"Jane!"

"Yes ma-am."

"Are you going to ask God to forgive you?"

The child studied a moment then replied shortly.

"No."

"What—come here!"

Chicken Little turned and looked at her mother, then came slowly back.

"Did you understand my question?"

"Yes ma-am."

"What did you mean by saying no?"

Chicken Little swallowed hard to keep up her courage.

"'Cause I ain't."

"Ain't what?"

"Ain't sorry I spoiled the hair ribbons—I don't see any use in being sorry if I've got to stay away from Katy and Gertie a whole week. I guess you wouldn't be sorry if somebody shut you up for a week—you'd be mad!" And Chicken Little, despite several valiant swallows, burst into a flood of tears.



CHAPTER VI

THE WEDDING

Chicken Little scarcely saw her mother for the next three weeks. Mrs. Morton seemed to be always shopping or calling or doing something so important that she could not be interrupted. She held long conferences with Dr. Morton and Frank. On these occasions Chicken Little was sure to be sent out of the room, and the child began to wonder what was going on. She consoled herself by talking it over with Alice.

"What do you suppose they're all fussing about, Alice?"

Alice smiled.

"Secrets, of course."

"Do you know, Alice?"

"A little."

"Please tell me."

"I can't, but your mother will pretty soon. It's something very nice and exciting, and you're going to be in it."

"Oh, Alice, I just can't wait! Pretty please tell me."

"Promised your mother I wouldn't tell a soul. You won't have to wait long, dear, so be a good child and don't tease. Here's a cooky for you."

Alice patted the rough brown head lovingly.

During the next week excitement lurked around every corner in the Morton home. Mrs. Morton was having a wonderful ashes-of-roses silk dress made. Chicken Little found Alice concocting a huge fruit cake with a perfect marvel of white frosting, and this was promptly stowed away in the big tin cake box and labelled "Hands Off." Not so much as a bite was permitted to any member of the family.

Jane came into the room unnoticed one day in time to hear her mother say to Frank: "Of course, the house is from both of us, but I want to give you something all by myself, and I think I will make it a silver water set."

This was too much for Chicken Little. Why should her father be giving brother Frank a house? Wasn't he going to live with them any more? She decided to go and talk the mystery over with Katy, but her mother saw her and called her back.

"I've something very nice to tell you, little daughter, but we want to keep it a secret for a week or two yet, so you must promise Mother not to tell anybody till Mother gives you permission."

Chicken Little nodded eagerly.

"Your brother Frank is going to be married, dear, early in November, to lovely Marian Gates—they are going to live near us over on Front Street. Your father has given them that pretty cottage next to Darts'. You have always wanted a sister—now you will have one. Won't that be nice?"

Chicken Little was too astonished to answer and her mother continued: "I am going to take you over to see Marian tomorrow afternoon and you must be a little lady so brother Frank will be proud of his little sister."

Chicken Little was so absorbed with the main idea that the hated "little lady" passed unnoticed. When her mother had finished telling her some of the details about the wedding, which was to be a quiet one at Marian's home, she went off to school in a maze of wonderment. She had never seen a wedding. She knew vaguely that people always got new clothes for such occasions and that the minister always seemed to be present.

Her lessons suffered sadly from her excitement. She got wrong answers to four of her ten examples. When her teacher asked her for the second time where New York was situated, she answered confusedly, "Over on Front Street," and was soundly, scolded for her lack of attention.

She relieved her mind of a few questions at noon.

Was the wedding going to be at night? Could she sit up till it was all over? Was Alice going? Were Katy and Gertie going?

General conversation at the dinner table had to be largely suspended till her curiosity was satisfied.

"Well, Miss Interrogation Point," laughed her father when she had finally subsided for a moment, "any other little matters you'd like to know about?"

Chicken Little was too intent on her own ideas to notice his pleasantry.

"Why isn't Alice going?"

"Because she won't be invited, my dear," responded Mrs. Morton shortly.

"Why won't you invite her, Mother?"

"My dear, I do not do the inviting. Marian and her mother will attend to that part. Besides, my child, it is hardly customary to send wedding cards to hired girls. I may offer Alice's services to Mrs. Gates to help in the kitchen."

Chicken Little finished her apple dumpling in silence and her mother supposed she was satisfied.

She took up the question with Alice when she came home from school that afternoon.

"I wisht you were going, Alice."

"I wish I were, Chicken Little. Your mother suggested that I might go and help, but I used to play with Marian Gates when I was a little girl and I couldn't bear to go there as a servant. I would like to see your brother married—and Marian, too."

After her talk with Alice, Chicken Little started over to Halford's feeling very important but vowed to silence. Alice cautioned her as she went out the back door, "Don't tell Katy and Gertie, Chicken Little."

She rather resented this. She was resolved to die rather than tell anyone—as if she couldn't keep a secret!

But her reception was certainly disconcerting. Katy and Gertie met her at the gate, bubbling with information and determined to get all the facts they didn't know.

"Say, Jane, your brother's going to be married isn't he?" questioned Katy, and Gertie added:

"The wedding's in November isn't it? And he's going to marry Marian Gates and she's to have a white silk dress. I heard your mother tell Mamma this afternoon when I came home from school."

How could a ten year old maiden already full to bursting with a secret withstand such an attack?

Jane hesitated, got red in the face and tried to pretend not to know anything about it, but sharp little Katy had it all out of her in no time, and the deed once done Jane joyfully volunteered a few facts on her own account.

"I'm going, and I'm going to have some white shoes and a pale blue silk poplin dress with lots of little ruffles all up and down in hills—you know," and Jane danced about on her tip-toes boastfully to be recalled promptly to earth by Katy.

"Your mother didn't want you to tell, did she? Gee, I bet she'll be mad!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Chicken Little conscience-stricken, "you mustn't ever tell!"

"Well, I just guess I knew it before you told me, Jane Morton, and I guess I didn't promise anybody I wouldn't tell. 'Sides, everybody that's got eyes knows it. I've seen your brother out riding with her heaps of times."

"She's got be-utiful clothes," said Gertie, "and her sister May says her hair reaches most down to her knees and it's just as thick as——"

"Yes," interrupted Katy, "and I guess you'll have to like Jennie Gates whether you want to or not 'cause she'll be a kind of a sister, too."

"She won't either!" denied Chicken Little hotly. "Mother said just Marian, and she's lovely—so there!"

"Isn't it funny her name will be Marian Morton now instead of Marian Gates," replied Katy, satisfied with the commotion she had caused and wishing to give a new turn to the conversation.

This was a new thought to Chicken Little and she paused to ponder over it. Of course her mother's name was Morton the same as her father's, but then she supposed it had always been Morton. That night when she went home she astounded her mother by asking why Frank's name wouldn't be Frank Gates if Marian was to be Marian Morton. She also made her big brother's face flush by asking if Marian's red hair really truly came below her knees.

"Why, little Sis, I don't know. It looks as if it did."

Jane looked forward to the call on the new sister with mingled dread and delight. She drove off in state beside her mother proudly arrayed in her best red merino dress and little brown furs, and firmly resolved to put prejudice aside for once and be a little lady.

Her awe of this new sister was so great that she followed her mother into the Gates' parlor in such a condition of stage fright that she resembled a jointed doll more than an active child. She extended her small hand stiffly to the tall girl in blue who bent to greet her. But the new sister had heard too much of Chicken Little to stand on ceremony, and putting both arms around her, kissed her twice, once between the wondering eyes and once on her prim little mouth.

The child's heart was captured immediately and she joyfully cuddled up close to this new relative, who drew her with her to a big chair relieving her own nervousness, at this interview with dignified Mrs. Morton, by petting Chicken Little.

Marian Gates soon noticed that Jane seemed specially interested in her hair. She detected small fingers feeling it cautiously and saw Mrs. Morton shake her head. Finally, Chicken Little reached up and whispered something. Marian laughed and nodded, then turning to Mrs. Morton explained: "She wants me to take my hair down."

Mrs. Morton protested but Marian bent her head and told Jane to pull out the pins. The child's fingers trembled and she touched the soft dark masses almost reverently.

When the last pin was out and the hair tumbled a shimmering cloud over Marian's shoulders, over the chair arms, and on down to the floor, Mrs. Morton exclaimed in admiration and Chicken Little stood spellbound. Marian, blushing, got to her feet.

"There's really too much," she apologized. "It's hard to do anything with."

Chicken Little stepped forward fascinated, slipping her fingers among the shining strands.

"It is"—she gasped finally, "it is—clear below your knees—and it's real!"

She could hardly wait to get home and assure brother Frank of the miraculous fact. He seemed deeply interested. When he went to see Marian that evening he remarked:

"Why this unfair discrimination? Don't you love me as well as you do Jane?"

And blushing Marian displayed her wealth of hair to a second audience no less admiring than the first.

It seemed to Chicken Little that the day of the wedding would never come. She bubbled about it till each individual member of the Morton family, including the sympathetic Alice, wished she hadn't been told. Ernest, who was secretly almost as excited as Jane, though he considered it the manly thing to pretend that he wasn't, listened eagerly to all her facts, but got tired of her questions.

"Girls and women are always fussing about clothes. Mother says I've got to wear a stiff collar," he complained. "Anyway, I hope they'll have a lot to eat."

"Oh, I know they will," said Chicken Little. "Jennie Gates said they were cooking and packing all the time at her house this week. She says Frank gave her a quarter. I wish he'd give me a quarter."

"Ah, he's just makin' up with Marian's family. You don't have to be paid to like Marian—you think she's the only person on the earth now."

As the wedding day approached, Chicken Little became more and more concerned about Alice's being left at home. She broached the subject to her mother again but was dismissed with a curt:

"It is impossible, my dear. I gave Alice the opportunity to be present and she refused. I fear she is getting notions very much above her position."

The child was not content. She decided to tackle her brother Frank. She met him at the front gate one evening about three days before the wedding, and poured out her tale of woe. Frank considered, then patted her on the head and promised to talk it over with Marian.

The next day Miss Alice Fletcher received an engraved card requesting the pleasure of her company at the Gates-Morton nuptials. The tears stood in Alice's eyes as she read it. "How dear of Marian!" she exclaimed.

Mrs. Morton had felt distinctly displeased at the arrival of the card, but the sight of the girl's tears disarmed her. Instead of discouraging Alice from attending the wedding as she at first intended, she turned in and helped her arrange a dress for the occasion. She did, however, ask Chicken Little somewhat sternly if she had teased Marian to invite Alice.

The long parlors of the Gates home were fragrant with evergreen and hot-house flowers that wedding night when the Morton family arrived. Chicken Little had seen her brother's trunk start for the station, and had admired his silk hat and white gloves as the hack called for him before the rest of the family were ready. She had promised Katy and Gertie to bring them a lot of wedding cake and to remember every single thing to tell them, but especially to find out whether Marian was dressed properly as a bride should be in "something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue." Katy had discovered that this was absolutely necessary to a bride's future happiness.

The something new was very apparent as Marian and Frank walked slowly down the long room between the lines of friends and relatives to the little bower where the minister stood waiting for them. Marian was all in shimmering silken white, but she wore no veil, and her glorious hair crowned a very sweet and earnest face. She carried a quaint little bouquet of pale tea roses and heliotrope framed formally in lacy white paper, and an exquisite lace handkerchief, whose slightly yellowed border betrayed that it was something old, even to Chicken Little's childish eyes.

Frank held his head high and clasped Marian's arm close as if he were a little afraid she might vanish at the last moment. Jane noticed that there were tears in her mother's eyes and in Marian's father's and she felt worried lest it was because Marian had forgotten the "something borrowed" and "something blue." She inspected her carefully the whole length of the parlors, but no hint of anything blue could she detect unless it was the heliotrope in the bouquet, and that she thought was surely lavender. Her mother wore a great deal of lavender. Perhaps, though, the handkerchief had been borrowed.

She forgot her anxiety for a few moments during the hush that attended the solemn rendering of the marriage service. She slipped clear out in front of everybody to see better, but Ernest pulled her back impatiently. When the last words were uttered and the minister extended his hand in congratulation, she slipped quietly around behind the bridal pair, to look Marian over at close range. Her brother caught sight of her.

"Come on, Chicken Little, and kiss your new sister. Why, what a solemn face!"

Marian hugged her up tight and Jane found courage to whisper, "You haven't got anything blue on."

Marian looked puzzled for an instant, then laughed heartily.

"Yes, I have, little sister, but don't you tell—it's a blue garter. And my handkerchief is old and borrowed from my mother. It was her wedding handkerchief—so you see it's all right. I'm glad you wished me to be just right."

"Katy said brides wouldn't be happy if they didn't," explained the child.

"And you wanted me to be happy—bless your heart! I'm going to be the happiest girl in the world and I'm going to love my little new sister very dearly."

The child's heart was rather divided for the remainder of the evening between the desire to stay close to the new sister, and her allegiance to Alice. A glimpse of the latter standing off by herself near a window, decided her. With her usual impetuous movement she made a dash in her direction, bumping smartly into a tall young man who chanced to be in the way.

Mr. Richard Harding looked down at her with a smile.

"Hello, small craft, where are you heading for at such speed?"

Chicken Little returned the smile, rubbing her cheek where it had grazed against his coat button.

"I was just a going to Alice."

"Alice, eh?—You are Frank Morton's little sister aren't you?"

Jane nodded.

"I'm Chicken Little."

"I see, well, Chicken Little, you'll have hard work getting through this crowd—let me help you. Where is Alice?"

Chicken Little pointed.

Alice's simple white swiss dress was outlined very distinctly against a dark red curtain. She looked very lovely as Mr. Harding immediately observed. Her dark hair was coiled low on her neck with two long curls hanging down over one shoulder. Her gray eyes were sweet and wistful as she watched the gay company in which she had so little part. She had tucked a spray of red berries in her hair and another was fastened at her throat with a handsome old cameo brooch.

"So that is Alice. Well, I think I should like to go to Alice myself. Suppose you take me over and introduce me. I'm Dick Harding."

The introduction was adequate if not conventional. One of Chicken Little's hands was slipped confidingly into Dick Harding's by this time, and she promptly tucked the other into Alice's when she reached her. This brought the two very close together indeed and made them laugh.

"Here, Chicken Little, what about that introduction?"

Jane glanced from one face to the other with shy embarrassment.

"This is Alice," she said, looking up at Dick Harding, "and this is Dick Harding, Alice."

"I am delighted to meet you, Miss Alice," Dick said, smiling again.

"Alice Fletcher, Mr. Harding."

Mr. Harding suggested that he should find them seats and bring them some supper. He found an empty sofa and Chicken Little settled down cozily between them. Here she rejoiced in unlimited sandwiches and cake and ice-cream until she suddenly remembered her promise to take Katy some wedding cake and started off on a foraging expedition.

Apparently Dick Harding and Alice did not miss her. They seemed to be having a very jolly half hour together. When Alice rose on the plea of helping Mrs. Morton, Dick Harding detained her to ask if he might come to see her. He was astonished at the confusion his simple request caused. Alice's face flushed, then turned pale, and her hands trembled as she toyed with her handkerchief. It was a full minute before she replied.

"I—I am afraid you don't understand, Mr. Harding. I am Mrs. Morton's hired girl."

Dick Harding had not understood and he was very much surprised, but he was too entirely a gentleman to hurt her by revealing it.

"I should like to come, Miss Fletcher,—if it would not embarrass you," he said warmly.

Alice seemed troubled. She looked up at him, as he stood there regarding her with friendly eyes.

"I'm afraid it would," she answered. "I should love to have you—but—it wouldn't be best—you understand."

"Yes, Miss Fletcher, I do understand, and I honor you for your frankness, but I warn you I don't intend to let our acquaintance drop. Good-night."

Chicken Little's foraging was most successful. She secured enough wedding cake to furnish indigestion and dreams for a family of twelve, not to mention samples of other edibles, but she was horribly afraid her mother would see the bulging package in her coat pocket. It relieved her mind to catch Ernest filling his pockets, too.

"I am just taking a little something to the boys," he apologized rather shame-facedly.

Ernest freed his mind on the subject of weddings the following morning at the breakfast table.

"I shouldn't mind the wedding," he said thoughtfully between mouthfuls of buckwheat cakes and syrup, "but what a man wants a girl tagging round all the time for, I can't see."

Mrs. Morton looked horrified, and the doctor looked up from his paper long enough to ejaculate "What?" Chicken Little took up the cudgels: "I'd like to have Marian round every single minute. I wish she was going to live with us."

"Oh, Marian's all right, but I don't want any girl dearyin' me!" And Ernest relapsed into the buckwheats again.



CHAPTER VII

CHICKEN LITTLE JANE AND DICK HARDING PLAY PROVIDENCE

"Jane," called Mrs. Morton as the child was starting back to school one noon a few days after the wedding, "go by the postoffice on your way home and ask for the mail. There will probably be a letter from Frank or Marian on the afternoon train."

"I will, Mother." Chicken Little called back, but she came near forgetting it because she had something else on her mind. She never could keep two things on her mind at the same time successfully.

Alice had been very sober ever since the wedding. The night before Chicken Little had found her crying.

"It's nothing, dear. I'm just silly enough to be worrying because I can't be somebody," she told Chicken Little. "If I could only find a way to go to school two years so I could teach! I have been thinking of trying to work for my board, but Mary Miller did that and she had to work so hard she didn't have time to study and she got sick. I don't see how I could pay for my books and clothes either. Perhaps Uncle Joseph would lend me the money if I'd write to him—I could pay it back when I got to teaching. But I can't bear to, after the way he treated Mother. She wrote to him when Father died asking him to help settle up Father's affairs. He sent her $500 and said that was all he could do for her—that he couldn't spare the time to come here—she could hire a lawyer. Mother never wrote to him again and we never heard from him afterwards. I've been told he still lives in Cincinnati and is very rich. Oh, dear, if I only could get that bank stock money—I wish Mr. Gasset would hurry up and do something."

Alice poured out her troubles to the child for want of an older listener and Chicken Little sympathized acutely.

She wanted to talk it over with her father but Dr. Morton had been called away some distance into the country to see a patient and had not returned. She relieved her mind to Katy and Gertie on the way to school that morning and they were satisfyingly indignant over Alice's troubles, but had no suggestions to offer.

"Her uncle's an old skinflint—that's what he is. He's awful rich and owns a big stove factory all by himself. Father orders stoves from there. He and Mamma say it's a shame he doesn't do something for Alice when she's his only brother's child."

The matter troubled Jane all day and she was still thinking about it when she started home from school. She was half way home before she remembered about going to the postoffice.

There was a letter from Frank and she was just starting homeward again with it clasped tight in her hand, when someone hailed her.

"Hello, Chicken Little Jane, are you postman today?"

It was Dick Harding.

"Going straight home? I'm going your way then. Here, let me carry your books."

They passed a greenhouse en route and Dick asked Jane if she thought her mother would mind her going in with him a moment.

Chicken Little adored going through the greenhouse. She often stopped outside on her way to school to look at the flowers, but children were not encouraged inside. She wondered what Mr. Harding was going to do with the heliotrope and verbena he was selecting so lavishly. He was having the flowers made into two bouquets, one big and one little. Her curiosity was soon satisfied.

"Will you do something for me, Chicken Little?" he asked, after the stems had been securely wrapped in tinfoil and the bouquets adorned with their circlets of lace paper. "Will you give this to Miss Fletcher with Dick Harding's compliments?" handing her the big one. "And will you please beg Miss Jane Morton to accept this with my best love?" Dick grinned as he presented the tiny cluster with an elaborate bow.

Chicken Little was in raptures but the commission to Alice recalled the latter's troubles. Childlike she unburdened herself to Dick Harding.

She found him a most sympathetic listener.

"Come over here and sit down and tell me all about Alice. I heard something the other day about Gassett and the stock certificates, but I didn't know Miss Fletcher was the heroine."

Chicken Little's account was a trifle disconnected and liberally interspersed with "Alice says" and "Father says," but Dick Harding being a lawyer had no difficulty in arriving at the facts. He was vastly interested and asked many questions.

"This uncle's name is Joseph Fletcher and he owns a factory in Cincinnati? That must be the Fletcher Iron Works."

Dick Harding pondered awhile, whistling softly to himself.

"You say Alice is too proud to write to her uncle because he didn't treat her mother right?"

"Yes, but she wants to go to school awfully—so she can be like other folks." This phrase of Alice's had made a deep impression upon Jane.

"Poor little girl—she's certainly had a rough row to hoe—and all alone in the world, too." Dick was talking to himself rather than to Chicken Little.

He turned to her again presently after another period of meditation.

"Alice certainly deserves better things of the Fates, Jane, and I've been wondering if you and I couldn't find a way to help her out. How would it do for you to write a letter to this Uncle Joseph and tell him about Alice just as you have told me. I expect it would be pretty hard work for a ten year old, but I could help you. What do you say?"

Chicken Little was overawed at the prospect of writing to a strange man, but she was very eager to help Alice.

"Could I write it with a pencil? Mother doesn't like me to use ink 'cause I most always spill it."

"A pencil is just the thing—it will be easier to erase if you get something wrong. But, Chicken Little, I guess this would better be a little secret just between you and me for the present. I'll tell your mother all about it myself some of these days. Do you think you could write the letter and have it ready by tomorrow afternoon? I'll see you after school and take it and mail it—if it's all right."

Chicken Little thought she could. Dick Harding gave her as explicit directions as he dared as to what she should say and what she should not say.

"Remember," he added, "not a word of this to anybody—especially to Alice."

"I've probably got the youngster all mixed up with my fool directions, but I believe she might make an impression on the uncle, if she can only write as she talks. Bless her tender heart. Alice has one loyal friend if she is small," he said to himself, unconsciously echoing Dr. Morton's words.

Jane left Alice's flowers in the entry while she delivered the letter to her mother, but she displayed her own tiny bouquet proudly.

"See what Mr. Harding gave me!"

"Mr. Harding is very kind. Was that what made you so late?"

"Yes, we stopped at the greenhouse to get them only I didn't know he was going to get them—he just asked me did I think you would mind if I went in there with him?"

"Well, that was very nice—run along—I want to read my letter."

Chicken Little hurried away to take Alice her flowers.

"For me—really?" demanded Alice: "Who sent them?"

"He asked me would I give them to you with Dick Harding's compliments."

The telltale "he" brought a flush to Alice's face and the "Dick Harding" deepened it. Alice buried her face in the fragrant posy to hide her embarrassment.

"Did he say anything else, Jane?"

"Yes, he said a lot. He asked me how you were and how Mamma was and if we'd heard from Frank and Marian. He asked a lot about you——" Chicken Little caught herself just in time. "I think he's just beautiful—don't you, Alice? He walked most home with me and carried my books just like I was grown up."

Alice hugged her by way of reply.

"I told him how you always saved the cookies for us and how Ernest said you were a brick and he said Ernest evidently had good taste."

Alice's face took on several expressions during this recital. When the child had finished, she said gravely:

"Jane, will you do me a favor?"

Chicken Little was all attention.

"Please don't say anything to the other children about what Mr. Harding said or about his sending me the flowers—will you?"

Chicken Little readily promised though she looked disappointed. Secrets certainly had their drawbacks.

She put her own flowers in water in one of her mother's best vases, a white hand holding a snowy tulip, and stood off to admire the effect. Then she soberly hunted up a box of tiny, vivid pink note paper, a much treasured possession, and set to work on the fateful letter. She selected the front parlor as the most secluded spot she could find, the front parlor being reserved for visitors and holidays exclusively.

Its quiet this evening was almost oppressive. Jane stared about the room seeking inspiration in vain. The old mahogany chairs upholstered in hair cloth were shinily forbidding. The globes of wax flowers and fruit that adorned two small marble-topped tables, were equally cold. The silver water set suggested ice water, and the "Death of Wesley" which monopolized one wall could hardly be considered cheering. Chicken Little shivered, and taking an ottoman, ensconced herself between the lace curtains at a west window where the late autumn sunshine was still streaming in.

She sucked the end of the lead pencil meditatively.

"Dear Mister Fletcher," she wrote, then paused for ideas. Writing to Uncle Joseph she found was a very different matter from talking to Dick Harding. She was picturing Mr. Fletcher in her mind as a cross between a minister and a tame bear. But Jane had a bulldog grit that carried her over hard places, and she finally achieved a letter.

"I guess you'll be surprised to hear from me but I want you to know bout Alice. Katy says your too stuck up is why you wont do anything for Alice. But I thought mebbe you didn't know how bad she wants to go to school. Alice says if she could go to school for two years she could teach and pay you back. She wants to go to school so she can be like other people stead of being a hired girl. Shes an awful nice hired girl. Mother says so and shes prittiern anybody cept Marian. I love her heaps. Alice says mebbe you would lend her the money only she wont ask you cause you weren't nice to her mother and she got awful hungry sometimes. Please Mister Fletcher let Alice go to school cause she cries when she thinks nobody's looking. She thought mebbe she could get some money for the cestificuts but Mr. Gassett wont do anything.

"Respeckfully, "JANE MORTON.

"P. S. Most everybody calls me Chicken Little. P'r'aps you'd better put it on the letter. "J. M."

It took two entire sheets of the pink note paper to hold this communication. Chicken Little opened and shut her cramped hand regarding it with mingled satisfaction and distrust. She had never written so long a letter before. She went back to the beginning and painstakingly dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's, a detail she had omitted in the first writing. She deliberated for some time over the spelling. The lines, too, ran up and down hill in an undignified manner. But Chicken Little with a regretful sigh over these deficiencies, folded the sheets and put them into the tiny envelope, copying carefully the address Dick Harding had written out for her. Then she consigned the precious missive to the depths of her Geography so she wouldn't forget it on the morrow.

It was duly delivered into Dick Harding's hands, inspected and approved.

"Bravo, Chicken Little, I couldn't have done better myself."

Jane's brown eyes had been fixed wistfully on his face while he read and she wriggled painfully when he smiled once or twice during the perusal.

"I'm 'fraid it's pretty crooked—p'raps I could change the spelling if you'd tell me. I didn't like to ask anybody 'cause they'd want to know what for."

"We won't change a single thing, Chicken Little. See, we are going to seal it right up—and pop—here goes the stamp. This letter shall be on board that seven-thirty train for Cincinnati or my name isn't Dick Harding. And if it doesn't make Mr. Joseph Fletcher do some thinking, why he is a little meaner than most men—that's all."

Affairs in the Morton family went on uneventfully for the next ten days. Chicken Little was busy in school and Mrs. Morton much occupied with preparations for Christmas.

Ernest was full of certain Christmas schemes of his own to the decided detriment of his lessons. He had purchased a scroll saw and patterns, and was firmly resolved to present each individual member of the family with his handiwork. Some of the designs he had selected were exceedingly intricate and hard on the eyes, but he was not to be dissuaded from using them and he toiled away all his spare moments at the fancy brackets and towel rack. He had great difficulty in concealing the various pieces from the persons for whom they were intended. He got so cross about it that it soon became a family habit to cough loudly, before approaching his room on any errand whatsoever.

The little girls soon caught the Christmas fever also. Alice helped Jane with her mother's present, a book-mark on perforated cardboard done in shades of green silk, which Chicken Little regarded as a great work of art. She fussed away happily over it, tormenting Alice all the while with guesses as to what her mother was to give her. She had exploded the Santa Claus fiction two years before.

"Alice, do you s'pose she will get me that wax doll? There's a perfect dear down at Wolf's. It has blue eyes that shut—and real hair—oh, it's just as yellow. I never saw such yellow hair, but Mr. Wolf said it was really hair. Oh, do you think she'll get that for me? Alice, I wish you'd just tell her that's what I want."

A few days later she rushed in pink with excitement.

"Alice, it's gone! Do you s'pose Mother got it? Katy says she thinks Grace Dart's mother bought it for her. I'm going to ask Sherm. Maybe he'd know. Oh, I do hope Mother got it!"

Another source of excitement was the Sunday School cantata to be given Christmas eve, in which Jane and Gertie were both to have the parts of fairies and Sherm a small role. The little girls trotted obediently back and forth to rehearsals, proud to be in it, but Sherm was in open rebellion, the said rehearsals taking away most of his time with the boys. Katy scoffed openly at the fairies, not having been asked to be one herself.

"Pooh, you won't look like fairies if you do have a lot of spangled tarlatan. Fairies are just as tiny and they have weenty mites of feet!" and Katy pointed this last remark by a withering glance at Chicken Little's feet which were beginning to be much too big for the rest of her, and were encased in stout boots with tiny copper rims on the toes which she heartily loathed. Dr. Morton had insisted upon these as being the only proper foot-gear for children in winter, and many were the jibes Jane suffered from her schoolmates because of them. Katy and Gertie wore lovely button boots, shapely if not sensible.

"You don't need to talk, Katy Halford, my feet aren't much bigger than yours, and I'm going to wear my white shoes and Miss Gray said I'd look lovely, so there!"

Katy, who was swinging on the gate looking down on her small sister and Chicken Little on the sidewalk outside, took three entrancing swings before replying:

"Well, maybe, but Miss Gray don't look so awful nice herself and your hair isn't a speck curly and I never did see a fairy with straight hair."

Jane was sure she had, and Gertie said pretend fairies didn't have to be exactly like really fairies, but Jane was troubled and resolved to consult Alice immediately.

Alice guessed Katy had been up to mischief purposely.

"Nonsense, Katy's just talking about the little flower fairies. Get your Grimm and I'll show you all sorts. Of course, fairies are not all alike any more than little girls. I'm sure you and Gertie will make darling fairies, so don't you worry."

But Alice decided to give Katy a lesson, that young lady boasting a year and a half's advantage over Chicken Little and Gertie was rather too fond of lording it over them. She bided her time and did not have long to wait. Katy came over a few days later proud as a peacock over a minute pair of kid gloves, the first she had owned. Jane and Gertie followed, admiring and not a little envious.

"See, Alice," Katy struck an attitude with both hands spread out ostentatiously.

Alice saw and hardened her heart.

"What's the matter with your hands, Katy?"

Katy's face lost its satisfied smirk, but she held her hands for a closer inspection.

"Kid gloves, aren't they scrumptious? Don't you wish you had some, girls? I'd a lot rather have kid gloves than be in your old cantata."

Chicken Little started to protest, but Alice anticipated her.

"They make your hands look awfully big, Katy!"

Katy's face fell. She had lovely tiny hands and was proud of them. She looked anxiously at the gloves then took one off and put the bare hand beside the gloved one, surveying them critically.

"I don't think so," she said pluckily after a moment gulping down her disappointment.

Alice couldn't bear that hurt look in the child's face even in a good cause and speedily relented.

"Neither do I, Katy, those gloves are fine! I was only teasing. But, Katy, that's the way you talked to Jane and Gertie about being fairies. 'Twasn't real kind was it, Katy? You know how it feels yourself now."

Katy didn't say anything but she understood and she remembered. She was a shrewd child and a generous one when her sympathies were aroused.

One morning, a few days later, Alice was dusting the sitting room and talking with Mrs. Morton who was seated by the window sewing. Suddenly Mrs. Morton, glancing up, saw a man entering the front gate.

"Why, I do believe it's Mr. Gassett."

Alice came to the window to verify the fact.

There was no room for doubt. It was Mr. Gassett ponderously climbing the steps of the terrace.

"Dear me," said Mrs. Morton, "I suppose he has come about those papers. I do wish Dr. Morton were here. I never could understand business matters. Go to the door, Alice; he is ringing."

Alice felt a little shaky as she opened the door to confront the family enemy. She was a trifle reassured to discover that Mr. Gassett also looked embarrassed.

"Ah, Alice, how fortunate—you are the very person I wished to see."

"Will you step into the sitting room, Mr. Gassett?"

"Ah—umm, it is hardly worth while. I can explain my errand here."

Mr. Gassett was not eager to encounter any member of the Morton family. But Alice was shrewd enough to realize that it would be just as well to have someone else present at this interview so she politely insisted.

At sight of Mrs. Morton, Mr. Gassett removed his hat, which he seemed previously to have forgotten.

"How do you do, Madam, a beautiful winter day. I am sorry to disturb you—I just had a little matter of business with your servant."

Alice's eyes flashed at the word servant and Mrs. Morton looked annoyed. Despite her firm belief in class distinctions, she had grown fond of Alice and "servant" seemed unnecessarily offensive. She drew herself up coldly.

"Yes, Mr. Gassett?"

Mr. Gassett opened his errand rather haltingly. Mrs. Morton's dignity oppressed him.

He had been told, he said, that some stolen stock certificates had been found with the silver, which he understood Alice was keeping under the mistaken idea that she had some claim to them because her father had not endorsed them over to Mr. Gassett personally. The bank had waited some weeks hoping she would find out her mistake and return them to their rightful owner, himself. She had not done so and it was his painful duty to come and demand his property.

Mr. Gassett shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at Mrs. Morton.

Alice also looked as Mrs. Morton, who motioned her to answer for herself.

"Mr. Gassett, I shall not give up those certificates till you have proved your right to them."

"But, my girl, don't you understand those certificates were stolen from my house? I should think my word would be sufficient," said Mr. Gassett pompously.

"I am not denying they were stolen from your house, Mr. Gassett, but I wish you to explain how my father's certificates came to be in your possession."

"Explain nothing!" Mr. Gassett's temper was rising. "If you knew anything about business you could see that your father had signed away his claim to them by putting his name on the back."

"There is nothing to show that he signed them over to you, Mr. Gassett. My father died believing he owned that stock—he told my mother so. After his death we hunted high and low for it, but it could not be found. My mother asked you if the certificates were in the store safe, but you denied all knowledge of them—yet you had them all the time and they did not appear in the settlement of Father's estate. It looks very queer if they were yours that you did not say so to my mother at the time. No, I shall not give them up until you prove your right to them."

Mr. Gassett's face was a very expressive one. It was red with wrath by the time Alice had finished her little speech.

"Hoighty-toighty, my girl, you'd better think twice before you go to insulting your betters. Your mother's dead and what you remember as a half-grown girl won't go very far in a court of law. Your father made over those certificates to me as security for a debt. It was none of your mother's business whether I had them or not. They were endorsed in blank because he hoped to pay the debt and get them back, I suppose."

"You mean he had paid the debt, but carelessly left those valuable papers in the store safe supposing you were an honest man!"

Alice spoke hastily, scarcely daring to hope herself that she had hit the truth.

If Mr. Gassett's face had been red before, it was purple now. He fairly glared at Alice.

"You shall answer for this, you minx. You'll not find it so pleasant being dragged into court. I'll give you one more chance to hand over those papers peaceably—and if you don't, I'll have the law on you. As for you," including Mrs. Morton in his rage, "I'm surprised that you should encourage your servant to insult a gentleman in your own home."

"This is Alice's affair, Mr. Gassett," replied Mrs. Morton coldly. "She has a perfect right to say what she thinks. I did not arrange to have this interview take place here you will remember."

It was plain to the others that Mrs. Morton was on Alice's side.

This unspoken sympathy acted like a tonic on the girl. She drew herself up in a remarkably good imitation of Mrs. Morton's grand manner.

"I've nothing more to say, Mr. Gassett."

Mr. Gassett did not take the trouble to say good-by. He clapped his hat on his head and banged out the front door.

Mrs. Morton seemed paralyzed with astonishment.

"And he is a member of our church! Alice, I believe you are right—I believe he did steal them. He didn't act like an honest man."

So Alice won one more friend in the Morton family.

They poured the tale into Dr. Morton's ears when he came home to dinner.

"Well, Alice, I'm afraid you have a law suit on your hands. Have you kept your father's papers?"

"Yes, I've got a box full of old letters and papers."

"She'll have to have a lawyer, won't she?" asked Mrs. Morton anxiously.

"Oh, dear, how can I ever pay one?" Alice clasped her hands in despair at this new thought.

"You might get someone to take the case on a contingent fee. You don't understand—do you? Lawyers often take cases for poor clients with the understanding that they are to have part of the money if they win the case, but get no pay if they lose it."

"Oh, that would be fine! Do you suppose I could get somebody that way?"

Chicken Little and Ernest had been interested listeners.

"Dick Harding's a lawyer," observed Ernest.

"He is—and a mighty good one for a young chap," replied his father.

"Yes, and he's awful sorry for Alice, too. He said she was a plucky girl," Chicken Little broke in.

Alice blushed and Dr. Morton laughed.

"Here's a lawyer ready to your hand, Alice. But Gassett may think better of his threat when he cools off, though I think you may look for trouble."

The following evening Dr. Morton handed a letter to Alice.

"O dear me," she said, "do you suppose it's from Mr. Gassett? No, it's from Cincinnati. Why it has 'Fletcher Iron Works' in the corner—I wonder—you don't suppose it could be from Uncle Joseph, do you?"

"Maybe he's dead and has left you something, Alice," suggested Dr. Morton.

Alice hurriedly opened the envelope, her amazement increasing as she read.

"Why, I can't understand—why how strange! Chicken Little Jane, did you write to Uncle Joseph?" she demanded, turning suddenly to Jane.

Poor Chicken Little sadly needed Dick Harding for reinforcements during the next three minutes. The entire family turned astonished and accusing eyes upon her, and it was plain to be seen by her flushed and startled face that she was guilty.

But before either Dr. or Mrs. Morton could demand an explanation, Alice had dropped down beside her and was hugging her tight, half laughing, half crying.

"Oh, you darling, how did you ever happen to think of it? Oh, I'm so happy—I can go to school all I want to, he says. I'll never forget what you've done for me as long as I live, Chicken Little."

When Alice quieted down, it took the combined efforts of herself and Chicken Little to explain the situation to Dr. and Mrs. Morton.

Dick Harding had guessed off Uncle Joseph's character pretty shrewdly. The latter's pride had been touched at the idea of his brother's child working out.

"I am sorry," he wrote, "you had so little confidence in me that you would not write me of your difficulties! I was inexpressibly shocked to learn that your mother suffered want. I supposed her family would look out for you both—she had two brothers living the last I knew. At the time of your father's death I was extremely hard up myself and thought they were better able to care for her than I was."

"They were both killed during the war," Alice stopped reading the letter to explain.

"I am sending you money for clothes and railroad fare, and I trust you will let the past be bygones and come at once to make your home with us. You shall go to school till you are thirty if you want to. Tell Chicken Little Katy was right. I am stuck up—too stuck up to want my only niece to suffer. Tell her, too, I owe her a debt of gratitude for her frank letter that I shall try to pay at some future time."

"But Chicken Little Jane, how did you know where to send the letter, and what made you think of writing to Mr. Fletcher in the first place?" demanded Mrs. Morton, puzzled.

"Why Dick Harding said——" Chicken Little got no further.

"Dick Harding!" interrupted Dr. Morton. "Oh, I see," and throwing back his head, he laughed uproariously.



CHAPTER VIII

CHRISTMAS AND THE DAY AFTER

Chicken Little's silver-spangled tarlatan skirts stood out crisp and glittering. Her straight brown hair had been coaxed by dint of two rows of curl papers to hang in shining brown curls. A silver paper star shone above her forehead and slippers covered with more silver paper made her feet things of beauty even in Katy's skeptical eyes.

She and Gertie fluttered in among eighteen other pink and white fairies in the improvised dressing-room at the front of the church.

A huge Christmas tree occupied the spot where the pulpit and the minister's chair usually held sway. The tree was likewise adorned with silver paper and tinsel, and pink and white tarlatan in the shape of plump stockings filled with candy and nuts. Each of the little girls was to have one of these, and each boy a candy cane. These also hung in red and white striped splendor on the tree.

The children sniffed the fragrance of the evergreen and eyed the candy longingly. The distribution of presents was not to come off until after the cantata. They peeped out at the sea of faces in front of the brown calico curtains separating the stage and dressing rooms from the audience.

"My, I just know I'll be scared," said Gertie with a little shiver.

"I sha'n't," declared Chicken Little stoutly. "Katy said I would and I won't! I'm going to pretend we're just playing ring-round-a-rosy on the school grounds and then I sha'n't mind the people."

The fairies had to circle round the despairing heroine while their queen promised her good gifts because she had been an astonishingly good little girl.

Sherm was to appear later when the good gifts began to arrive in visible packages borne by human messenger boys. The heroine and her Sunday School teacher, and her aged mother were supposed to weep for joy while the presents poured in, and ended by singing a hymn in which the messenger boys joined. Sherm came in and deposited his bundles with great eclat. Unfortunately he dropped one on the heroine's toe startling her so that she said "Oh!" quite audibly. Sherm's voice was a little weak on the hymn till the last Halleluyah, when it came out strong and a little off the key.

It was ten-thirty P. M. before Ernest and Jane got home and settled themselves before the grate fire to munch candy and talk it over.

"I wish we could do it all again," said Chicken Little regretfully. "Mrs. Dart said we made beautiful fairies and I guess Katy thought so too. She said she never thought I could look so nice." She gave a little simper of satisfaction.

"You kids were all right, but I didn't care for all that singing. I wish they'd have something lively like fencing. Carol said he saw a man over at Mattoon, the time he went with his father, who was a wonder. Wish I could learn."

"I don't believe Father would let you, but I'll help tease if you want me to."

"Frank knows how a little—he showed me."

"Frank and Marian are coming over for breakfast in the morning, so we can have our presents all together. Say, let's hang our stockings up."

"Pshaw, we're too old for that—we never get anything in them but candy or oranges—and I don't think Mother wants us to any more."

"I don't care—it's fun. Come on!"

Jane got one of Ernest's socks and her own longest stocking. They were busy fastening them to the ends of the marble mantel when Alice came in.

Alice had not returned with the others, Dick Harding having undertaken to see her safely home.

"Oh, children," she exclaimed, distressed, "I've lost one of my brown gloves. I wish you'd look for it for me first thing in the morning—it must be near the gate somewhere. And it's time for you to go to bed now. I guess your mother didn't hear you come in or she would have called you."

"Bet I beat you up in the morning," teased Ernest as they started upstairs.

"Bet you don't. Say, Ernest, please wake me up when you do. I'm awful tired and maybe I won't wake up early. I want to help fix the presents."

"All right, Sis, I will." Ernest gave her a little pat. He was very fond of this only sister but didn't care to show it in public.

But Ernest proved as sound a sleeper as Jane in the morning. Alice had breakfast almost ready and the family table bulged with numerous brown and white paper packages—this was before the epidemic of tissue paper and baby ribbon—when Dr. Morton's cheery "Merry Christmas, Sleepy-heads!" routed them out.

A chorus of "Merry Christmases" responded. Ernest's was vigorous and Chicken Little's sleepy, but Frank and Marian, just coming in the side door, called lustily, and Mrs. Morton chimed in with one for each individual member of the family.

Chicken Little flew down the stairs in her nightgown to have a peep at the fascinating table. She entirely forgot her stocking, which was perhaps just as well, for when she did investigate it after breakfast, she found only a piece of kindling neatly wrapped inside.

"I told you Mother thought we were too old!" reminded Ernest.

But the table was all that could be desired. Chicken Little began cautiously feeling the packages at her place till her mother discovered her and sent her upstairs to dress.

"Oh, Ernest, there was one funny little flat box just like the one Katy's bracelet came in. You don't s'pose—do you?" And she gave one ecstatic jump in anticipation of the glorious possibility.

Chicken Little's hair went back with a sweep under the round rubber comb, tangles and all. She really couldn't take time to comb it—and her plaid dress had every other button carefully unfastened. Brother Frank remarked that the front elevation was more attractive than the rear, and Marian rushed her off upstairs to make her tidy.

Chicken Little's own contributions to the pile of gifts were made triumphantly after she had driven every other member of the family out of the dining room. She tucked her packages clear down at the bottom of each pile with the exception of Ernest's present. It crowned the heap because she couldn't wait to have him open it. Her father had given her the money for a pocket microscope which Ernest had been coveting for months.

Mrs. Morton made Alice set a place for herself and share their family festival. Dr. Morton could scarcely finish saying grace before there was a general falling to at the parcels. For some reason Dr. Morton had a prejudice against Christmas trees, and it was always the family custom to have the gifts at the breakfast table.

Chicken Little waited just long enough to see Ernest's face light up over the microscope before she pounced joyously upon her biggest parcel which certainly looked like a doll.

The rest of the family suspended operations to watch her as she lifted the lid of the box, her face aglow with anticipation. She gave one long satisfied look at the contents in perfect silence then voiced her delight in a series of little shrieks.

"Oh Mother!—it is! Oh, the darling!—and it can talk! I didn't know it could talk! And see those red shoes—and isn't that the dearest dress? Oh—Mother!" Chicken Little jumped up from her chair to fling herself on her mother's neck in a grateful hug.

But there were more joys. One was a gold bracelet—from Frank and Marian. Alice had made a nightgown and a fascinating coat for Miss Dolly, and Ernest had bought a marvelous trunk for the young lady.

Ernest's brackets proved to be really charming and the young workman was well repaid for his hours of toil by the general admiration. Mother and Father declared themselves delighted with Jane's painfully wrought book-mark and penwiper, and Alice was more than happy over the substantial coat and the family's gift to her in anticipation of her journey. For Alice was to go to Uncle Joseph's. It had been arranged that she should leave soon after New Year's.

Alice had another surprise later in the morning. A box of gloves arrived on top of which reposed the brown glove she had lost the preceding evening. No card was enclosed, but evidently none was needed for Alice blushed rosy red at sight of the brown glove and hugged the package close as she carried it upstairs.

"I wish Christmas came every day," sighed Chicken Little happily as she tumbled into bed that night almost too tired to undress.

But no one wished it the next day. Everybody was tired and cross and found it hard to settle down to common daily duties after the prolonged Christmas excitement.

Chicken Little went over to see Katy and Gertie in the morning but promptly quarreled with Katy over the respective merits of their Christmas presents. Katy had some new coral beads with a gold clasp that she considered put Chicken Little's bracelet entirely in the shade so Chicken Little gathered up her playthings and went home in high dudgeon, and had to nurse her wrath in lonely state till evening.

Ernest went skating with the boys in the morning. The three cronies distinguished themselves by promptly getting into trouble with a crowd of Irish boys, who lived beyond the railroad in the new addition.

The Irish boys resented a certain irritating air of superiority that Ernest and his friends assumed and began a series of petty annoyances, bumping into them or crossing from the side just in front while they were racing. The boys contented themselves at first with warning off their tormentors by highhanded threats but the other lads outnumbering them grew more and more daring, till finally a boy named Pat Casey, deliberately tripped Carol, sending him sprawling on the ice. He was pretty badly shaken up and broke a skate strap. The trio considered this insult past endurance and a free-for-all fight ensued.

The trio were game, but they were outnumbered and would have fared badly if two older boys hadn't come to the rescue and driven the other gang off the pond. The Irish boys vowed vengeance and Ernest and his friends deciding that caution was the better part of valor, started for home. Ernest's nose had bled freely and Sherm had a black eye, while Carol plaintively declared that every inch of his fat anatomy was black and blue.

They slipped into the kitchen at Morton's and got Alice to patch them up. After a good dinner their courage rose. Ernest had been ordered to split wood for an hour in the afternoon and the other boys took turns with him at the axe, while the three planned vengeance on their enemies.

"I saw Pat and Mike Dolan slinking past your house when I came over," reported Sherm excitedly. "I bet they're up to some devilment, I just wish they'd show their ugly mugs here—I guess we'd fix 'em!"

Sherm's wish was answered with startling promptness for at that moment the "ugly mugs" just mentioned appeared over the alley fence, and their owners uttered hoots of derision. The boys bolted with one accord for the fence, but their enemies were half-way down the alley, delivering a volley of cat calls and yells as they ran. The trio vaulted the fence and pursued in vain. The others were too quick for them.

They took turns acting as sentinel at the fence for the next hour, but there was no further disturbance. Late in the afternoon as Ernest and Carol were nearing the Morton home after an errand downtown, they were met by a broadside of snow balls as they were passing an alley. It was growing dusk and the alley was shadowy, but they had no doubt as to the perpetrators of this fresh insult, and grabbing handfuls of snow, they promptly charged the offenders. They proved to be the same Pat and Mike.

"Here take this!—and this!" yelled Carol as he stuffed an icy mass down Pat's neck and administered a stout kick in the shins as nearly simultaneously as he could manage.

Ernest was equally successful in accounting for Mike and the enemy went away spitting and threatening.

"You dassen't show your faces out of doors tonight—allee samee!" was their parting taunt as they retreated.

As a matter of fact neither Ernest nor Carol were allowed to do much showing of their faces out of doors after dark unless they had some business, their parents being firm in the belief that thirteen and fourteen year old boys should be at home after night. But this slur on their courage was not to be borne.

"I'll ask Mother if we can't make some hickory-nut candy tonight, then we can slip out and watch for them," suggested Ernest after a few moments study.

"Bully, that'll work! Mother will be glad to have me out of the way because Susy's having a party."

It took some tact on Ernest's part before he secured the necessary permission, for Mrs. Morton felt that early to bed after Christmas dissipation would be wiser for all the children.

Chicken Little promptly demanded that Katy and Gertie be included, but Ernest was obdurate, threatening to shut her out if she teased.

Sherm and Carol arrived before the Mortons had finished tea; they shot in the side door with a swiftness that looked as if they were glad to be inside. Their words, however, belied any lack of courage. Sherm was armed with a baseball bat.

"I came round by Front Street," he said, "I just thought I'd see if any of the gang were hanging round. I knew they wouldn't dare tackle me when I had this." He caressed his weapon lovingly.

Carol had a bag of the hardest snow balls he had been able to manufacture.

"I'd liked to put a rock in every one of them," he declared bloodthirstily. "But Father said he'd lick me, if I ever did such a trick again, that time I hit Jimmy Smith. 'Twan't nothing but a bit of gravel either. I didn't suppose it would hurt him. But Father said it was lucky I didn't kill him 'cause it struck right square above the eye."

"'Tisn't safe, I guess, Father would never let me put anything in a snow ball," Ernest replied.

"Do you s'pose they'll come round?"

"Don't know—but say, boys, don't let on before Mother that any thing's up. And see that you keep mighty still, Jane Morton!" he admonished.

Chicken Little who had followed the boys upstairs unperceived and stood listening, round-eyed, was indignant.

"I don't know what you are talking about so how can I tell?"

"So much the better—now run along, don't bother, we're busy."

"But Mother said I could help you make candy and——"

"Hush," said Sherm, "I believe I heard somebody outside on the gravel."

The boys turned out the gas and tiptoeing to the window, peered cautiously out.

"It is—sure's you're born. I bet it's Mike and Pat!" said Carol.

"There's somebody else over by that tree!"

"Who—where—where?" Jane crowded up excitedly to the window.

"You might as well tell her," said Carol.

So Chicken Little was initiated into the mysteries of the feud and found it both interesting and terrifying.

"Do you s'pose they'll try to get in?" she quavered.

"Oh—Oh—there he goes!" she shrieked.

"Shut up," Sherm's hand was clapped firmly over her mouth.

"If you can't keep still you go straight to Mother. Do you hear?" added Ernest sternly.

But at this juncture "Mother's" voice was heard calling:

"Alice is ready for you now, boys. Try not to make too much muss."

"Well, let's go and make the candy now and we can slip out after a while."

"Gee, I'd like to take a shot at them from the window," and Carol fingered one of his snow balls.

"Here none of that! They'd fire back and break the window and we'd have the dickens to pay with Father and Mother!" Ernest remonstrated sharply.

After one parting look from the window, the boys filed reluctantly downstairs.

"I'm going to stay and watch them a while," said Chicken Little.

"All right—you come and tell us if they start anything."

"Whew, better pull the shades down!" said Carol as they entered the brightly lighted kitchen.

Alice looked up quickly. "What for? Nobody can see in here at the back of the house."

"Oh, there might some of the boys be hanging round to steal the candy when we put it out to cool," answered Sherm easily, trying to be off-hand.

Alice set out the molasses and butter and sugar and went off up to her room. The boys pulling the shades carefully down, set to work, and became so absorbed in the candy that they almost forgot their foes for the next ten minutes. Just as they were lifting the sticky mass from the stove Chicken Little tore in.

"Boys, I guess they've heard you, because one boy came and told those two boys something and they all ran round to the back of the house—just now—and there were four! Oh, you must be awfully careful! Listen, wasn't that somebody at the door?"

There was an audible crunching of the snow outside. The door was bolted, but all four children stood for an instant with their gaze riveted upon it as if they expected to see it burst open at any moment.

"Pooh, they can't do anything!" said Ernest coming to himself, "and the candy'll be all spoiled."

"Say, let's go up to the north room and slip out on the kitchen room while the candy cools. I bet we can see 'em from there."

The boys set the candy in a pan of snow to cool and bolted softly up the stairs. Dr. and Mrs. Morton placidly reading in the sitting room were blissfully unaware of the excitement.

"I wonder what makes the boys so quiet tonight?"

The boys followed close by Chicken Little had reached the north room and were cautiously opening the window, inch by inch, lest the sound should be heard outside. Then they quietly clambered out. At first there seemed to be no trace of the intruders. But when Carol incautiously exclaimed in a stage whisper: "Bet they've all vamoosed!" a distinct "Hist!" was heard from below. Finally Sherm, who was flat on his stomach, holding on to the edge of the roof, solved the mystery. He held up his hand in warning to the others, and presently came crawling back and motioned them all inside.

"They're all close against the kitchen windows trying to find out what's going on. They like to caught us when Carol piped up that time. Gee, looked like there was a dozen, but some of 'em are little fellers. I wish we could make a rush at them, but I guess there's too many."

"Shucks, I hate to give up," growled Ernest.

"Well, we might as well go back and finish the candy!" said Carol after a pause. "We can't do anything with such a crowd—a sweet time we'll have getting home tonight," he added gloomily.

"Pshaw, they'll get tired and go home before that," Ernest reassured him. "Say I've got an idea they can hear about everything we say in the kitchen. Let's go down and pretend we're having an awful good time and——"

"Yes, and let's guy them!" interrupted Sherm.

"Sam's in my room at school and he can't stand being made fun of."

The trio returned to the kitchen, and ably seconded by Chicken Little laughed and frolicked, jeering noisily at the crowd outside. The foes soon gave evidence that they could hear distinctly. They began to return the taunts and to rattle and pound on the doors and windows. They were getting cold and the penetratingly tempting smell of the taffy had evidently drifted through the cracks, for one shrill voice piped up:

"Say, give us some!" to be immediately hushed by his more warlike companions.

If the trio had been clever enough to act on this suggestion and treat, the feud might have come to a speedy end, but the lads were not at a tactful age. Instead Sherm hurled the most insulting defiance he could think of.

"Go get some yourselves, you red-headed Irish beggars!"

This taunt roused the wrath of the attacking party to a white heat, and an instant later the kitchen window came crashing in and a giant snow ball burst into masses of wet snow on the floor.

The boys made a dash for the door, but the bolt was hardly slid, when it, too, crashed, open, and Frank Morton stamped in, pushing Pat Casey and Mike Dolan ahead of him each securely gripped by the collar, in his strong hands.

"Now look here, what's the meaning of all this boys?"

Before the boys could recover from their surprise sufficiently to answer, Dr. and Mrs. Morton and Alice came running in.

Frank stopped their questions with a word.

"Let me tend to this, please, Father."

Little by little he extracted the trio's version of the day's happenings.

He turned to the Irish boys. "Is that straight?" he demanded.

At first the lads maintained a sullen silence, but finally Pat volunteered.

"They don't own that 'ere pond any more'n we do."

"Who said they did?" asked Frank quickly.

"Nobody," admitted Pat, "but they allus act like they did. They told us to keep off the north end."

"How is that Ernest?"

"Well, we didn't want them mixing up with us."

"Anybody give you a deed to that pond?"

The boys were silent.

"Now look here, boys," Frank's voice was stern. "It strikes me you fellows were in a pretty poor business trying to hog half a public pond for yourselves. Now you have six times the opportunities for fun these boys have, and yet you try to spoil their skating. Pretty small I call that!

"As for you boys," turning to his captives, "you weren't helping matters any by being mean—now were you? You didn't think acting that way would make you any more popular did you? By the way you're Mrs. Casey's boy, aren't you? Your mother is a fine woman and she works too hard to have to pay for broken windows, don't you think so, Son?"

Frank laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked straight into his eyes.

Pat shifted from one foot to the other uneasily.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled with an effort.

"Well, she isn't going to have to this time. I will give you a chance to earn the money to pay for it yourself? Want to?"

The boy nodded eagerly. Frank smiled in return.

"Ernest, pass that candy over here and you boys shake hands with Pat and Mike and see to it you treat them white after this! My brother and his friends aren't as small as they let on, boys," he added turning to the others.

The Irish lads grinned sheepishly, and shyly accepted the candy and apples which the trio, with a complete change of heart pressed upon them.

Chicken Little not to be outdone made them all laugh by offering her small fist, which was hopelessly gummed up with the taffy she had forgotten in the excitement.



CHAPTER IX

CHICKEN LITTLE JANE'S GIFT

"Well, Alice," said Dr. Morton, coming in one noon stamping and shaking the snow off his broad shoulders. "I have discovered why you haven't heard from Gassett again. He is down with typhoid fever—looks like a bad case. He won't be in a condition to start lawsuits for some weeks, so you may set your mind at rest for the present."

The Christmas holidays had gone by all too quickly for the Morton family. The children were already grumbling about starting back to school. Dr. Morton had a number of very sick patients on his hands and looked worried in consequence. Mrs. Morton was helping Alice with her simple wardrobe, and Alice was helping Mrs. Morton break in a new maid.

It was really a great comfort to Mrs. Morton to feel that Alice could now be received as an equal. She had grown fond of her unconsciously, but according to her rigid ideas, friendship with a servant was impossible. "I have always felt," she told her friends, "that Alice was too refined for her situation. Blood will tell, you know."

Chicken Little and Ernest mourned Alice's departure loudly. Ernest turned up his nose promptly at the new girl—a willing soul with scant intelligence.

"Have we got to have that thing round, Mother?" he demanded in deep disgust. He had just deluged his hot cakes with cream which Olga had put in the syrup jug by mistake.

"I'm afraid so, my son, until we can find someone better. Girls are hard to get in this town. Alice has certainly spoiled us."

"What did you let her go for?" Ernest grumbled as if keeping her with them were optional.

"Why, Ernest, I thought you were pleased with Alice's good fortune."

"Well, that's not saying I want her to go off and never see her again."

"Oh, you'll see me again, Ernest," said Alice, coming into the room just then and divining the boy's mood.

"I am coming back to Centerville as soon as I finish school. It seems so hard to leave you all. You've been so good to me——"

Alice broke down and turned hurriedly away to hide her tears.

Chicken Little jumped up and threw her arms around Alice's waist, laying her face against her hands lovingly.

Alice hugged the child tight.

"I am going to miss you so, dear. There won't be any little girl to cuddle at Uncle Joseph's."

Jane followed Alice into her room after breakfast to help pack the shiny new trunk. This was Alice's last day.

"My, isn't it grand! It's got a place for hats and your parasol—and what are these little places for, Alice?" Chicken Little was eagerly investigating.

"Oh, handkerchiefs and ties and gloves. I'm a lucky girl to have all these nice things. Just think—three new dresses! Blue and brown cashmeres for school and a green silk poplin for Sunday best—aren't these little bows down the front cunning?"

Alice surveyed her treasures with a sigh of satisfaction.

"If they'll only like me a little at Uncle Joseph's. I wish I could take you along, Chicken Little Jane, I wouldn't be lonely if I had you."

"Will you be dreadfully lonely, Alice?" Chicken Little was getting concerned.

"I am afraid I will, Chicken Little."

The child pondered the matter for the rest of the morning.

At dinner, she interrupted her father in the midst of a story to ask:

"Can people take dogs or birds on a train?"

"Yes, Chicken, what did you want to know for? The dogs are usually put in the baggage car."

"If it was just a puppy would it have to go in the baggage car?"

"Why if it was very tiny it might be carried in a covered box or basket."

Jane subsided for several minutes then interrupted again.

"Could you put a kitty in a basket?"

"I guess so, but don't interrupt me so much, child." Dr. Morton replied carelessly.

"Yes, Jane, that is a very bad habit you are forming. It is not polite to break into a conversation that way—especially when older people are talking," Mrs. Morton added impressively.

After dinner Chicken Little began to rummage. First she found a collar box with a cover. She took this to her mother and asked if she might have it. Her mother readily gave it to her, but apparently the child was not satisfied. She looked it over dubiously. "I don't believe it could breathe," she said to herself.

The collar box was discarded and she began another search. She finally resurrected a small covered sewing basket considerably the worse for wear, which her mother was also willing to part with.

Her next move was to line the basket with cotton batting after which she hunted out a doll blanket from her playthings.

"I guess that'll be enough," she remarked aloud.

These preparations completed, she tucked the basket under her arm and slipping out the side gates, went over to Grace Dart's. She had not taken the trouble to ask permission.

About ten minutes later she returned carrying the basket most carefully. Very little was seen of her till train time. When she started down to the station with her mother and Alice she still had the basket with her. Mrs. Morton did not notice it until Chicken Little put it down beside her on the seat of the omnibus.

"What are you bringing that old basket for?" she asked.

"Oh, just 'cause."

"Well, of all the queer children!" Mrs. Morton sighed. Chicken Little's whims were very puzzling at times.

Alice suspected that the basket contained some parting gift for herself. Ernest had hung around her at the last and had finally thrust a big bag of candy into her hand—an offering that deeply touched her since she knew he must have spent his last penny to buy it.



They found Dick Harding at the station. Chicken Little heaved a sigh of relief when she caught sight of him. She had an idea.

When the train rolled in and he picked up Alice's valise to carry it into the car for her, Chicken Little pulled at his arm. As he leaned down, she whispered hastily; "Give her this on the train and—please, carry it carefully."

Dick Harding took the basket. Mrs. Morton was bidding Alice good-by and did not notice the transfer.

Mr. Harding seated Alice and delivered the sewing basket.

"Here is something very special Miss Jane Morton wished me to give you. I have an idea its contents may surprise you, judging from certain sounds I heard."

Alice took it on her lap and lifted the cover.

A sheet of bright pink note paper lay on top. It read, "With love for Alice so you won't be lonesome."

Beneath the note paper a tiny gray head peeped out from under a doll blanket and a plaintive "miauw" greeted her.

"Well, I never!" laughed Alice. "What can I do with it?"

"Keep the basket and I'll put kitty in my pocket and dispose of her some way."

"No, indeed, I'll manage somehow—bless the child. This must be the kitty Grace Dart promised her. If they'll only let me keep it at Uncle Joseph's I believe it will be a real comfort."

Dick Harding lifted Jane up for a parting wave to Alice through the car window as the train pulled out. Alice held up a pert maltese kitten and made it wave its paw in return.

"Why—where did she get that kitten?" gasped Mrs. Morton, a sudden suspicion entering her mind. "Chicken Little Jane was that what you had in that basket?"

Chicken Little looked abashed, but Dick Harding came to the rescue.

"Mrs. Morton, may Jane walk up with me—I'll take good care of her?"

After a moment's hesitation Mrs. Morton consented. Dick handed her into the omnibus and Chicken Little trotted joyfully along beside him. Dick Harding seemed to enjoy having the warm little hand tucked confidingly into his own.

It was an ideal winter day, clear and crisp and gorgeously white.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes before Jane burst out with the idea that was occupying her small brain.

"Why does it make people nicer to go to school a lot? I don't think Alice could be any nicer, do you, Mr. Harding? Our teacher's gone to school, oh, most always, I guess, and I don't think she's near as nice as Alice."

Dick Harding laughed heartily.

"Miss Alice is A1, isn't she? And we don't like to have her go away so far—do we? Education doesn't always make people nicer, but it often helps, Chicken Little. You like your father's ways rather better than old Jake's don't you? Well, your father has education and Jake hasn't. That's not all the difference but it is part. Besides, even if it didn't make us nicer to know things, it is rather good fun to learn them, don't you think?"

He patted the hand in his and smiled down at her. Chicken Little partly understanding yet puzzled, smiled back.

They walked on a half block farther before Jane found anything more to say.

"I guess Alice won't be lonesome now she's got the kitty. Don't you think it was a pretty kitty? I wanted it awfully bad myself but I've got Ernest and Katy and Gertie to play with and Alice won't have anybody you know."

Dick Harding stifled a laugh as he recalled Alice's surprised face.

"I think that was an uncommonly pretty kitty and you were very generous to give it away when you wanted it yourself. It is mighty hard to part with things we want ourselves, don't you think so, little partner?"

Dick looked off where the smoke of the departing train could still be plainly seen in the distance.

Chicken Little followed his gaze but not his thoughts.

"Do you s'pose I'll ever go 'way off to school, Mr. Harding?"

"I think it likely some day. When you do, I'll promise to see you off and bring you a big box of candy, if I'm round when you start. Say, how would it do to stop in at Jackson's and get the candy today? I might not be there when the time comes, you know."

They stopped and made the important purchase after much deliberation as to kinds.

"I like gum drops and chocolate creams best," Jane volunteered naively.

"Mr. Harding is too generous," her mother remarked with a wry smile when Jane proudly displayed her trophy. She had never had a whole boxful of candy before. Usually a dime's worth had been the maternal limit.

Chicken Little treated Katy and Gertie and Ernest and Carol and Sherm and the new maid, with lavish generosity. She also ate all her mother would let her, herself. Finally, Mrs. Morton ordered her to put the rest away for the next day. It would have been well for Chicken Little if her mother's direction had extended to the next day as well. But by morning Mrs. Morton had forgotten all about the candy. Chicken Little had strict orders not to eat sweets before breakfast so she heroically withstood temptation until her last bite of waffle was swallowed, then munched away till school time. The box with its remaining contents accompanied her to school to her later undoing.

She had never known such popularity as was hers when the other children found what the big box contained. One boy made her a present of a brand new slate pencil on the spot. She was allowed to choose up for her side in "No bears out tonight," though this honor usually fell to one of the bigger girls. By the time the bell rang she felt blissfully important. She settled regretfully down to her work with the candy snugly tucked away inside her desk.

All went well until about the middle of the geography recitation, when turning around from her work at the board, she caught the small boy, who sat across the aisle, in the act of helping himself to a handful of her cherished sweets. She was surprised into forgetting where she was and exclaimed out loud:

"Oh, you mustn't!"

The teacher looked up in pained amazement.

"Who was that spoke out loud?" she demanded.

Chicken Little raised a reluctant hand.

"Jane Morton, I'm surprised—I wouldn't have believed it of you! You may stand on the floor by my desk for half an hour."

The teacher had been much annoyed by whispering that morning, the children being all more or less riotous after their vacation, so without stopping to investigate, as was her usual custom, she promptly visited the sins of the whole school upon Jane.

Jane had never stood upon the floor for punishment before and she felt the disgrace keenly. It hurt the child's sense of fairness, too, but she dared not try to explain lest Miss Brown should confiscate the remainder of her precious candy. She took her book and walked slowly over to the spot indicated in front of the whole school, her face growing redder and redder. It was several minutes before she dared lift her eyes and face her mates.

When she did, several of her friends telephoned furtive messages of sympathy that cheered her a little. But her humiliation over her disgrace was soon swallowed up in wrath when the offending small boy, who had caused all her troubles, added insult to injury by ostentatiously eating his booty whenever the teacher's back was turned. He would roll his eyes and smack his lips in the utmost enjoyment.

Chicken Little forgot her disgrace in a desire for revenge. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared. She set herself resolutely to study, avoiding even a glance in his direction. But she did more than study; she laid her plans for swift vengeance. When permitted to go back to her seat, she still ignored him though he did his best to attract her attention.

His place in the line was just ahead of hers, and she followed him down the halls and the long stairs calculating to a nicety just how she would get even. The moment they passed through the outside door, the boy turned for a parting taunt. He did not get it out. Before he could utter a single sound Chicken Little struck him a resounding slap in the face with all her young might.

The youngster would have hit back, but another boy grabbed him and ordered him roughly to let little girls alone. And Chicken Little went home ashamed but solaced.

She was nervous for a while lest her mother should hear of her scrape. However, several days went by and she was beginning to breathe easier, when Brother Frank overtook her one morning on her way to school.

"Hello, Sis, what is this I hear about having a prize-fighter in the family?"

Jane's face grew hot, but she looked at him mutely.

"I thought it was only rough boys who smashed in people's noses and made them bleed. I didn't suppose my gentle little sister would do such a thing."

Chicken Little swallowed hard but still kept silent and Frank pressed harder.

"I have always believed my little sister was a lady. I am afraid Mother will be grieved to hear what her daughter has been doing."

Words came to Chicken Little at last in a burst of sobs:

"I don't care—he took my candy—I had to stand—on—on the floor—and it wasn't fair—you can just go and tell Mother if you want to!"

Frank took her hand and patted it.

"Out with the whole story, Sis. I suspected there was something more to it than I heard—you aren't usually warlike."

So Chicken Little sobbed out the woeful tale. Brother Frank smiled broadly above the bent head over the ludicrous incident, but he controlled himself sufficiently to admonish soberly.

"Well, Johnny seems to have deserved all he got. At the same time, Jane, I don't think I'd do such a thing again, if I were you."



CHAPTER X

SKATING

Chicken Little watched Ernest tie his red muffler around his neck and sling his skates across his shoulder, enviously.

"I wish I could go skating," she sighed.

"You shall some day, dear," said her mother, who was sitting sewing by the open fire. "But the pond is too far away for you to go without some older person to look after you."

"I don't see why Ernest and Carol couldn't look after me."

"They would forget you in ten minutes. No, you must be patient, little daughter, and wait till you are bigger."

Chicken Little flattened her nose against the cold pane ruefully.

"You may go and play with Katy and Gertie for an hour if you wish."

But Jane didn't wish. She was a child of one idea and her head was filled with visions of Cedar Pond and its crowd of gay skaters. She could fairly see the boys gliding away across the glistening surface or cutting fancy figures they loved to boast of. She knew some of the girls at school skated. She had listened to glowing tales of the sport at recess the day before.

She peered out the window, an ugly little pucker creasing her forehead. Marian, coming in a few minutes later, found her glooming there still.

"What a long face, little sister, what's the matter? Have you broken your Xmas dolly or lost that new bracelet or what?"

"Oh, Marian, did you ever skate?"

"Skate?—I should say so. Frank and I are going out this afternoon after the bank closes."

"Oh, Marian, couldn't I go, too? Mother said I might learn if I only had some grown up person to go with."

"But you haven't any skates, Jane."

This was a poser, but Jane moved a way out. "Maybe Grace Dart would let me have hers. May I ask Mother?"

Marian hesitated a moment, but the child's face was very pleading and she replied heartily:

"Come along if your mother will let you. We'll look after you—you may as well ask Katie and Gertie, too. Katy knows how to skate a little, I think."

Mrs. Morton's consent was soon obtained as well as Mrs. Halford's. Grace Dart intended to use her own skates, but Mrs. Morton said Jane might as well buy a pair, if she were really going to learn. Marian volunteered to get them for her on the way down.

Chicken Little was gay as a robin redbreast when she ran to meet Marian at the side gate. She was in red from top to toe, red coat, red leggings and red hood. And she was so excited she acted like a much distracted robin, as Marian told her a little later.

"She does enter into things so heart and soul," Marian confided to Frank, "she fairly quivers with excitement sometimes. Katy and Gertie are so different. They enjoy themselves just as much but they don't tire themselves out as Chicken Little does."

"Sis is too high strung, I guess—gets it from Father's people. Funny, too, she's a sober little puss a good deal of the time."

The new skates were soon purchased and slung over her shoulder in exact imitation of the way she had seen the boys carry theirs. They looked delightfully sharp and glittering. Chicken Little felt immensely superior to Katy whose skates were two years old and not nearly so shiny.

It was a radiant afternoon, frosty and clear. The pond was covered with skaters of all ages. Some of the men were pulling women and children on sleds.

Frank strapped the little girls' skates on firmly. Katy struck off boldly for herself, while Marian helped Gertie. Frank undertook to keep Chicken Little from measuring her length on the ice—no small task for the child was ambitious and daring. Great was her joy when she finally succeeded in taking a few short strokes without having her feet shoot out from under her. Presently Frank left her to her own devices while he went to skate with Marian.

"My feet don't seem to want to go the same way I do," she complained to Gertie after two hard bumps.

Gertie was proceeding more cautiously and had fewer falls in consequence.

"I guess you'll learn pretty soon—my—just see Katy!"

Katy was circling around as gracefully and easily as if there were no such thing as falls to dread. Chicken Little began to lose faith in the superiority of her new skates.

"Katy skates most as well as the boys—I don't see how she does it," she said enviously.

"Cousin Sim taught her last winter. Oh, see, those boys are making an eight on the ice and,—Carol's writing his name I do believe."

"Yes, and there's Pat and Mike—dear me, it seems as if everybody can skate just as easy 'cept me."

The little girls stood watching the boys wistfully as they glided along cutting marvellous figures on the ice. The boys were bent on showing off for Marian's benefit.

"Tired, little girls?" called the latter, skating gaily past, her cheeks rosy with exercise and the frosty air.

"No—o," said Jane slowly, "I'm not tired but my ankles hurt and the ice seems to get slipprier and slipprier."

"I'll help you if you want me to," said a voice at her elbow, and Chicken Little looked around to find Pat Casey standing shyly beside her, cap in hand.

"I think I could be after showing you how to do it."

She hesitated a moment wondering what her mother would say to her skating with Pat, then deciding to take the chance, put out her hand with a little smile. Things went better after that for the Irish lad had a good deal of chivalry in his make-up and was very patient and careful.

"Hello, Pat," said Frank, skating up. "That's good of you—I believe you're a better teacher than I was. You'll skate like a bird in no time, Sis, you're so light. Ice is tricky at first—throws you like a balky horse till you get the hang of it. Come on, I'll take you for another turn."

Frank took her spinning with him clear to the end of the pond. When they started back he made her strike out for herself, steadying her with his hand. Before they got back to the big bon-fire at the starting point, Chicken Little had discovered the all-important secret of keeping her balance.

Ernest and Carol came up in great excitement to tell them there were going to be races and the spectators must line up along the sides of the pond.

"See they are starting now—you must be careful to keep off the track, girls. Here, let's go over by that rock."

Frank made haste to post his small charges midway of the course, where they could have a clear view of both ends of the pond.

Six young men lined up at the starting point while the starter stood off to one side to give the signal and another man was posted at the farther end of the course.

"One, two, three—go!"

The starter snapped the words out and the men swung off in long steady strides. Faster and faster they came till it seemed to Chicken Little they fairly flew. She watched them closely as they came nearer—there seemed something familiar about one of the racers. Suddenly she gave a little shriek of surprise.

"Why, it's Mr. Harding—see, see! It is Mr. Harding. Oh, I just hope he'll beat! Don't you think he'll beat, Frank?"

"He is a good skater, all right, Sis, but that dark chap is going it strong, too. They have to make the circuit of the pond three times. We can tell better the next lap."

Dick Harding heard Jane's exclamation and waved his hand at her as they swung by. He was about six feet behind the dark man, skating easily with long swinging strokes. Chicken Little waved her red mittened hand enthusiastically in return.

Carol and Ernest, who had been trying to follow the racers along the edge of the pond, pulled up along side for a breathing spell.

"Say, Frank," exclaimed Ernest, "they say that dark fellow is a professional skater—his name is Sanders."

"Yes, and Sherm says he's tricky—he has just come here from some place up on the lakes," added Carol.

"I'm afraid he has Harding outclassed," replied Frank watching the racers circle gracefully around the end of the pond and start toward them again. The dark stranger was in the lead and Harding a couple of lengths behind, with the other four spilling out at irregular distances in the rear.

"He keeps crowding Harding out—do you see? He cuts across his path every now and then, but part of the time he only makes a feint so Harding loses a stroke and he doesn't. I don't think that's fair!" Ernest raised his voice indignantly.

Frank watched them a moment keenly before he replied.

"You're right—that is what he is doing—and it isn't clean sport. He's tricky—I'd like to see Harding beat him; but I'm afraid he can't. He's soft yet for we haven't had more than two week's skating here, and this chap has probably been at it for two months or more up north."

"Oh, Frank, isn't he skating fair? Do you think he's going to beat Mr. Harding?" Chicken Little was genuinely distressed.

"Can't tell, Chicken, watch and see!"

The racers turned the end of the pond for the second time and came swiftly past—Harding about the same distance behind the other as before. Again they turned and shot past for the third round, the stranger still pursuing his tactics of interfering with his rival.

"Jove, that makes me hot!" Frank exclaimed wrathfully. "I believe Harding could beat him on a fair and square race."

"Gee, I wish we could make him give way once himself, the scoundrel!" Ernest shook his fist viciously at Sanders' back.

"If he had to turn out just once would it help Mr. Harding?" demanded Jane.

Her own party were so intent upon the race that no one replied, but Pat, who had just skated up, answered her question himself when he found the others were ignoring it.