The mention of the Naval Academy fired Jane. She shouted the news to Ernest who was some distance ahead with Sherm.

"Yes, Sherm's just told me," he called back, "wouldn't it be scrumptious if we both got to go?"

"Oh, is Ernest going?" Katy and Alice and Dick all exclaimed nearly in unison.

Chicken Little told them all about Ernest's plans and about the Captain. Katy wished to call on this fascinating individual immediately. But Dr. Morton suggested that he thought they would all be tired enough to rest for the remainder of the day by the time they arrived at the ranch. They were, but not too tired to enjoy Mrs. Morton's hearty country supper.

Dick ate hot biscuit and creamed potatoes and fried chicken till Alice declared she shouldn't have the face to stay a month, if he gorged like that all the time.

"You'll stop keeping tab on his appetite before you have been here many days, Alice. You'll be busy satisfying your own. You will find country air a marvellous tonic," Dr. Morton assured her.

They were all amused to see Katy looking in shocked amazement at Gertie who had just been persuaded to have a second heaping saucer of raspberries and cream. To be sure, Katy herself had had two drumsticks and a breast. But she considered being served twice to dessert away from home highly improper.

"I wish it were a little later in the season so Ernest could bring us in quail for you," said Mrs. Morton.

"Quail?" Dick's face lighted. "Is the hunting still good around here?"

"Excellent for quail and prairie chicken, and the plover are plentiful at certain seasons," Dr. Morton replied.

"They found two deer on the creek last winter," added Ernest.

"Yes, there are a few strays left but the day for them has practically gone by."

"Dick, if you go hunting you've got to take me." Alice put her hands on her husband's shoulders and rested her chin on his hair.

"Barkus is willing if you can stand the tramp."

"We don't tramp, we drive. It's a trifle too early for hunting, but by the latter part of next week, you might try it. You can take the boys and spring wagon and have an all-day picnic. I can spare them, and Ernest for a guide."

"Can we all go?" Katy started up excitedly.

"Of course, I can shoot a little," Chicken Little sounded patronizing.

"Yes, Chicken Little can shoot but she never hits anything—she always shuts her eyes before she pulls the trigger," Ernest called her down promptly.

"It's no such thing, Ernest Morton, I killed a quail once, didn't I, Father?"

"Dick, if you'll come and unrope our trunks, I think we'd better be getting our things out," said Alice an hour later.

"Yours to command, Captain. I am perishing to have Chicken Little see my present."

"Yes, Jane, what do you think? Dick had to go and pick you out a gift all by himself—he wasn't satisfied with my efforts. And he has the impudence to insist that you will like his best."

"We've got a package for you, too, but I don't know what's in it. Mother wouldn't let us see. Let's go unpack quick, Gertie, and find out."

"And I want to show my trousseau! Shall I get it out to-night, Mrs. Morton, or wait till morning?"

"To-night, Alice," spoke up Marian, "I want to see it and I'll be busy in the morning. I am pining to see some pretty clothes."

Dick had already vanished into the upper regions and he called down airily: "Doors open, ladies. World renowned aggregation of feminine wearing apparel, including one pair of the very latest hoops and the youngest thing in bustles, now on exhibition."

Mrs. Morton looked shocked, and Marian and Alice tried to control their amusement. "The heathen, I warned him to be good." Alice laughed in spite of herself with an apologetic glance at Mrs. Morton. The girls had bolted upstairs at the first words of Dick's invitation.

"Come on, Mother, don't mind Dick's nonsense," said Marian, linking her arm in hers and gently drawing her up. "It will do you good to see Alice's pretty things."

Dick held the door open for them with a deep salaam. Alice held up a finger warningly with an imperceptible gesture in Mrs. Morton's direction. He shrugged his shoulders repentantly.

"Now, Alice, if you'll just dig out my particular parcel I'll vamoose. Women complain that men never take an interest in their affairs and then if a misguided chap tries to act intelligent, he is snubbed." Dick's tone sounded injured.

Alice kissed the tip of his ear and shoved him out of the way. "You're so big, Dick, there's never room for anyone else when you're around."

Alice deftly opened trays and lids, pulling out protecting papers; she handed Dick a large flat parcel.

Dick received it with his hand on his heart, then striking an oratorical attitude, addressed Jane in the formal tone he used in court.

"Ladies, Miss Chicken Little Jane Morton, I have the great honor on this suspicious occasion to present to you on behalf of my unworthy self, a slight testimonial of my deep respect and undying affection—Alice, stop winking at Marian—Mrs. Morton, is it fitting for a wife to stop the flow of her husband's eloquence by winking? I wish you'd take Alice in hand. I think she needs some lessons in the proprieties. As I was saying, I wish to present this trifle to you, and the only expression of gratitude I desire in return, is thirty kisses to be delivered one daily, on or before the twelfth hour of each day, to which witness my seal and hand."

With another bow, he resigned the parcel to Chicken Little.

She promptly tendered one kiss in advance. Then stripped off the papers with eager fingers. A charming white leghorn hat appeared. It was faced with pale blue and trimmed with knots of apple blossoms and black velvet ribbon.

"How charming!" exclaimed Mrs. Morton.

"Dick, I didn't suppose you had such good taste!" added Marian.

"Try it on quick, Chicken Little."

Chicken Little's shining eyes and clear, fair skin fitted like a charm under the pale blue.

Dick was jubilant. "I saw that hat in a shop window and I thought it looked exactly like Chicken Little. Who says a man can't pick out a hat?"

He departed without waiting for any disparaging remarks.

Alice's present came next, a charming muslin with sash and hair ribbons the exact shade of the blue hat facing.

"If it only fits, Jane. I left some to let out in the hem, but you are bigger every way than I thought. I tried it on Katie."

"Changing it a little at the waist will make it perfect," Marian reassured her.

"Oh, I am so glad it is snug, and just the right length, Alice. Mother—" Chicken Little stopped suddenly, she couldn't be criticising mother before company. "You see I grow so dreadfully fast that Mother has to make everything too big so it'll last a while."

Marian supplemented this explanation later to Alice.

"Poor child, Mother Morton does make her clothes too big! And it doesn't do a bit of good for they hang on her the whole season and by the next they're either worn or faded—and she generally manages to out-grow them, in spite of their bigness."

The girl's parcel was found to contain candy and a duck of a fan.

But Alice's wedding things soon put everything else in the shade. The dainty sets of underwear with their complicated puffs and insertings, frilled petticoats, silk and muslin and poplin gowns, hats and parasols, lay in a rainbow colored heap on the bed and chairs.

"Alice," said Marian, caressing some of the dainty lingerie, "who is going to iron all these puffs and ruffles? It would take hours to do them right, especially the petticoats."

"I know, Marian—I asked Aunt Clara the same question. And do you know what I have done?"

Her audience looked interested.

"I just went down town the minute I got to Centerville and got some nice strong muslin and I've been making it up perfectly plain except for a tiny edge. They are heaps more comfortable—and I wear these others for best. Why, I couldn't keep a maid and hurl all that stuff at her every week!"

"Are they wearing hoops pretty generally?" Mrs. Morton inquired as Alice laughingly held a pair up for inspection.

"Yes, and bustles too. See this buff poplin with the panniers just has to have a bustle. Thank goodness they're young yet, as Dick says, but I suppose they'll keep on getting bigger."

"Oh, I should think they'd be so hot and horrid."

"They are, but the hoops are delightfully cool, only you have to be on your guard with the treacherous things or they swing up in front when you sit down, in a most mortifying fashion."

"I have a pair to wear with my muslin dresses—it makes them stand out beautifully," said Katy complacently. "But Mother wouldn't let Gertie have any. She said she was too young."

"I didn't want the old things," Gertie protested. "And you wouldn't have got yours if you hadn't teased perfectly awful, and I heard Mother say she guessed you'd soon be sick enough of them."

"I agree entirely with your mother, Gertie, I consider them unsuitable for little girls. But they do set off a handsome dress to advantage. I remember during the war we used to wear such large ones we could hardly get through a door with them."

"Mother Morton, I bet you were a lot more frivolous than we are now." Marian put her hand lovingly on the wrinkled one that was smoothing the folds of a rich silk.

Mrs. Morton smiled. "Well, we had our pretty things. Alice's dresses are lovely, but she hasn't anything more elegant than my second day dress. It was a brown and silver silk brocade with thread lace chemisette and under sleeves. And my next best was apple green and pink changeable, trimmed in yards and yards of narrow black velvet ribbon all sewed on by hand."

"How I should love to have seen them!" Alice smiled wistfully. "You know I didn't have any of my mother's things."

"Come on, girls, it's getting late, let's help Alice put her treasures away. They couldn't be nicer, Alice, and I think you are going to be a very happy woman to make up for that desolate girlhood of yours."

Marian was already folding the garments. They were soon laid away snugly in trunk and closet and drawers, and the whole family packed off to bed to be ready for the early farm breakfast on the morrow.



CHAPTER VI

A HUNTING PARTY

The day following the arrival of the guests was spent in resting and seeing the ranch. Katy and Gertie had never been on a large farm before, and the thousand acres of field and prairie and woodland, seemed as marvellous as the tales they had read of the big English estates. Alice and Dick were also fascinated by all this space and freedom, but they saw deeper than the little girls.

"It's a wonderful place," said Dick, "and I don't wonder the Doctor is proud of it. But he is too well along in years to handle such a big undertaking. I doubt if the ranch pays for ten years to come, and it means hard work and a lonely life for all of them. It's all right for Frank and Marian, but I'm sorry for the rest of the family."

"Mrs. Morton is growing old fast with all this unaccustomed drudgery, and she is worried about the children's education, I can see," replied Alice.

"Yes, there are two sides to it. I guess we'll stick to the law and little old Centerville; we may not die rich, but we'll be a lot more comfortable as we go along."

Sherm took to the farm like the proverbial duck to the pond. He donned overalls that first morning and was off with Frank and Ernest to the fields before the little girls were out of bed. After breakfast Jane took Katie and Gertie to see the sights of the ranch. First to the spring under the old oak where the cold, clear water gushed from the rocks into a little basin, and then tumbled down a rocky channel under the springhouse and on for some hundred of yards farther before it widened out into the pond.

"We can go swimming in the pond but there is a nicer place in the creek above the ford."

"Oh, I'd love to learn to swim but we haven't any bathing suits."

"Pooh, that doesn't matter, we just take some old dresses—there isn't anybody to see you, especially down at the creek. You know it's private ground and the trees hang over the pool all around so the sun only comes in a little bit. We'll get Marian to go with us."

"I should think you could skate, too."

"We do. I had a great time once last winter—Father told me the ice was too thin, but I saw a yearling calf go over all right and I thought the ice would bear me. But I guess calfie had more sense about the weak places. At any rate, I went through, near the middle. The water was up to my shoulders. Gee, it was cold and the ice kept breaking when I tried to climb out—and the men were all away. I most froze before I got to the bank, and then my skate straps were so wet I couldn't loosen them, besides my fingers were too numb to bend. I had to walk on the skates all the way to the house. My teeth chattered till they almost played tunes by the time I got to the door." Chicken Little shivered at the recollection.

"What's the cunning little stone house for?" Gertie's attention was caught by a tiny hut without windows on the edge of the pond.

"Oh, that's the smokehouse. We're so far from town that we put away a lot of meat every winter. The hams and sides of bacon are smoked there."

"And that wooden building over yonder?"

"The granary—for the wheat and rye. Those open log houses are the corn cribs."

"My, it takes a lot of buildings to make a ranch." Katy was impressed in spite of herself.

"We haven't been to the barns and corrals yet. I love the hay mow."

Chicken Little had not forgotten lumps of sugar for Calico and Caliph. Ernest had given his pony a high-sounding name. The intelligent beast was proud and dainty enough to deserve it. He was shy about coming for his lump, but when he once got the taste, he nosed around Chicken Little for more.

They ended the morning's wanderings in Jane's own particular bower, known to the family as the Weeping Willows because she had once retired there to cry out her troubles, and had been discovered in a very moist state by Frank, who was a merciless tease.

There were two rows of the old willows. They formed a long leafy room on the edge of one of the orchards, out of sight both of the house and road. Chicken Little had been known to flee thither on more than one occasion when she did not wish to be disturbed in the thrilling place in a novel. For you really couldn't hear any one calling from the house in this leafy fastness. Ernest had made her two or three rustic seats, and a little cupboard where she could keep her treasures sheltered from the sun and rain.

Katy and Gertie were charmed with this retreat.

"If there was only a table, I could write all my letters home out here. Wouldn't it be romantic?" Katy loved the unusual.

"It's lovely, Jane, let's stay out here lots." Gertie settled down on one of the seats with a little sigh. "I wish I had my old doll here; it would make such a dandy playhouse."

"Gertie Halford, the idea of a great, big girl like you wanting to play with dolls."

"I get Victoria out sometimes and dress her up," confessed Jane. "It isn't much fun all alone, but I like to see her sometimes. If you'd like to, Gertie, we'll have a doll sewing bee this afternoon and you can be Victoria's mother and Katie and I will be dressmaker's though I never could sew decently. Mother's about given me up in despair."

Chicken Little had noticed a little far-away look in Gertie's eyes ever since she came. Marian had warned her the night before that she had better keep Gertie pretty busy for a day or two, or she would be homesick.

Unfortunately, Chicken Little's kindness precipitated the catastrophe she was trying to avoid. She was so motherly she reminded Gertie afresh of the dear little mother she had left so many miles behind and the tears came in spite of her.

Chicken Little coaxed and comforted, and Katy coaxed and scolded, but Gertie's tears were apparently turned on for keeps and the Weeping Willows was earning its name again. Gertie cried till she got all shivery, declaring solemnly whenever she could command her voice sufficiently to talk, that there wasn't a thing the matter—only—only—she—was a little bit homesick.

She wouldn't hear to Jane's going to fetch Alice or Mrs. Morton or Marian. "She'd be all right in a minute, if they'd just let her alone."

But the minutes went by and she still cried, and in spite of the warm June sunshine, her hands felt cold and her shoulders shook as if with an ague. Chicken Little and Katy were both getting worried when help came in the shape of Marian and Jilly.

Marian understood at a glance, and dropping to the ground beside her, drew her into her lap and chafed the cold hands while she bade Jilly hug poor Gertie. Jilly was a born comforter and she half smothered the patient with her energetic hugs and moist, warm kisses.

"Too bad, too bad—ants bite Gertie, too bad! Jilly fine 'em."

Jilly had not forgotten her own sad experience with the ants and not seeing any visible cause for Gertie's woes, evidently thought they were the guilty ones again.

Jilly was irresistible. Gertie had to laugh, even if the tears running down her face, did leave a salty taste in her mouth. She hugged the small comforter. Jilly, however, was not to be turned from her hunt. She insisted upon pulling down Gertie's stockings and making a minute search for the culprits. Her little tickling fingers and earnest air completed Gertie's cure, and Jilly adopted her as her own particular property from that day on, seeming to consider her in need of protection.

Marian declared they must all come and have dinner with her. Ernest and Sherm were already there and they had a merry meal in the little cottage, for Marian made them all help—even the big boys. She tied a blue apron around Sherm and set him to stirring gravy while Ernest watched four cherry pies almost ready to come out of the oven. She had despatched Katy and Jane to the springhouse after milk and butter. Gertie, assisted by Jilly, set the table.

Sherm had burned a nice fiery red during his morning's plowing. He was immensely proud of his efforts.

"I tell you Sherm's some farmer for a tenderfoot," said Ernest, telling about the number of corn rows he had done.

"Better come stay with us, Sherm."

"Haven't I come—I love the ranch. But I suppose I've got four years of college ahead of me."

"You'll have time enough after that, Sherm," said Frank, "but if you should want to try ranching, you'd better come out this way."

"No ranching for me." Ernest thumped the table with his fork emphatically. "You can have my berth, Sherm, and welcome. The only thing I care for here, is the hunting. By the way, Frank, are you and Marian going hunting with us?"

"I'd like to. What do you say, Marian?"

"Why, if there's room for so many."

"I wish we could ask Captain Clarke," Chicken Little spoke up.

"My, you are daffy about the Captain, Jane. He wouldn't go—you couldn't hire him to if he knew Alice and I were to be of the party. Queer he is so charming with Jane, and with the men and boys, and so very reserved and stiff with women."

"He probably has some reason for disliking your sex. Perhaps, if we'd let him go with the children and the boys, he might be persuaded to come. He'd only see you at luncheon time. What's the matter, Katie?"

"I'm not a child," said Katy with dignity.

"All right, you may come with us grown-ups and let the Captain have the children and the boys."

"You'd better find out whether the Captain is willing before you plan so definitely, Frank."

"We'll send Chicken Little and Sherm over on the ponies as a special deputation to invite him. You must coax your prettiest, Sis."

"I'd love to. I just know I can get him to come. Will you go with me, Sherm?"

"Nothing I'd like better," responded Sherm heartily.

The next few days fairly twinkled by. The girls roamed the woods and the fields with Dick and Alice, and went in bathing, and fed chickens, and even made little pats of butter down in the cool springhouse. Gertie mourned because she could not send hers home straightway to Mother. Chicken Little and Sherm waited until Sunday to go over to the Captain's.

Sherm found Caliph and the Mexican saddle rather more to his taste than Chicken Little's outfit had been on the ride from town. He had about all he could do for the first five minutes to manage Caliph for he had had little opportunity for riding at home. But he had a cool head, and with a few suggestions from Jane, he soon convinced Caliph that he had a new master as determined as Ernest, if not quite so skilful a horseman. They did not talk much. Sherm considered Jane a little girl and Jane stood rather in awe of Sherm. But they enjoyed the brisk ride none the less. The swift motion with the wind in their faces, the wide stretches of prairie bounded on the distant horizon by a faint line of timber, were novel and delightful to Sherm. To Jane, they were familiar and dearly loved. Besides, she liked having Sherm with her.

He glanced at her from time to time. Chicken Little glanced back with sweet, friendly eyes. It was she who finally broke the ice.

"I do hope the Captain will go. I'm most sure he'll like you, because his little boy looked a lot like you. He showed me the picture."

"He seems to like you all right from what they say."

Chicken Little laughed merrily.

Sherm couldn't quite see the connection.

"Well, what's so funny about that?"

"Will you cross your heart never to tell, Sherm? Frank and Ernest would tease the life out of me if they knew."

"Cut my heart out and eat it, if I ever breathe a word."

Chicken Little related the swearing episode which she had not seen fit to trouble even Marian with, at home. "I guess," she concluded, "he felt sort of sorry for me right at the start and that made him like me."

"'Twouldn't be such a hard job as you seem to think, Jane," Sherm surprised himself by saying.

Chicken Little flushed and looked up hastily at Sherm who also felt his face getting warm to his great disgust. Sherm hated softies of any kind.

"Oh, I believe there's the Captain now over by the pasture fence."

Captain Clarke was riding round the pastures inspecting the barbed wire fencing. He soon hailed them.

"Hello, Little Neighbor, is the piebald behaving himself?"

Jane introduced Sherm as soon as they came abreast.

"Captain Clarke, this is Ernest's friend, the Sherman Dart I told you about."

Captain Clarke scanned the boy's face curiously. His own went a little white after an instant's inspection.

"You are right—he is marvellously like what my boy might be to-day. I beg your pardon for my rude scrutiny. Possibly Jane has told you of the resemblance. You will come up to the house and let Wing give you some lemonade. It is hot this afternoon."

Chicken Little declined to take him from his course and told him their errand. He hesitated. "You say Mr. and Mrs. Harding and your brother and his wife are going. Would you think me very rude and unappreciative if I declined, dear? I am poor company for anyone these days and——"

Chicken Little looked so disappointed that he paused ruefully.

"Please, just this once, Katie and Gertie want to see you dreadfully and you could go with us. Pretty please."

She thought she saw signs of weakening. Sherm also noticed the Captain's hesitation.

"We've all sort of set our hearts on having you, Sir. Chicken Little and Ernest have talked so much about you we feel acquainted, and Dr. Morton says you're a dead shot. I've never hunted anything but squirrels myself."

Captain Clarke stared at Sherm as if in a dream for a minute. The boy was embarrassed by his silence and smiled his little crooked smile to cover it. Their host passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. Then he smiled.

"It's no disgrace to surrender to a superior force. I am yours to command. But I stipulate that you two stand by me."

Chicken Little gave a bounce in her saddle to emphasize her delight and Calico took this as a hint to go on.

"Whoa, Calico! Thank you—bushels! Oh, I just know we'll have the best time! Would you mind if we children all went with you because nobody's going to be willing to be left out?"

"I can take five nicely and have plenty of room for guns and lunch baskets besides. By the way, please tell your mother that Wing Fan will never forgive me if he is not permitted to get up the lunch for all the young people at the very least."

"Have you a gun with you?" he asked Sherm as they were going.

"No, but Ernest said I might take his."

"I have a new shotgun. I should be glad if you would share it with me."

They found Alice and Dick, Marian, Katie, Gertie and Jilly, not to mention Huz and Buz, waiting for them on the Morton side of the ford.

"What luck?"

Sherm didn't give Jane a chance to reply.

"Oh, Chicken Little just put on her company smile and the Captain held out his hands and said: 'Handcuffs, please.'" He was meeker than Buz.

"Sherman Dart, you old—" Chicken Little flicked Caliph lightly by way of revenge, and Sherm had his hands full for several seconds, for Caliph resented the indignity.

It was arranged to start early the following Saturday morning. Mrs. Morton and Annie were up soon after daylight busy with the mysteries of fried chicken and fresh rolls. The men of the party were equally busy cleaning guns and routing out all sorts of hunting toggery. The girls tried to help everybody impartially, succeeding for the most part in making a general nuisance of themselves.

At exactly seven-thirty Captain Clarke drove up with a wonderful team of blacks. His hunting jacket was belted in with a formidable looking cartridge belt, two shotguns were slid in on the floor of the spring wagon, and lunch baskets and a great earthenware jug of lemonade were wedged in under the seats. He gave a shrill hunting halloo as he drew up at the gate.

Mrs. Morton was a little disturbed at the gay looking team.

"Are you quite sure they are safe with the guns? You know young people are often reckless and this is a very precious load."

"My dear madam, I think I can answer for Jim and Jerry. I took them out for an hour yesterday and used the gun over their heads to make sure they hadn't forgotten their manners."

The Captain met the strangers of the party in his usual courteous reserved fashion, but his eyes lighted when Chicken Little ran down the walk. He established Ernest and Katie and Gertie on the back seat and swung Jane up in front to the driver's seat with Sherm on her left.

"Ernest, I'll handle the ribbons going, if it suits you, and you can drive us back. I have an idea you will have the sharpest eye for game of any of this crowd. We ought to do our best work the next two hours for snipe. We probably won't find many prairie chickens until we get over on Little John. By the way, boys, be careful not to disturb the mother birds—there are still some on the nests. I really don't like to hunt quite so early in the season as this, although a good many of the young birds are shifting for themselves already—bird parents have a beautiful faith in Providence. They don't worry long about their young."

A light shower had fallen the night before and the air was fresh and fragrant with the smell of wet grasses and moist earth.

The rattle of wheels close behind assured them that Frank and his load were near.

"Kansas certainly takes the cake for climate," Dick called to them, happily reckless about corrupting the young folk with his slang. Alice promptly reproached him.

"Mrs. Morton would send you home by the first train if she heard you."

Dick assumed an air of mock woe. "Oh, I say there, Chicken Little, don't mention that little matter of the cake—that particular cake isn't respectable, Alice says."

It was Frank who got the first shot.

"Here, Marian, take the lines quick. Hold them tight—they may jump when I fire. Turn out of the road—to the right—slowly now. Stop!"

Frank drew the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim while the others were still vainly trying to see something to shoot at. A snap, a flash, and a bird whirred up a hundred paces away, flew a few feet from the ground, and fell.

Frank ran to the spot and held up a good-sized plover. Marian and Alice examined it pitifully.

"What a slender delicate thing it is! It seems a shame to kill it. I like the excitement of hunting but I always want to cry over the victims," said Alice with a sigh.

Sherm caught sight of a covey soon after. He and Ernest slipped out of the wagon and stole up as close as possible. Ernest got two with the scattering bird shot, but Sherm missed.

"You were too anxious, lad. Stop an instant always before you fire to make sure your hand is steady," the Captain consoled him kindly.

Sherm profited by this advice and brought down his next bird. Captain Clarke left the game to the boys until their first zest for the sport was satisfied. Chicken Little frequently discovered the birds before either of the boys, and was eager to have a turn herself, as was also Katy. Gertie put her hands to her ears every time a gun was fired and openly hoped they wouldn't find any more game to shoot at. Captain Clarke advised the girls to wait a little, and watch the boys carefully to see exactly how they aimed and rested their guns, and he would help them both a little later. But Ernest soon undertook Katie's education and was surprised to find he had a very apt pupil. Katy had as steady a nerve and as true an eye as either of the boys. Ernest began to be alarmed lest his pupil win his honors away from him.

"You must have shot before, Katy."

"I have with a revolver. Uncle Sim used to let me shoot at a target. And he had an archery club last summer."

The Captain did his best for Chicken Little but she did not do nearly so well as Katy, though she made one shot the Captain considered quite extraordinary.

"It's a pretty long range for a novice, little neighbor, but you can try it."

Two birds flew up where she had seen one. "Oh, dear, I missed," she lamented.

"I'm not so sure," said Sherm. "Let's go see."

He helped her down and they made a brisk run toward the spot where the grouse had risen. After a few minutes, Sherm stooped and picked up a bird considerably to the right of where Chicken Little had aimed.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed with a puzzled expression. "You did get one."

He stood looking down thoughtfully at the ground. Chicken Little hurried to him elated, but her joy was short-lived. Snuggled among the grasses was an empty nest.

"Oh, do you 'spose she was on the nest? But I couldn't have seen her if she had been—and it's empty."

By way of reply, Sherm stooped again and picked up a baby grouse from a clump of weeds. Fear had frozen it into a motionless wee brown image.

"Oh, the poor little darling! I took its mother." Chicken Little looked ready to cry.

Bending down Sherm parted the weeds and grasses cautiously.

"Here's another—and another. We must hunt them, Chicken Little, and take them home or they will all starve. Gee, what can we put them in?"

Jane slipped her hat elastic from under her braid, and taking a handful of long grass to line it with, soon made a snug nest. They tucked the mottled downy bunches into it.

"What in Sam Hill are you people doing over there?" called Ernest.

"Little grouse—come help us find them," Sherm called back. "Be careful now or you'll step on them," he warned as Ernest and the girls came running up. "They are the slyest little codgers—you don't see them until you are right on them."

Gertie was on her knees peering before the words were out of his mouth. She lifted a fourth mite from its hiding place, and a fifth, and a sixth, almost as fast as she could pick them up. "Oh, aren't they dear? May I hold them, Jane, when we get back to the wagon?" Gertie was caressing them with hands and eyes.

There were ten chicks cuddled in the hat, when after a thorough search of the weeds, Ernest announced that they must surely have them all. But to make sure they went over the ground in all directions once more.

Jane was very sober. Sherm tried to cheer her.

"You couldn't help it, Chicken Little. You didn't mean to." Sherm smiled his funny smile as he said this.

"Why are you smiling? Oh, I know—I believe so, too."

"What secrets are you talking?" Katy was curious.

"Yes, speak United States, it isn't polite to leave your guests in the dark this way," growled Ernest.

Jane haughtily declined to explain just then. When they returned to the wagon, they found the Captain as much interested in the shot, as he was in the prairie chicks.

"That was really a wonderful hit, little girl. I congratulate you."

Jane stole a glance at Sherm. He wasn't looking at her, but he was smiling. Jane smiled, too.

"Yes, Captain Clarke," she replied demurely, "it was rather astonishing."

This was too much for Sherm who chuckled openly. Captain Clarke looked from one to the other inquiringly. The others were completely mystified.

"Well, I'd just like to know what you two are up to." Katy wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Can't a fellow laugh without having to give an account of himself?" Sherm parried, still trying to stave off the mirth that possessed him.

Chicken Little's face was sweetly sober. "He's appreciating my—skill—the rest of you don't seem to realize what a feat——" A sound, something between a crow and a suppressed steam whistle interrupted her. Sherm whooped until he was red in the face. Chicken Little regarded him reproachfully, but continued: "You see most anybody can hit the chicken they aim at, but it takes a fine shot to hit one you didn't know was there." She grinned mischievously up at the Captain who grinned back delightedly.

"Really, Chicken Little?"

"Really." She joined in the general laugh.

"What did you want to tell for?" Sherm had enjoyed having the joke to himself.

She didn't answer then, but later she whispered: "Because the Captain—I didn't want him praising me that way!"

Noon found them fifteen miles from home with a bag of six snipe and ten prairie chickens, and appetites that fairly clamored. Frank found an ideal camping place in a grove of walnut trees beside a small creek.

"I camped here once two years ago and there's a fine spring somewhere near. Come along, Katie, we'll go hunt it. Ernest, picket the horses—there's oats under the back seat. And Sherm, if you'll just start a fire for the coffee."

Marian and Alice spread the luncheon out on a long tablecloth laid over the dust robes on the ground. Gertie and Chicken Little fed the little grouse with some moistened bread crumbs, finding it difficult at first to induce them to eat. But they would swallow, when the girls pried open their tiny beaks and stuck a crumb inside. Captain Clarke showed them how, and patiently helped them until each tiny craw was at least partly filled.

Marian and Alice watched him furtively.

"He is gentle as a woman," Alice whispered, "and his face lights up wonderfully when he smiles, though it is stern usually."

"Yes, I can see now why Jane is so fascinated. Do you know his smile is very much like Sherm's? See—no, just wait a minute. Now—watch his upper lip—his mouth twists crooked exactly like Sherm's. Chicken Little spoke of his baby's picture having the same smile." Marian dropped her eyes hastily as the Captain chanced to turn in their direction.

"I imagine lots of people have that kind of a smile only we never noticed them," replied Alice.

"Of course, I didn't mean to suggest anything. Will you cut the lemon cake?"

After the luncheon was eaten, the shady grove tempted them to linger on with its woodsy coolness. The younger folk dragging the Captain, a willing victim, along with them, went off on an exploring expedition while the others stretched out luxuriously on the coarse grass that grew rank along the slope.

It was four o'clock before they could tear themselves away for the homeward ride.

"You'd better hurry," Frank called to the stragglers, "it will be almost dark before we get home even if we don't stop to shoot."

They picked up a few quail on the divide soon after they started, but their zest for the sport seemed to have waned. Chicken Little declined to try any further.

"I know, it's the baby grouse," said Katy.

"Yes," said Captain Clarke, "I think the baby grouse have rather taken the zip out of it for all of us."

The moon was just peeping above the tree tops as they crossed the home ford. A huge grotesque shadow of the horses and wagon with its load, was reflected upon the silvered surface of a deep pool just beyond the ripples where they had stopped to let the horses drink. The blacks having satisfied their thirst, began to dash the water about with their hoofs.

"They love it, don't they?" Katy watched them.

"Yes," said the Captain thoughtfully, "I guess every living thing enjoys this beautiful world of ours—when it is given the chance."



CHAPTER VII

PIGS

"Take a hand to a wooster? Take a hand to a wooster!"

Dick Harding was standing out in the road near the white cottage one morning about two weeks after the hunting party, trying to decide whether he would take a walk or a ride to settle his breakfast. He glanced down into Jilly's sober little face lifted to his appealingly.

"Take a hand to a wooster? Charmed, I'm sure. Point out the rooster. But what has his rooster-ship done, and how can I make him keep still long enough to lay hands on him, Jilly Dilly?"

Jilly clasped five fat fingers around two of his, smiled confidingly and made her plea once more: "Take a hand to a wooster."

Dick looked puzzled, but Jilly was pulling and he meekly followed her guidance. "I haven't the faintest idea what you are getting me into, young lady, but go ahead, I'm at your service."

Jilly pattered along not deigning to reply to his remarks. Jilly considered words as something to be reserved for business purposes only.

She led him to the chicken yard, pressed her small face against the wire netting that enclosed it, and contemplated the fowls ecstatically. Dick contemplated also, trying to pick out the offending rooster.

"Which rooster, Jilly?"

But Jilly only smiled vaguely. "Feed a wooster," she commanded after another season of gazing.

"Yes, to be sure, but what would you suggest that I offer him? There doesn't seem to be anything edible round here."

The chickens seconded Jilly's suggestion, coming to the fence and clucking excitedly.

Jilly looked pained at Dick's indolence and, taking his hand, led him over to a covered wooden box, which was found to contain shelled corn. The chickens were duly fed, but Dick still puzzled over the unchastized rooster until Marian enlightened him later.

"I shall have to give you a key to Jilly's dialect," Marian laughed—"she merely wanted you to go with her to see the chickens."

Chicken Little was enjoying her guests. Her resolve to help mother was carried out only semi-occasionally when there were raspberries or currants to be picked or peas to be shelled, under the grape arbor so they wouldn't be in Annie's way in the kitchen. At first, Mrs. Morton had counted on having the girls help with the breakfast dishes, but they developed such a genius for disappearing immediately after breakfast that she gave it up as more bother than it was worth.

They tramped and rode, and waded and splashed and finally swam, in the bathing hole down at the creek, under Marian's or Alice's supervision, till Katie and Gertie were brown and hearty.

"Mrs. Halford wouldn't know Gertie—she's fairly made over," Alice observed one morning.

Gertie was fast losing her timidity and had so much persistence in learning to ride that she bade fair to have a more graceful seat in the saddle than Jane herself. Sherm was deep in farm work and the girls saw little either of him or of Ernest, except in the evenings and on Sundays. Dick ran the reaper in the harvest field for Dr. Morton for three days, but his zeal waned as the weather got hotter.

"This is my vacation and I don't want to sweat my sweet self entirely away 'in little drops of water.' Think how pained you'd be, dearest," he told Alice.

"I never dreamed there was so much farming to a ranch," Alice remarked to Dr. Morton one day. "I thought you attended to the cattle——"

"And rode around in chaps and sombreros, looking picturesque, the rest of the time," interrupted Dick. "My precious wife is disappointed because she hasn't seen any cowboys cavorting about the place shooting each other up or gambling with nice picturesque bags of gold dust."

"Dick Harding! I didn't. But we'd hardly know there were any cattle round if we didn't go through the pasture occasionally."

"Our big pastures take them off our hands pretty well in summer, but in winter they have to be fed and herded and looked after generally, don't they, Chicken Little? Humbug has played herd boy herself more than once. You are thinking of the big cattle ranges in Colorado and Montana and Wyoming, Alice. This country is cut up into farms and the ranges are gone. And we have to raise our corn and wheat and rye, not to mention fruits and vegetables. It's a busy life, but I love its independence."

A day or two after this conversation, Ernest came in late to dinner, exclaiming: "Father, the white sow and all her thirteen pigs are out."

"The Dickens, have you any idea where she's gone?" Dr. Morton looked decidedly annoyed. "I told Jim Bart that pen wasn't strong enough to hold her—she's the meanest animal on the place."

"One of the harvest hands said he thought he saw her down along the slough. I am sorry for the porkers if she is—they aren't a week old yet."

"Go down right after dinner and see if you can see anything of her. The old fool will lose them all in that marshy ground. And I don't see how we can spare a man to look after them. It looks like rain and that wheat must be in the barns by night."

Ernest came back from his search to report that the sow and one lone pig had wandered back to the barnyard and Jim Bart had got them into the pen.

"One pig! You don't mean she has lost the other twelve? That's costly business!"

"Looks that way. They're such little fellows—I suppose they're squealing down there in the slough in that swamp grass—it's a regular jungle three or four feet high."

Dr. Morton studied a moment, perplexed. "Well, the grain is worth more than the pigs. I guess they'll have to go until evening and then we'll all go down and see how many we can find. They won't suffer greatly before night unless they find enough water to drown themselves in."

"Oh, the poor piggies!" exclaimed Chicken Little. "Why, they'll be most starved and maybe the bull snakes might get them."

"I hardly think they could manage a pig. But I can't help it, unless you think you could rescue them, daughter." Dr. Morton said this last in fun, but Chicken Little took it seriously.

"What could I put them in, Father?"

"Oh, you might take a small chicken coop," replied her father carelessly. The wagons coming from the barn were already rattling into the road and he was in a hurry to catch one and save himself the hot walk to the fields.

Chicken Little was thinking. She sat twisting a corner of her apron into a tight roll. "I believe we could do it," she said presently, "and the bull snakes are perfectly harmless if they are big, ugly-looking things. Will you help me, Katie?"

"Ugh, are there really snakes there, Jane?"

"Yes, but we've never seen any poisonous ones along there, though I saw a water moccasin once right down by the spring, so you never can tell. But snakes sound a lot worse than they really are, 'cause they're such cowards they always run."

Katy considered. The task did not sound attractive, but Katy was plucky. "I guess, if you can do it, I can."

Jane had not thought of asking Gertie and she was surprised to hear her say: "I'm coming, too."

"Oh, Gertie, won't you be afraid?"

"Yes, I'm afraid, but I don't want the little piggies killed—just think how you'd feel if you were lost in such a dreadful place and there were snakes and awful things. If I see a snake I'll yell bloody murder, and I guess it'll let me alone."

Jane threw herself on Gertie and hugged her. "Gertie Halford, I think you'd make a real, sure enough book heroine, because you do things when you think you ought to, whether you're scared or not."

"I wish Dick hadn't gone to town to-day," said Katy.

Chicken Little had her campaign already planned. "I'm going to get Ernest's and Frank's and Sherm's rubber boots for us. They'll be lots too big, but we can tie them around the legs to make them stick on. They will be fine in the mud and water if we have to wade in the slough. Yes, and they will protect us from the snakes, too. We won't put them on till we get down there; they will be too hard to walk in. And we can take Jilly's red wagon and put the smallest chicken coop on it. It isn't heavy."

Mrs. Morton had gone to town with Dick and Alice for the day or the girls would probably not have been permitted to carry out their unusual undertaking. They quickly made their preparations with much joking about the boots, and twenty minutes later came to the banks of the slough. The slough was in reality a continuation of the spring stream, which spread out in the meadows below the pond until it lost all semblance of a stream and became merely a marshy stretch, whose waters finally found their way into the creek. In the meadows adjoining, the finest hay on the place was cut each year.

The girls sat down on the grass and fastened on the boots. The effect was somewhat startling, for they reached well above the knee on Chicken Little, who was the tallest of the three, while poor Gertie seemed to be divided into two equal parts.

Both Katy and Jane giggled when she got laboriously to her feet.

"There's more boots than girl, Gertie," laughed Jane.

"You don't need to be afraid, Sis, you'll scare anything, even a snake!" Katy remarked unfeelingly, though her words reassured Gertie wonderfully.

"I don't feel so afraid in these," she said.

Chicken Little was slowly making her way in to the slough. "Jim found the mother pig near here, Ernest said, but the little scamps may be most anywhere. Let's listen and see if we can hear any squeals or grunts."

"Yes, I did—I'm most sure, but it didn't sound very close by," Gertie answered.

Chicken Little listened. "Which way did the sound come from?"

"Toward the creek, but I don't hear it any more."



"We'd better search pretty carefully as we go along so we won't have to come back over the same ground," remarked Katy, who had a genius for organizing—even a pig hunt. "You are the tallest, Jane, so you take the tallest grass next the water, and I'll come along half way up the bank and Gertie can walk through the meadow grass—that way we can't miss them."

"No, for they must be on this side of the slough: they're too little to wade across it."

Chicken Little made the first find, two discouraged little porkers, hopelessly mired and grunting feebly when disturbed. They had no trouble in catching these, but holding their wet, miry little bodies was a different matter. They were slippery as eels. Chicken Little and Katy, who each had one, found them a handful.

"Oh, mine most got away! And I'm all over mud—we'll be a sight!" Katy giggled hysterically. "I wonder what mother would think if she could see me now."

"Well, it will all wash off. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so hard to clump along in these old boots. It takes forever to get any place."

They had sent Gertie on ahead to open the coop door. With a sigh of relief, Katy shoved hers into it. Jane was not so lucky. Instead of going in, as a well-regulated pig should, the small, black-and-white sinner shot off to one side and made for the slough again. They had a pretty chase before he finally tangled himself up in the grass and was captured once more.

They plodded back to take up the search where they had left off, going through the shorter grass till they should reach the point where they had found the pigs. They were clumping along, chattering gaily, when Katy jumped and let out a yell that could have been heard a block away.

"Oh, there's the biggest snake I ever saw—over there near that rock—don't you see?"

Gertie turned white, but Chicken Little encouraged her by starting toward the monster, which was indeed a huge bull snake fully five feet long, as Ernest and Sherm found by actual measurement that evening.

"Pooh," said Chicken Little, "it looks dreadful, but it won't hurt you. If I can find some stones I'm going to try to kill it."

"Don't you dare go near it." Katy grabbed her dress and held on tight.

"But we'll all be scared to death all the time, for fear we come across it again, if I don't. There are some rocks over there big enough, if I can get them out of the ground."

She went resolutely over and, prying with a stick, secured two good-sized rocks. Armed with these, she started toward the snake coiled up asleep in the hot July sunshine. Katy and Gertie watched her breathlessly. Chicken Little advanced with caution. She didn't like the job herself, though she was sure the snake wouldn't do anything worse than run. She had seen her elders kill them more than once, and they had always been cowardly. Nevertheless, her heart thumped and her breath came fast, as she crept nearer. She must go close and aim at the head if she hoped to do any execution. Step by step she crept forward till she was within four feet of that ugly coil. Stopping, she raised the heavy stone and took careful aim. At this instant her presence disturbed the snake. It raised its oval head, fixing her with its beady, bright eyes. A thrill of horror shot through her. What if it should fascinate her so she couldn't move? She had heard of such things. She heaved the stone, shutting her eyes tight as it left her hand.

Katy and Gertie both screamed and jumped back. Jane opened her eyes quickly to see the snake uncoil and start to glide away. She saw something else, too. She saw that her stone had wounded it just behind the head. Her courage flowed back in a trice. She raised the other stone and moved forward. The snake was slipping over the ground at a swift pace. She had to run, catching up with it as it came to its hole, a few feet distant. She smashed down the second rock almost in the same place she had hit before. The reptile moved feebly about six inches farther till its ugly head was hidden inside the hole, then thrashed its heavy body through another undulation, and lay still.

Chicken Little stood looking at it in dazed surprise for several seconds. She was white and trembling with excitement. Seeing that it did not move, Katy and Gertie crept a little closer. No one said a word for a full minute, then Chicken Little came to life, her face convulsed with loathing.

"Ugh, the nasty thing—I hate them. I don't see what God wanted to make such horrid, wicked things for!"

"Well, the Bible says they weren't wicked till Eve ate the apple," Katy replied, staring curiously down at the snake. She had never seen such a big one outside of a circus. "But I think they must have always looked wicked, anyhow. How did you ever dare, Chicken Little, to tackle it? I was expecting it to wind right round you like that picture of Laocoon in our mythology."

"I shouldn't have dared if I hadn't seen so many of them before. I guess being brave is mostly being used to things. But I hate snakes worse than anything in the world—I don't feel a bit sorry about killing them!"

"Oh, dear," said Gertie, shuddering, "I s'pose we have got to find the rest of the pigs."

Katy and Chicken Little each echoed the sigh. They all started ahead resolutely. But they kept closer together for a time. They went some little distance without finding any further signs of the lost animals.

"You don't suppose we could have passed them, do you?" Katy inquired anxiously.

"We couldn't, if they are on this side of the slough."

A few rods farther on something moved in the swamp grass. All three jumped and screamed: their nerve had been sadly weakened by the bull snake.

A squeal and chorus of grunts reassured them.

"Here they are—a lot of them. Oh, dear, I wish we'd brought the coop along so we wouldn't have to go back." Jane parted the tall grass and discovered five of the fugitives huddled together. They were much livelier than the first ones and showed symptoms of bolting if the girls approached nearer.

"I'll go back for it," said Katy. "I'll go through the short grass and I won't be afraid."

Chicken Little and Gertie watched and waited.

"Isn't that little white one with the pink ears and curly tail cunning? I didn't suppose pigs could be so pretty."

"They are only pretty when they are weenties. As soon as they grow old enough to root in the mud, they are horrid."

When Katy returned they anchored the red wagon with the chicken coop and the two captured piglets as close to the slough as possible. All three crept upon the pig cache cautiously.

"Pick out which one you'll grab, for they are going to run sure," Chicken Little admonished.

They made a dash and each got a pig, but, alas, the two free ones made a dash also—a break for liberty worthy of an Indian. They selected routes immediately in front of, and immediately behind Chicken Little, whose attention was absorbed with trying to hold a squealing, squirming pig. The result was disastrous to all concerned. Pig No. 1 tripped her up neatly and she sat down hastily and unexpectedly upon Pig No. 2, who gave one agonized squeal, in which the pig in her arms joined. Fortunately, her victim did not get her whole weight or there would have been one pig the less in this vale of tears. Chicken Little squashed him down gently into some two inches of oozy mud and water. It splashed in all directions, baptizing Katy and Gertie and the fleeing pig as well as completing the ruin of Jane's pink gingham frock, fresh that morning.

The sight of her amazed and disgusted face generously decorated with mud, was too much for Katy. She giggled till the tears stood in her eyes. Chicken Little was indignant.

"I guess you wouldn't think it was so funny, if it was you," she replied with dignity. Dignity did not become her tout ensemble. Katy went off into fresh screams of mirth. Chicken Little had stood about all she could that afternoon. Her face flamed with wrath, and, gathering up the struggling pig in her arms, she hurled it at Katy, as the only missile within reach. Piggy just missed Katy's head, tumbling harmlessly into the ooze. Chicken Little was instantly remorseful, not on Katy's account but on Piggy's.

Katy was furious. She didn't say a word, but walked deliberately over to the coop, deposited her pig very gently and started toward the house.

Gertie tried to stop her, but she shook her off. Chicken Little, too angry to care what happened, relieved herself of the rest of her ill-temper.

"Go off and be hateful if you want to—a lot I care, Miss Katy Halford. I should think you'd be ashamed to act so when you are most fifteen."

A swift retort rose to Katy's lips, but she decided it would be more impressive to remain dignifiedly silent. She stalked on. Gertie hesitated as to which of the belligerents she should follow, but finally decided in favor of the one who needed her worst. She put her pig in the coop and came to help Jane up. The latter was already ashamed of her outburst, but was far from being ready to acknowledge it. The other three pigs had not gone far and they soon had them safely in the coop. They were debating as to whether they should give up hunting for the others, when a hail from the road brought aid and comfort. Katy had met Dr. Morton coming from the field on an errand and had told him what they were trying to do. He was delighted and surprised to see the seven rescued pigs.

"Why, Chicken Little, I didn't really suppose you were in earnest or——" Dr. Morton stopped suddenly, he had just taken a good look at his only daughter—the look was effective. He threw back his head and roared.

"Oh, if you could just see yourself, Jane!"

This was adding insult to injury and Chicken Little burst into tears. "You can just hunt your old pigs yourself—I don't think it's nice of you to laugh when I tried so hard!"

"Come, come, I beg your pardon, but you are enough to make an owl laugh, Humbug. It was fine of you to try to rescue the pigs. You girls deserve a great deal of credit, for it is a disagreeable, muddy job. I guess I'll have to make it up to you. I'll tell you what I'll do. You may have this litter for your very own, and we'll send the little girls their share over the cost of keeping, when the pigs are sold. How will that do?"

Chicken Little was not in the mood to be easily appeased.

"Yes, but you say things are mine till you want to sell them, and then I never see the money."

This was touching a sore point. The Doctor had been a little remiss on the subject of the children's ownership of their pets. He was nettled by this accusation.

"My dear, when I say a thing I mean it. I was about to add, though, that if I give you the entire proceeds of the pigs I shall expect you to attend to feeding them until they are big enough to be turned in with the drove."

"I thought the mother fed them."

"Well, the mother pig has to be fed."

"Do you really, truly, mean it, Father?"

"Truly."

Chicken Little forgot the late unpleasantness. "Oh, goody, let's call Katy back and tell her!"

Katy was not so far away as might have been anticipated. Her wrath was dissipating also.

Dr. Morton lingered to help them a few moments and to satisfy himself that they could not do themselves any damage that a bath and the wash tub could not repair, then left them once more to their own resources.

By four o'clock they had all but one of the missing pigs safely stowed in the coop. They were very tired and hot, and decided to save the joy of hunting for the last pig for Ernest and Sherm in the evening.

It was well they did. The wee stray would have led them a chase. He had found his way almost to the creek, and it took the boys a good hour of wading and beating the swamp grass to discover him.

Just as Chicken Little was dropping off to sleep that night, Katy roused her.

"Do you suppose we'll get as much as five dollars apiece from those pigs?"



CHAPTER VIII

A PARTY AND A PICNIC

Gertie looked wistful. Dick and Alice were going on to Denver that morning to return a month later for the little girls. All three were to drive into town with Dr. Morton to see them off. The mere thought of anyone going away made Gertie a little homesick. She went out to the chicken yard, where nine of the young prairie chickens were flourishing under the care of a much-deceived hen, who had adopted them with the mistaken notion that they were her own egg kin. The little mottled things seemed very much out of place among the domestic fowls. They were wild and shy and astonishingly fleet on their reed-like legs. Gertie loved to watch them. Two of the chicks had died the first night, and one, two days later. But the rest survived, and, in the course of time, flew away to join their wild mates.

"Dear me, I wonder what we can do next?" said Chicken Little, as they watched the train pull out with Dick waving from the rear platform.

Dick's and Alice's going seemed to have finished things, at least for the time being. Her question was answered as soon as she got home.

"Jane," said her mother, "I have just received an invitation for you and the girls that I am a little doubtful about. Ernest and Sherm are invited, too, but not to remain for the night."

"Stay all night? Where, Mother, where?"

"With Mamie Jenkins. The Jenkins family are hardly as refined as I could wish for your associates; still they are good religious people, if they are plain, and Katy and Gertie might enjoy going to a country party."

"A party? O Mother, please let us go."

"I don't mind so much your coming to the party, but they want to have you stay overnight and attend a picnic some of the young people are getting up for the next afternoon."

Katy was as eager as Jane for the festivity and Mrs. Morton was at length persuaded to pocket her scruples and permit the girls to accept Mamie's invitation. Ernest and Sherm were also delighted at the prospect of a frolic. They were to take the girls over and leave them for the night, returning the next afternoon for the picnic, which was to start from the Jenkin's farm.

But when the day of the party arrived, Gertie backed out, begging to be left at home with Mrs. Morton. The thought of meeting so many strangers frightened her.

"I doubt if she would enjoy it. She would be the youngest one there—most of them will be from fourteen to twenty. The neighbors live so far apart, they have to combine different ages in order to find guests enough for a party."

At first, Chicken Little would not hear to Gertie's remaining behind, but finding that she would really be happier at home, stopped urging her. Jane and Katy were soon joyfully planning what they should wear. They were to go in their party frocks, each taking another dress along for the morning and the picnic. Jane was to wear Alice's gift. Katy had a dainty ruffled muslin with cherry-colored sash and hair ribbons.

"I was afraid I wasn't going to have a single chance to wear it here," she remarked naively.

The boys were busy shining their shoes, and performing certain mysteries of shaving with very little perceptible change in their appearance. Ernest felt that he could not possibly go without a new necktie, but as no one was going to town before the event, he had to content himself with borrowing one from Frank.

It took the combined efforts of Marian and Gertie and Mrs. Morton to get the revellers dressed to their satisfaction. Gertie waited on the two girls as patiently as any maid. Marian was in great demand by the boys to coax in refractory cuff buttons and give a "tony" twist to the ties.

"Is tony the very latest, Ernest?"

"That's what Sherm says. Just make the bow a little more perky, can't you, Marian? I don't want to look like a country Jake."

"Ernest, you are just the boy to go to Annapolis; you are so fussy about your clothes."

"Golly, I hope I do get to go. Father hasn't heard from the Senator yet, but he may be away from home."

Sherm was struggling with his tie, getting red and hot in the process. He had just tied it nearly to his satisfaction, when he carelessly gave it a jerk and had it all to do over again.

"Caesar's Ghost!" he exclaimed vengefully, "what do they make these things so pesky slippery for?"

Marian laughed and Sherm colored in embarrassment over his outburst.

"Please excuse me, but this is the fifth time I've tied the critter."

"Let me try." Marian turned him to the light and had the bow nicely exact in no time.

The girls found their source of woe in their hair. Katy, having learned that most of the young people would be older than themselves, decided to put her hair up, and look grown up, too. Mrs. Morton was horrified and made Katy take it down. Katy, though rebellious, dared not oppose her hostess openly. She contented herself with taking a handful of hair pins along and putting it up after she reached Mamie's. To be sure the heavy braids piled upon her small head looked rather queer, especially with her short skirts, which she could not contrive to lengthen. But Katy made up for this defect by an unwonted dignity, and actually persuaded a majority of the people she met that she was sixteen at the very least.

Country folk gather early and they found the fun well started when they arrived. The Jenkins family had come to the neighborhood about a year before from Iowa.

The farmhouse was new and rather more pretentious than most on the creek. Lace curtains with robust patterns draped the windows in fresh-starched folds. A green and red ingrain carpet covered the floor, while the entire Jenkins family—there were four olive branches—done in crayon by a local photographer, adorned the walls. It would be more truthful to say, adorned three walls. The fourth was sacred to a real oil painting in an unlimited gilt frame, which had come as a prize for extra subscriptions to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Mrs. Jenkins regarded this treasure almost with reverence. "I do think it is real uplifting to have a work of art in the house, don't you, Mrs. Brown?" she had been heard to remark to a neighbor who failed to notice this gem. The family bible and a red plush photograph album rested on the marble-topped table, usually placed in the exact center of the room. To-night, it was pushed back against the wall to make more room for the games.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were rigid Methodists and would not tolerate any such worldly amusement as dancing. Kissing games were substituted, and if, as the Jenkins believed, these were more elevating, they were certainly coarser and rougher than the dancing would have been.

Mamie had attended the Garland High School for one year and had acquired different ideas. She would have much preferred the dancing, but her parents were firm. Mamie deemed herself a full-fledged young lady at fifteen. Her highest ambitions were to have "style" and plenty of beaux.

Ernest and Sherm had to find a place to tie the horses. They lingered also a moment at the pump to wash the leathery smell of the harness from their hands—a fastidious touch that would have subjected them to much guying if the other boys had seen them.

So Chicken Little led Katy into the crowded room, unsupported. There was no hall or entry and they were plunged directly into the thick of the party. Many of the country lads and lasses were her mates at the district school and greeted her cordially, eyeing Katy, however, with frankly curious stares. Mrs. Jenkins relieved her embarrassment by taking them upstairs to remove their wraps. She introduced herself to Katy before Jane could get out the little speech of presentation her mother had urged her not to forget, since Katy, being a stranger, should be made to feel at home as quickly as possible. Chicken Little hated introducing people and had been dreading the ordeal, but kindly Mrs. Jenkins took Katy by the hand and presented her to the whole roomful at one fell swoop.

"This is Miss Katy Halford, young folks, and I want you all to introduce yourselves and see that she has a good time or she'll think you are a lot of green country jays who haven't any manners."

"King William was King James's son" was in full swing. The young folks made places for the two girls in the ring and promptly drew in Ernest and Sherm as soon as they entered. The lilting tune was sung lustily while the supposed victim in the center, a handsome lad of sixteen with bold, black eyes and dark curls, surveyed the girls, big and little, with an evident enjoyment of his privileges.

Several of the older boys interrupted their singing to give him advice.

"Take the city girl, Grant, buck up and show your manners." "Bet you knew who you'd choose before you left home." "Don't let on that you don't know which girl you want—Mamie's biting her lips already to wash off that kiss."

The boy returned or ignored this badinage as he saw fit.

Mamie, however, was indignantly protesting that he needn't try to kiss her. Grant looked in her direction and smiled as the fateful instant arrived. Indeed, he started toward her, then mischievously whirled around and seizing Chicken Little, who was whispering to Katy that Grant was Mamie's beau, kissed her with a resounding smack.

Chicken Little was taken so unawares that she had time neither to blush nor to protest or struggle, as was considered etiquette on such occasions. She didn't even try to rub it off, as was also customary. She just looked at him with such a funny mixture of surprise and dismay that everybody roared, including Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins and some of the older neighbors who had come in to see the fun.

"Here, Chicken Little, you need practice," and "Chicken Little acts as if she didn't know what kisses were. You'll have to have a rehearsal beforehand next time, Grant!" "Why, Grant? What's the matter with the rest of us?" These comments were open and noisy.

Ernest took all this coarse bantering at his young sister's expense good-naturedly. He knew no offence was intended. He had been present at a number of these rural frolics. But Sherm, town-bred and unaccustomed to this form of amusement, was distinctly displeased both at the kiss and the talk. He got Chicken Little off to one side as soon as he could.

"Say, Chicken Little, don't let the boys kiss you."

Chicken Little looked concerned. "I don't like them to, Sherm, but I can't help it if I play—and they'd think I was awfully stuck up and rude if I refused."

"Does your mother know they have this sort of games?"

Chicken Little made a little grimace. "Don't go and be grown-up and horrid, Sherm. Everybody does it here. They'll stop this pretty soon and play clap in and clap out or forfeits."

Her big brown eyes were lifted so innocently and sweetly that Sherm couldn't say any more, but he felt a curious desire to fight every time a big boy so much as stared at Jane.

"She's such a kid!" he explained the feeling to himself, "and Ernest isn't looking after her at all."

Katy entered into the romping heart and soul. Katy was playing young lady. Her pink cheeks and laughing eyes and little flirtatious ways were very popular with the boys—so popular that Mamie was vexed because many of her mates seemed to have eyes only for the city girl, as she called her behind her back.

Mamie eased her mind by treating her special friends haughtily. She got even with the recreant Grant by choosing Ernest the very first time in Post Office. She even put some of the girls up to boycotting the boys who were hanging round Katy, for one entire game, persuading them to choose Ernest and Sherm alternately till the others were jealously wrathful without being quite sure whether it was accident or conspiracy. Considering his scruples about kissing, Sherm submitted most meekly. He had the grace to color when Chicken Little remarked carelessly: "It wasn't so bad as you thought it would be, was it, Sherm?"

"Oh, it's different with boys," he retorted loftily. "Little girls like you don't understand."

"Little girls! I suppose you think yourself a man grown. You needn't feel so big because you're most seventeen. I heard Dick say a boy of seventeen wasn't really any older than a girl of fifteen, because girls grow up quicker. So there, you're not much more than a year older than I am!"

Sherm's "little girl" rankled not only that evening but for weeks afterwards. She told Katy and Mamie in strict confidence after they had gone upstairs that night.

"I'd show him if I were you, Jane," advised Mamie the experienced.

Chicken Little needed no urging, but she was in doubt how to proceed.

"My, I wish I was awfully beautiful and grown up. I'd make him fall so many billions deep in love with me he couldn't squeak." Jane felt positively vindictive whenever she thought of Sherm's patronizing tone. She had neglected to mention to the girls the little conversation that had preceded her remark to Sherm. She didn't consider it necessary to tell everything she knew.

Mamie tittered. "Pooh, you sound as if you had been reading Sir Walter Scott. They don't do things that way nowadays. When I was in town last winter at school I had lots of boys gone on me, and I'm not a raving, tearing beauty either."

Mamie looked as if she expected her guests to contradict her, but they were too much impressed with her conquests to do anything so rude. A little disappointed, but finding their absorbed expressions encouraging, Mamie preceded to retail her adventures. Boiled down, these were mainly a box of candy and various walks taken at recesses and noons, with an occasional escort to a party. They were sufficiently thrilling to the others, who had never been permitted even such mild forms of dissipation.

"My, wouldn't I catch it if Papa ever caught me walking with a boy!"

Katy painted the paternal wrath with a real relish. It seemed to furnish an adequate excuse for her having nothing to relate and put her on a little pinnacle of superior breeding as well. Her parents looked after her. It was only more ordinary people who permitted their daughters to run about at fifteen.

Mamie was keen enough to realize this and she promptly resented Katy's patronizing tone.

"Oh, Pa would have been mad, too, if he had known. But I was staying with my aunt. She didn't care what I did, just so I was on time to meals and didn't run around after dark."

Katy was determined to keep up her end. "We used to have wonderful times at the church oyster suppers. One night last winter Dr. Wade—you don't remember him, Chicken Little, he's only been in Centerville about a year. Well, he took me in for oysters and bought me candy and three turns at the grab bag. And he is a grown-up man—he's been a doctor for over two years."

Katy would hardly have told this story if Gertie had been there. She neglected to mention that Dr. Wade had kindly included Gertie and five other young girls in these courtesies. Or that he had remarked to Mrs. Halford that he loved to be with children because he missed his own brothers and sisters sadly. But Gertie was not present to mar the effect of this story with further particulars. Mamie began to rack her brain for forgotten attentions worthy to be classed with this superb generosity. Poor Chicken Little was hopelessly out-classed. Nothing more thrilling than being singled out in games and Blackman at school had happened to her.

"Grant Stowe said you had the prettiest eyes of any girl here to-night. I heard him tell Jennie Brown so when she asked him whether he liked blue eyes or brown best. She is the awfulest thing—always fishing for compliments."

This was generous of Mamie, for Grant was the one who had passed her by so recently. But Katy's eyes were also distanced and Mamie had been very much thrilled by hearing that Ernest might go to Annapolis. Further, he had chosen her twice that evening. She felt amiably disposed toward Ernest's sister.

When the tales of past glories were exhausted, the conversation grew intermittent, being punctuated by frequent yawns. They were just on the point of dropping off to sleep when Mamie suddenly opened her eyes and sat up in bed with a jerk.

"Music! Don't you hear it? I shouldn't wonder if some of the boys were out serenading. Oh, I do hope they'll come here."

Katy and Chicken Little listened breathlessly.

"It is!"

"Yes, and it's coming nearer."

All three hopped out of bed and crouched down by the window. The moon was setting, but there was still a faint radiance. The strains were growing more distinct.

"I bet it's Grant Stowe and his two cousins from the Prairie Hill district. They are staying all night with him and are going to the picnic to-morrow. Don't you remember that red-headed boy?"

"It sounds like a banjo and guitar," said Katy. "Oh, I do love a guitar. It always makes me think of 'Gaily the troubadour.'" Katy gave a wriggle of delight at this romantic ending to the night's festivities. She was already planning to tell the girls at home about the wonderful serenade.

The tinkle tinkle of the thin notes grew stronger and clearer and they found that a third instrument, which had puzzled them, was a mouth organ.

"I didn't suppose anybody could really make music with a mouth organ, but it goes nicely with the others." Chicken Little, like Katy, was more excited over the serenade than the party. It seemed so delightfully young ladyfied.

The trio had one awful moment, for the music seemed to be dying away and still there was no human in sight. Suddenly it stopped altogether. They listened and waited—not a sound rewarded them.

"I think it's downright mean if they've gone by." Mamie's tone was more than injured.

The words were hardly out of her mouth when a stealthy foot-fall came directly beneath their window, and guitar, mandolin, and mouth organ burst forth into "My Bonnie," supported after the opening strains by half a dozen boyish voices.

The boys had crept in so close to the wall of the house that the girls had not discovered them. The young ladies ducked at the first sound, and hastily slipped their dresses over their night gowns so they could look out again.

"O dear," said Mamie, "I almost forgot my curl papers."

They were arrayed in time to reward the serenaders with a vigorous clapping of hands, Father and Mother Jenkins joining in from the window of their bedroom downstairs.

"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" floated up next, followed by "Over the Garden Wall," which, if not choice, had the distinction of being sung in New York, as Grant Stowe proudly informed them.

It was three o'clock past, before they finally settled down in bed once more. Faint suggestions of dawn were already apparent.

"It's not much use to go to bed, Father always gets up at six," mourned Mamie.

A brilliant idea struck Katy. "Suppose we stay up all night. Grace Dart said she did once when her father was so sick, and she said it was the most wonderful thing to see the sun rise when you hadn't been to bed at all."

This proposal met with instant favor. They clambered out of bed and lit the small oil lamp, wrapping themselves in quilts and petticoats impartially, for the air was growing chilly. The next three hours were the longest any of the three had ever known. In spite of fortune telling, and a thrilling story which Mamie read in tragic whispers, the minutes shuffled along like hours. Yawns interrupted almost every sentence and much mutual prodding and sharp reproaches were necessary to keep their heavy eyes open. They were too sleepy to care whether the sun rose in the usual sedate way or pirouetted up chasing a star. In fact, they forgot all about the expected sunrise. They wanted just two things—sleep and something to eat.

The call to breakfast was even sweeter than the serenade had been. Father and Mother Jenkins were concerned at their jaded appearance.

"Seems like parties don't agree with you young ones none too well. I reckon we won't have them very often," Father Jenkins remarked tartly. His own eyes smarted from loss of sleep.

"I don't believe you ought to go to the picnic this afternoon if you are feeling so played out," Mother Jenkins added. "Your Ma will think I haven't taken good care of you. It was them good-for-nothing boys a-coming that wore you plumb out."

Generous cups of strong coffee—a luxury not permitted to either Chicken Little or Katy at home—woke them up and they got through the morning nicely. Not for worlds would they have missed that picnic.

But even the coffee could not carry them through the afternoon. They were the butts of the entire party on account of their dullness and heavy eyes.

Ernest expressed his disgust with his sister openly. "Well, I think Mother'd better keep you at home till you're old enough not to be such a baby." Jane had been nodding in spite of herself.

"Looks to me as if you girls had stayed up all night!" exclaimed Grant Stowe.

Mamie roused enough to retort: "Well, I guess you didn't get any too much sleep yourself."

"We can keep awake if we didn't. But if it has this kind of effect on you, we'll leave you out the next time we go serenading."

It had been arranged that they should catch fish for the picnic supper. The girls had brought a huge frying pan and the butter and corn meal to cook them in. As soon as the teams were cared for, the boys got out fishing tackle and bait and the party broke up into small groups for the fishing. Grant Stowe offered to help Chicken Little with her line. She found this courtesy on his part embarrassing, for Katy and Mamie exchanged looks, and she was so utterly sleepy, that she would have preferred Ernest or Sherm so she wouldn't be expected to talk. Chicken Little had gone to school with Grant the preceding winter. He was always a leader in their school games and a great favorite.

Grant found a snug place beside a deep pool that promised catfish at the very least, and might be expected to yield a few trout. He made her comfortable on the spreading roots of an elm growing upward with difficulty from a steep bank. Grant smiled at her as he handed her the rod and tossed the baited hook into the stillest part of the pool.

"There, you ought to get a bite soon. This is one of the best places on the creek for catfish. Say, what did you girls do to yourselves that you are so used up to-day? You didn't take a five-mile walk or anything after we left, did you?"

Jane laughed. "Don't you wish you knew?"

"Oh, I'll find out, but I wish you'd tell me." Grant looked at her from under his long black lashes. His tone was distinctly wheedling.

Chicken Little laughed again and shook her head.

Grant threw his own line in, seating himself a little lower down on the bank; and quiet reigned for several minutes.

But the boy was determined to get the secret from her. After a tedious silence, he began in a low tone so that he would not disturb the fish: "You know, Chicken Little, I always did think you were the prettiest girl in school, but you were such a kid you never took the trouble to look at a fellow. Seems to me you might be nice now and tell me what you did."

He neglected to mention the fact that he had bet Mamie a silk handkerchief against a plate of taffy that he would find out what they had been up to before night. He received no response.

"Oh, come now, be a trump and tell a fellow."

He glanced around this time with a tenderly reproachful look. This tenderness speedily vanished. Jane was peacefully asleep, her head supported against the tree trunk.

The boy's face flushed wrathfully for an instant, but he had a saving sense of humor. "Serves me right for trying to get the best of a kid, I guess," he said to himself. He let her sleep on undisturbed until the sound of voices announced the approach of some of the others, when he hastily wakened her. He did not intend to be laughed at for the rest of the day.

Chicken Little found it hard to wake up and was heavy-eyed and stupid the remainder of the afternoon. Fortunately for her and Katy, Ernest had orders from his mother to be home by dark.

Patient Gertie was waiting expectantly to hear about the good times, but she could hardly extract three words from either of the revellers. Parties and boys and finery were all stale, but their neatly made bed looked like heaven.



Chapter IX

BREAD AND POLLIWOGS

Three days elapsed before Katy and Jane could settle down to the quiet, daily life of the ranch. If Gertie had found them disappointingly mute that first evening, she never had to complain again. They went over and over the thrilling events of the night and the picnic the next afternoon, till Gertie got sick of hearing what "Mamie said" and how he looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. Indeed, these events seemed to grow in importance the farther off they were. Gertie was seldom pettish, but Katy's seventeenth repetition of what Grant Stowe's cousin said to her while they were fishing left her cold.

"Shut up, Katy, I'm sick of hearing about it. I don't care what he said and I just know he thought you were a silly little girl trying to seem grown up when you aren't! You know Mother wouldn't like you to act so, and I guess Mrs. Morton'd be ashamed of you, too, if she knew."

"Gertie Halford, if you dare tell!"

"Thank you, I'm no tattle tale! I intend to forget all about it as soon as ever I can. But I know Sherm thought you were silly from something he said."

Chicken Little related the most presentable of their doings to Marian. Marian didn't say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She ended a little meaningly: "Do you know, I believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at any other age? They're exactly like that little buff cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before he knows how. I hope you girls won't be in a hurry to grow up. There are so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a while."

July was growing unpleasantly hot. The mornings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was a favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when the wind was from the right direction. They took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with Jilly tumbling over their feet and Huz and Buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the plaguing flies.

They had been picking blackberries mornings for Mrs. Morton's preserving. The rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. The mother pig had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. It seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. Dr. Morton would not let them feed corn in summer.

"Dear me," said Katy, "how big do little pigs have to be before they can be turned into the corral with the others?"

"Oh, six or eight weeks, I guess."

"They are getting awfully smelly!" remarked Gertie, holding her nose, "and they aren't a bit pretty any more."

"I know and Father said last night we'd have to begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long." Chicken Little sighed. This speculation in pigs had its unpleasant side.

"I guess we'd have to bring a lot more stuff if Ernest and Sherm didn't help us out. They give them things to eat lots of times. But I think Jim Bart might keep the pen a little cleaner," Katy observed.

"He's so busy he doesn't have time."

Another morning occupation was bread-making. Dr. Morton had offered a brand new dollar to the girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of bread. They were taking turns under Mrs. Morton's teaching, but it did seem as if more things could happen to bread. Katy would have had her perfect loaf, if she hadn't let the dough rise too long. The loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, alas! Chicken Little spoiled her prize batch by sitting down to read and letting it burn.

Gertie's first and second were very good, but a trifle too solid. Katy won out on her third, and produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that Marian said she was envious.

The others wanted to stop when Katy secured the dollar, but Mrs. Morton persuaded them to persist until they could equal Katy's.

"You may send one to Captain Clarke, if you wish."

This stimulated their waning interest and they tried to produce that perfect loaf. A week went by before Mrs. Morton nodded approval, saying: "Yes, that is nice enough for a present. I am sure the Captain will like it."

The girls had planned to take it over on the ponies, but Mrs. Morton wanted to send over two gallons of blackberries also, which was more than they could manage.

"I am sending Ernest and Sherm down the creek this evening on an errand," said Dr. Morton, "and they can stop at Captain Clarke's and leave the things. You girls can go some other time."

Chicken Little decided to send some of her spare pinks. She came in with a great handful just as the boys were ready to start.

"Where is your loaf, Chicken Little?" asked her mother.

"O dear, I forgot to wrap it up. It won't take a minute."

"Take one of the fringed napkins to wrap it in, then put paper around that," called her mother.

"Where did you put the bread, Mother?"

"In the bread box, of course, child, where did you suppose?"

"There isn't anything but old bread in the box."

"Well, ask Annie."

"She's gone to Benton's."

"Well, I think you're old enough to find four loaves of bread in a small pantry." Mrs. Morton got up, disgusted.

Sherm stood waiting with the tin pail of berries and the bunch of flowers in his hands. Ernest was holding the team out at the road.

When Mrs. Morton disappeared Sherm remarked placidly: "Well, I guess I might as well take these things out. I'll come back for the bread."

Mrs. Morton could be heard exclaiming about something in the kitchen. Sherm smiled a fleeting smile and departed.

Sounds of hurried footfalls, of boxes and pans being moved, came from the kitchen. Somebody ran hastily down cellar. "It isn't here, Mother." Jane's tone was emphatic.

"What do you suppose is the matter?" exclaimed Katy. She departed to see, followed by Gertie. The sound of fresh disturbances floated in from the cuisine. Dr. Morton grew curious and went out to investigate. Sherm came back as far as the front door and stood waiting.

Presently, Mrs. Morton entered, flushed and annoyed.

"It's the queerest thing I ever heard of—that entire baking of bread has vanished. Annie is perfectly honest and she knew we were expecting to send a loaf to the Captain. You haven't seen any tramps about, have you, Sherm? You don't suppose the dogs could——" Mrs. Morton glanced suspiciously at Buz asleep on the path outside.

"Nonsense, Mother, the dogs couldn't get away with whole loaves of bread and leave no trace. They are not overly fond of bread, anyhow."

"Possibly Annie may have put it in some unheard-of place—girls are so exasperating. I'll go look again."

A third search was no more successful than the previous ones had been. They were obliged to send the boys on without the bread.

Both Chicken Little and Gertie mourned, for they had combined forces in this baking and were immensely proud of their effort.

"We never can get it so nice again—I just know!"

Mrs. Morton had been studying. "You don't suppose the boys could have meddled with it, do you?"

Katy looked up with a gleam in her eye. "They were laughing about something fit to kill just before supper and they wouldn't tell what it was."

"But why—I don't see." Mrs. Morton was puzzled.

"To tease the girls, possibly. But I don't see how they could make away with four big loaves without being noticed."

"If Ernest Morton took that bread, I'll never forgive him as long as I live!" Chicken Little's jaw set ominously. "You just watch me get even."

"Come now, Chicken Little, we're merely guessing the boys took it. Annie may have put it away in a new place, forgetting that you would want it to-night," her father tried to pacify her.

Gertie didn't say much, but it was plain that she sympathized with Jane. An hour later the three girls went out to the road to watch for the boys' return. The lads were evidently taking their time. Nine o'clock came—half-past nine—still no boys! Mrs. Morton came out and sent the girls in to bed. They were just dropping off to sleep when the lads drove up.

At breakfast the next morning the entire family fell upon Ernest and Sherm and demanded news of the bread. Annie had returned and assured Mrs. Morton that it had been safely stored in the bread box before she left the house the evening before.

"Bread? What bread?" asked Ernest, rather too innocently.

"Ernest Morton, you did something with that bread I was going to send the Captain. You have got to tell me where you hid it."

"Chicken Little Jane Morton, I give you my word of honor I didn't touch your old bread and I don't know where it is."

Ernest assumed a highly injured air. Sherm took a hasty swallow of water and nearly choked.

The family had come near believing Ernest, but Sherm's convulsed face roused their suspicion afresh.

"If you didn't, you got Sherm to," said Katy shrewdly. "That's what you were laughing about last night—I know it was."

"That's like a girl always suspecting a fellow of being up to some deviltry. Maybe you think we'll keep on feeding your old pigs if you treat us this way."

Dr. Morton scanned the boys closely, but did not say anything.

Jane and Katy turned on Sherm.

"Did you take the bread?" Chicken Little had fire in her eye.

Sherm tried guile. "Chicken Little, do I look hungry enough to steal your bread? Mrs. Morton has been feeding me on good things ever since I came, why should I want to make away with four loaves of bread?" Sherm was almost eloquent.

"Nevertheless," observed Katy, "you don't deny that you took it."

Try as they would, they could get no satisfaction from the boys.

"Well, I know they did and I'm going to make 'em wish they hadn't." Chicken Little puckered up her brow to think hard.

"Of course they did or Sherm would have denied it instanter. Let's think up something real mean." Katy stood ready to second any effort.

Gertie had been in a brown study. "The boys are going off some place to-night. I heard Ernest ask your mother if she had cleaned that spot off his Sunday suit, where somebody spilled ice cream on him at the party."

"I bet they're going to see Mamie Jenkins ... they're trying to sneak off without our knowing it." Jane's indignation was not lessened by this news.

Katy leaned forward and whispered something.

Jane and Gertie clapped their hands.

"All right, the very thing."

At dinner the boys were rather surprised to find that the young ladies had dropped the subject of the bread. They were inclined to take it up again, but nobody seemed interested. Ernest was a little vexed to have his father say before them all: "It will be all right about Sherm's riding the bay, only don't stay out late, boys."

The girls went upstairs soon after dinner and there was much giggling from their room for the next two hours.

"Where ever can we put the clothes where they can't find them? They make such a big bundle."

"O Chicken Little, I've thought of something that will be better than hiding!" Katy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she unfolded her scheme. "Let's hurry and fix a cord."

"There's a hook there already we can use. Mother had a hanging basket outside the window one summer."

"We can pretend to take a walk," added Katy.

"Pshaw, I want to hear them—it will be half the fun," Gertie objected.

"I said pretend—we will sneak back through the orchard. Of course, we'd have to be here to do it, Goosie."

That night Mrs. Morton had an early supper at the request of the boys. Immediately after, they armed themselves with sundry pitchers of hot water and retired upstairs. The girls also disappeared.

All went well for some minutes except that Ernest cut himself in his haste to shave. Presently, a call for mother floated downstairs. Mrs. Morton had gone across the road to visit with Marian. Receiving no reply, Ernest called again lustily. Dr. Morton, coming in just then, replied:

"Your mother is not here, what do you want?"

"Send Chicken Little then."

"She's gone for a walk with Katy and Gertie."

"Thunderation! I've got to have somebody. Won't you please call Mother?"

At this moment three girlish forms slipped into the grape arbor immediately below the boys' window, and concealed themselves in its deepest shadow.

Mrs. Morton came patiently home to attend to the needs of her favorite son.

"What is it, Ernest?"

"Where did you put our Sunday clothes?"

"Dear me, aren't they in the closet?"

"In the closet? Do you suppose I'd call you home if they were in the closet? They aren't anywhere!" Ernest's tone verged on the disrespectful.

Mrs. Morton toiled upstairs with a sigh. Was there to be a repetition of the bread episode?

Ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes were not anywhere. The boys exchanged glances both wrathful and sheepish. Ernest had already exhausted every swear word that his mother's presence permitted. Sherm, also restrained by her presence—he had retired to bed while she searched their room and closet—thought all the exclamations he hesitated to utter. Three young young ladies in the arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conversation as floated down to them with unholy glee.