back, "I want you to go to Fink's and get me four yards of trimming like this sample; if they haven't exactly like it, the nearest will do. Then I want you to get me four lemons. You may go to old Mrs. Wills for those, and if she has any fresh eggs you may get a dozen, and—oh, yes, a bottle of vanilla extract. Now don't be too long, for I shall want to use some of the things this morning."

They promised, and went off without delay. It was a pleasant July morning, and they started gaily down the street, which was shaded by trees and bordered on each side by pretty cottages, with gardens in front.

"There is Mrs. Brown," said Dimple; "let's cross over, Florence, she will be sure to stop us if we don't."

"Who is Mrs. Brown?" asked Florence.

"Oh, she's a woman," returned Dimple. "I suppose she is very nice, but she is so solemn, and is always telling me that she hopes I will grow up to be a comfort to my mother and not a care and burden; and she always says it as if there wasn't the least doubt but that I would be a care and a burden, and I don't like her. Do you know mamma and Mrs. Hardy have been friends for over twenty years, and mamma is Rock's godmother?"

"How do you know?"

"Mamma told me. I asked her how she came to know Rock's mother, and she said she used to know her when she was a little girl like me—and when they were young ladies they were great friends. Then mamma was married and came here, and Rock's mother was married and went to California. When her husband died she came back to Baltimore to live. Here is Fink's; we have to go in here."

This was the largest dry goods shop in the town, and the clerks all knew Dimple.

"What can we do for you this morning, Miss Dallas?" said one of them, leaning over the counter.

"Mamma wants four yards of this trimming," said Dimple, holding out her sample.

The man took it, turned it over to examine both sides, and took down a box.

"Four yards, did you say?"

"Yes," said Dimple.

He measured it off, saying, "Don't you want some cards? We have some just in with a lot of goods."

"I would rather have a box," said Dimple; "for I have a new doll, and I want it to put her sashes in."

"You don't object to having both, do you?" said he. "Suppose I put the cards in the box. How would that do?"

"Oh, that would be very nice," said Dimple; "you are very kind."

As he went off, she turned to Florence and said in a low tone, "I didn't like to ask him for two boxes, but I will give you the cards."

"No matter," said Florence. "I don't care very much for a box."

However, when the man returned he had two boxes with four pretty cards in each.

"Thank you so much," said the girls, highly pleased.

"He is a real nice man," said Florence, when they were in the street. "I didn't believe he would think of me."

"Yes, I think he is nice," said Dimple; "besides he has known me ever since I was a baby; he mightn't be so nice to a stranger."

They next came to a little low brown building with one window. As they went in at the door, a small bell over it tinkled and a voice said, "In a minute."

While they waited they looked about the shop, which was quite a curiosity to Florence. In the window were jars of candy, red and white, gingerbread horses, shoestrings, oranges, lemons, and dolls strung along in a line, the largest in the middle and the smallest at each end; besides these there were tops, whistles, writing paper, pencils, scrap pictures, and a variety of other things, all jumbled up together. Inside, the glass case and the shelves were full, and from the ceiling hung rolls of cotton in tissue paper, toy wagons, jumping-jacks and hoops.

"What a funny place," whispered Florence; but just then a funnier old woman came in. Her face looked like a withered apple, it was so wrinkled and rosy; her eyes were bright and her grey hair was combed back under a high white cap. As she came behind the counter, Florence saw that one of her hands was very much scarred, and the fingers bent. She wondered what had happened to it.

"Well, little Dallas girl, it's you, is it? And how is my pretty with her dimples and curls? Hm! Hm! Hm! The little Dallas girl," said the old woman.

"Mamma wants four lemons, Mrs. Wills," said Dimple.

"Four lemons; four—four—" said the old woman, going to a box and taking them out.

"And she wants to know if you have any fresh eggs?"

"Fresh eggs. Hm! Hm! Fresh eggs. How many? I'll see."

"A dozen if you have them."

"Well, we'll have to go and find them, little girls. Who is the other little girl?"

"My cousin," said Dimple.

"A Dallas?"

"No; her name is Florence Graham."

"Graham, Graham. A Dallas and a Graham. Come you two, then, and we'll see if we can find any eggs."

They followed Mrs. Wills through the back room into the yard. The room they passed through was very clean, and held a stove with a little tin kettle on it, a bed with a patchwork quilt, a shining little table and several chairs with flowers painted on them.

The yard was quite a curiosity, and seemed to be given up entirely to pigeons and chickens, who made a great fuss, flying up on the old woman's shoulder and pecking at her; while an old duck waddled solemnly after, giving a quack once in a while to let them know she was there.

Mrs. Wills took them to the hen-house, and told them where to look for eggs.

As Dimple had been there before, she knew where to look, and they soon made up the dozen.

The old duck followed them into the house, and was waddling after them into the shop, when Mrs. Wills with a "Shoo! Shoo!" drove her out.

"Now, Dallas girl, and Graham girl," said Mrs. Wills, "does the mother need anything else to-day?"

"There was something else," said Dimple, "but I can't think what. Can you, Florence?"

"There were four things, I know," said Florence. "But I don't remember the fourth."

"A—apples, B—brooms, C—crackers, D—dust-pans," went on Mrs. Wills, rapidly, and then paused.

"No; not any of those," said Dimple.

"E—extract," said Mrs. Wills.

"Yes, that's it. You have guessed, Mrs. Wills, vanilla, please."

"E—extract, E—extract," said the old woman, as she hunted in a dark corner.

"And C—cocoanut cakes. Red or white?" she asked, opening the case.

"White," said Dimple. "But Mrs. Wills——"

"Tut! Tut! Don't you say it; don't you say it, or I'll take back my eggs," she said, as she handed each of the children a cake.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wills. When I'm grown-up I'll make you a great big cake and send it to you," said Dimple.

That pleased the old woman mightily, and she nodded good-bye to them, saying, "Lemons, eggs and extract," over and over to herself.

"What a ridiculous old woman!" said Florence. "Is she crazy?"

"No," said Dimple. "But she is queer. She is good, though, and mamma always buys everything from her that she can, and she feels so bad if I don't take the things she offers me that I have to accept them."

"What is the matter with her hand?"

"She burned it trying to save her child from burning."

"Did she save it?"

"No; and that is what makes her so queer. She has never been the same since."

"My! how warm it is getting," said Florence. "I am glad we have broad brimmed hats. Let's hurry home. There is your Mrs. Brown again."

"Oh, dear!" said Dimple. "Let us turn up this street; it is just as near to go home this way." So they turned the corner and reached home before Mrs. Brown knew which way they had gone.

"Suppose we watch Sylvy make cake," said Dimple, when they had delivered their packages. "She always lets me watch her. And then we can scrape the bowl. Don't you like to?"

"I never do at home," said Florence. "Our cook is so cross and mamma does not like me to go into the kitchen."

"My mamma doesn't care; she lets me go whenever I please, and sometimes I help Bubbles clean knives and do such things, so she can get through, and play with me sooner."

"Sylvy, we are coming to watch you make cake; may we?"

"I'm not a carin'!" said Sylvy. "Git 'round on the other side of the table."

"See her break the eggs," said Florence. "Could you do it, Dimple? I'd be sure to get the yolks all mixed with the whites, and she just turns one half into the other as easily."

"I'd be afraid to try," said Dimple; "but when I am a little bigger, I mean to make a cake myself. I believe I could now if I had some one to tell me."

"I wouldn't try just yet," said Sylvy, briskly beating the whites of the eggs to a froth.

"Could you, Sylvy, when you were a little girl?" asked Florence.

"Laws, no. I was nigh as big as I am now, and then I made a poor fist at it," said Sylvy, laughing at the recollection.

"What was the matter?" asked Dimple.

"Too much butter and sugar, and not enough flour; it rose up beautiful at first and then down it went; when I took it out of the oven it was like taffy. I felt plum bad, I tell you; but I did better next time;" so saying, she turned her cake into the pans and giving each of the children a spoon, bade them take the bowl between them out on the steps, and "lick" to their hearts' content.

"You aren't going to make another cake right away, are you, Sylvy?" asked Dimple, looking up from her bowl. "And—oh, Florence, see all those turnovers. Are you really going to make another cake, Sylvy?"

"Yass, miss, some suveral of 'em."

"What for?"

"Yo' ma done tole me to," replied Sylvy, with a smile.

"I'm going to ask her about it. I know she doesn't intend we shall eat them all. Perhaps there is going to be a church supper, or a strawberry festival, or something. Come on, Florence, let's go and see about it." And throwing down their spoons, they went to hunt up Mrs. Dallas.

They found her in the dining-room, making salad dressing, and upon the table was a newly-boiled ham, and a quantity of chopped chicken.

"There, now, mamma is doing something about eating, too," exclaimed Dimple. "I'd just like to know what it is all for. Won't you tell us, mamma? Are you going to have a tea or anything like that?"

"Not exactly like that; but we are going on a picnic."

"Oh! oh! a picnic! Tell us, mamma. Who is going? Are we children to go?"

"Yes. You children, Mrs. Hardy and Rock, the Spears, the Neals, and the Jacksons. Mr. Atkinson, too, I think."

"Which Jacksons?"

"Mr. David Jackson's family. Mr. Atkinson is not sure of being here, but he hopes to be able to get off."

"Oh, good! Tell us some more, mamma."

"We are going to start early to-morrow afternoon, if it is pleasant. We will take supper with us. We are going up the river to the island, and have our meal there."

"Fine! fine! Oh, Florence, you have never been to the island, and it is just lovely there. I think you are very good to let us go, mamma, after our running away in a boat."

"Who ever heard of any one's running away in a boat?" laughed Mrs. Dallas. "Now be good children, and keep out of the way, for Sylvy and I have a lot to do."

"We'll be good as possible, mamma, but just one more question: are you going to take Bubbles?"

"I hadn't thought of it."

"Oh, do, please; she'd be a lot of help, and she'd simply jump out of her skin if she thought she would be allowed to go."

"Then we'd better let her stay in her skin. She would be very uncomfortable without it, even in this warm weather."

"Please, mamma."

Mrs. Dallas considered for a moment, and then said: "Well, yes, upon the whole, I think it would be rather a good plan, but she must not neglect her work to-day. If she gets through all that she has to do by the time we start she may go, but not otherwise. She will have extra work to-day, because Sylvy is more than usually busy."

"May we help her a little bit? We could clean the knives, and shell the peas."

"I think that would be very kind if you did."

"And may we tell her?"

"If you like."

The two little girls ran off to where Bubbles was washing out dish towels by the kitchen door. "Bubbles! Bubbles! You are going on a picnic," cried Dimple.

Bubbles dropped the dish towel she was dousing up and down in the water. "Me, Miss Dimple? Me? Who say so?"

"Mamma. There is to be a picnic to-morrow, and you are to go along with us. Aren't you glad?"

"Hm! Hm! I reckon I is. All dem cakes an' pies an' good eatin's, an' I gwine have some fo' dey gits mashed up an' soft, an' I gwine wait on de ladies and gent'mans. Ain't dat fine?" She gave a twist to her towel and shook it out with a snap. Then she was overtaken by a sudden fear. "Yuh ain't a-foolin' me, is yuh?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a thing. But mamma says you mustn't dawdle to-day. So hurry up and get those towels done. Sylvy is going to be awfully busy, so you'll have to help her, but we're going to clean the knives for you, and shell the peas. Bring them down to the little house; we're going down there. We might set the table, too, Florence."

"Thanky, ma'am, Miss Dimple. Thanky, Miss Flo'ence." Bubbles' face was beaming, and her slim, black legs went scudding into the house with more than their usual agility.

"I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence," said Dimple; "then he can help us to shell the peas, so we can have some time to play. Rock will want to talk over the picnic, and he will want to see how the garden is coming on. I think the pumpkin vine is coming up. I can't tell whether it is that or a weed, but Rock will know."

"Rock always thinks of such nice plays; I hope he will come," returned Florence; and, indeed, they had hardly established themselves on the porch of the little house before the boy's cheery whistle was heard, and the three children, after faithfully fulfilling the promise to Bubbles to relieve her of some of her tasks, determined to invent a new play.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Rock. "We'll dig a cave over here, and we'll pretend a company of bandits live in it, and they will capture one of your dolls. Then we will go to the rescue."

"Who'll be the bandits?"

"Why, let me see. We'll take sticks of wood; little branches with two prongs, like this; they make the legs, you see; and then we'll stick on something round for the heads, turnips or onions or something like that."

"There aren't any turnips this time of year," returned Dimple, "and onions smell so strong. We can get potatoes, though, and they have eyes, so I should think they would make very good heads."

Rock laughed. "So they will."

"I'll go and see if mamma will let me have—how many?"

"Oh, half a dozen or so."

Dimple started for the house; then suddenly remembered that she had promised not to bother her mother, and she stood still for a moment. But the idea of the bandits was too alluring, and so she proceeded to the house, putting her head timidly in at the dining-room door, where her mother was still busy.

"Mamma," she said, "are potatoes very expensive?"

"No, not very. What a funny question. Did you come all the way in here to ask that?"

"No, mamma, not exactly; but do they cost too much for you to give us half a dozen for our bandits?"

"For your bandits! What do you mean?"

"Why, we are going to have a lovely play—Rock made it up—and we can't have any bandits unless we have heads for them, and I said potatoes would do, because they have eyes. May we have half a dozen?"

Mrs. Dallas smiled. "Yes, but you must not ask Sylvy or Bubbles to get them for you."

"I'll get them if you will tell me where they are."

"They are down in the cellar. Please, Dimple, don't bother me again. Try to play without coming up after things all the time."

"Yes, mamma," Dimple replied, very meekly. "I wouldn't have come this time if it had been for anything but the bandits."

Mrs. Dallas let her go, and then called her back, for she had seen a little wistful look in the child's face when her mother spoke shortly. "Come, kiss me, dear," she said. "I want you to know that you are quite welcome to the potatoes. They will make very inexpensive and harmless playthings, and I hope your bandits will turn out just as you want them to."

Dimple gave her a grateful hug.

"You may stop in the kitchen and get a turnover apiece for you three children. Tell Sylvy I said you might."

"Oh, mamma, how dear you are," and the happy little face disappeared.

The six potato-headed bandits proved most venturesome creatures, and kept their captive safe from her would-be rescuers, till she was redeemed by the payment of a hundred pieces of gold, represented by buttercup petals, and the morning passed so quickly that the children could scarcely believe it, when Bubbles came—as they had told her to do—to tell them it was time to set the dinner-table.

"Shall I fill up the cave?" Rock asked.

"Oh no, we might want to use it again," Dimple decided. "That was such a lovely, exciting play, Rock."

"Then we'd better cover up the cave. Some one might step in it, and get hurt."

After hunting around, an old battered tin pan was found, which was laid over the entrance, but, alas! it was not proof against Bubbles' unfairy-like tread, for she stepped on it that very evening, and down she went, but, as luck had it, she did nothing worse than scratch her toes upon the very rough body of the bandit chief; although, be it confessed, he fared worse by the encounter than she did, for he had both legs broken beyond hope of saving. The next morning he was carefully carried away to a hospital and devotedly nursed by one of Dimple's dolls; but he never recovered, though he lingered for several days. His funeral was quite a magnificent affair, and he was buried with proper ceremonies under the very tree upon which he originally grew.



CHAPTER X

The Picnic

The children awoke on the morning of the day set for the picnic, to view, with anxious eyes, a grey sky.

"Oh, if it should rain, wouldn't it be just too bad for anything," said Florence. "I should be so dreadfully disappointed, shouldn't you, Dimple?"

"Yes, I am afraid so," returned Dimple, despondently, watching the smoke rising from a distant chimney. Then more cheerfully, "See Florence, I don't believe it will rain, for that smoke is going straight up. You know that is a sign it is going to clear. Maybe it is only misty and not cloudy."

This it proved to be, for, as the day advanced, the sun came out and it was as beautiful an afternoon as one could wish to see. Therefore very gaily they started forth to meet the rest of the party down at the river's brink.

"Oh, there's Mr. Atkinson," cried Dimple, catching sight of this gentleman's pleasant face, "I am so glad he could come. I wonder if he sees us. I hope we can go in his boat, don't you, Florence?"

"Yes, indeed, I do. He sees us. He is waving his hat."

The two little girls ran forward and to their satisfaction were helped into Mr. Atkinson's boat with Mr. and Mrs. Dallas and Bubbles as fellow-passengers, Bubbles grinning from ear to ear and looking very spick and span in a clean pink calico frock and a white apron. A string of blue beads adorned her neck; she had added it as a finishing touch to her toilet.

The boats pushed off and, after an hour's rowing, the party of picnickers landed at a pretty little island in the river. It was covered with trees and underbrush, but not so densely as to prevent their finding a space big enough for a camping ground where they could build a fire and spread their supper.

Most of the party preferred to go out on the river to fish, for some fine black bass could be caught here. Dimple, however, preferred to stay behind with Mrs. Dallas and one or two of the other ladies, even though Mr. Atkinson said he would bait her hook for her, and would lend her his finest line and reel.

"I feel so sorry for the poor little earth worms, first, and for the fish afterward, that I don't believe I should enjoy it," Dimple said, seriously.

"But you can eat a piece of bass after it is cooked, can't you?" Mr. Atkinson returned, smiling.

"Yes, if I don't see him caught."

"Your little girl reminds me of those very tender-hearted children, who, when they saw the picture of the Christian martyrs, were overcome with pity, not for the martyrs, no indeed, but because there was one poor dear lion that hadn't any martyr to eat," Mr. Atkinson said to Mr. Dallas.

"That was a little extreme, I admit," returned Mr. Dallas, laughing, "but we do try to cultivate a humane spirit in our little daughter, and you may be sure she will never wear a stuffed bird in her hat when she grows older."

Mr. Atkinson nodded in approval. "I'm glad of that," he returned, "and I must say I think useless sport is wicked, but when one wants fish for food, I think he may be excused the catching. And so, Dimple, it resolves itself into your going without the fish or the fishing, does it?"

Dimple nodded. She didn't exactly understand, but she supposed he meant that if she wanted the fish for supper, she'd better remain where she could not see them caught.

Florence, however, had less compunction, and consented to go out in the boat, though she wasn't sure whether or not she should want to catch any fish. But Rock, like most boys, was very eager for the sport, and hoped he would be able to catch the first fish, and also wanted it to be the biggest caught.

"May Bubbles and I go anywhere on the island that we want?" Dimple asked her mother, after they had watched the boats start off.

Mrs. Dallas, with Mrs. Hardy's help, was putting up a hammock between two of the big trees. "I think it will be perfectly safe," she replied, after a moment's thought. "The island isn't very big, and you will not go too near the water's edge, will you? I can see you from here—I suppose in whatever direction you go."

"I will keep away from the water, mamma, although I should dearly like to paddle about."

"You can take off your shoes and stockings and paddle right here on this bit of shore when you come back from your exploring trip. I can watch you then, and shall feel perfectly easy about you."

"Where are the lunch baskets, mamma?"

"Over there behind that tree."

"What is that covered up with that grey blanket?"

"Something Mr. Atkinson brought."

"I didn't see it in our boat. May I peep at it?"

"No, dear, I think I wouldn't. It isn't just the thing to indulge one's curiosity about such matters. Mr. Atkinson had it sent up here, and as he meant it as a sort of a little secret for you children, it wouldn't be polite to try to find it out."

So Dimple with her little maid, walked away, not, however, without several backward looks at the grey blanket.

There was not very much to see on the island, after all, for it was a small place, and the most interesting discovery they made was a pile of big rocks at the upper end of the narrow strip of land. Here they established themselves to watch the boats and the fishers.

"I think Rock has caught a fish," exclaimed Dimple, when she had been watching for some time. "See, Bubbles, he is hauling in his line as fast as he can. There goes the reel again. Oh, I hope if he must catch them, that he will catch big ones. See that lovely red flower growing down there between the rocks. I wish you would get it for me, Bubbles, and then we will go back to where mamma is. I am as hungry as I don't know what, and I want to ask mamma for a turnover or a biscuit or something. Get me the flower, Bubbles, and I'll watch to see if Rock really did catch a fish."

Bubbles promptly obeyed, but she had just stooped to pick the flower when she heard a piercing shriek from Dimple. Mrs. Dallas heard it, too, and came running in the greatest alarm, to find, when she reached the spot, Dimple almost paralyzed with fright, continuing her screams, while Bubbles, dancing about, getting more and more excited every minute, was valiantly hurling pieces of rock at a large black snake.

"Hyar come anudder," she cried, as a stone went flying through the air. "Take dat. Hit yuh, didn't it? Skeer Miss Dimple outen her senses, will yuh? Yuh gre't, ugly black crittur!" and rock after rock came with such force and precision that the unfortunate snake, in a few minutes, was "daid as a do' nail," as Bubbles expressed it.

Dimple clung to her mother, trembling with fright, even after the snake was killed.

"Is it dead, really dead? Oh, Bubbles!" she quavered. "What would I have done if you hadn't been so brave?"

Bubbles laughed. "Dat wan't no snake to pison yuh," she said. "It couldn't hurt yuh. All it could do was to race yuh."

"Don't talk about it," said Dimple, shuddering. "Do let us leave it, and go back."

But Bubbles was too proud of her performance to allow it to be set aside; so she picked up the snake, and started to carry it back on a forked stick.

On the way, however, she too fell into a fright at sight of an innocent little land terrapin traveling along with his house on his back. "Don't tech it, don't, Miss Dimple," she cried in terror. "Dey has de evilest eyes. I wouldn't tech one fer nothin'."

"But you aren't afraid of snakes," replied Dimple, "and these little terrapins are much more harmless." Nevertheless Bubbles had in some way acquired a superstition about "Bre'r Tarrapin," from Sylvy, who, like most colored people, stood in terror of the innocent creatures.

But when the boats returned, the big snake, hanging over the limb of a tree, was triumphantly displayed and attested to Bubbles' courage; so that she was made very proud by the praise she received for having killed it, Dimple generously refraining from saying anything about the terrapin.

Although Rock did not catch the first fish, he caught the biggest one, and was quite proud of it.

There was a fire built, and the fish, nicely cleaned, were cooked over the coals. Florence thought all this delightful. She had never enjoyed such an experience, and watched the proceedings with the greatest pleasure. Every one was ready to enjoy the supper when it was prepared, saying that fish never tasted so good, and that the coffee, made in a very ordinary tin coffee-pot, could not be improved.