"Well, Ernest, they're certainly not here; I'll go look in Chicken Little's room."

Ernest accompanied her. Sherm scrambled out of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing apparel. He was startled to perceive a bulky object suddenly darken their window. It was a peculiar-looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers' legs dangled indiscriminately. He had no difficulty in recognizing their missing clothes. He rushed to the window and raised the screen, calling to Ernest excitedly. He half expected to see the things disappear as mysteriously as they had come, but the bundle remained stationary. It had been raised to the window by means of a pulley contrived from an old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. The end of the cord was hidden in the arbor.

The boys secured their possessions, hastily assuring themselves that they were all there. Mrs. Morton started thankfully downstairs, but had barely reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a loud "Mother!" recalled her.

Mrs. Morton had never seen Ernest so furious. Sherm didn't say much, but his face was wrathfully red.

"What now?"

"Look at this!" Ernest's voice was tragic as he held the garment up to view. His trousers' legs had been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing machine. Sherm's, ditto. All four pair of sleeves were also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they could not be readily ripped out.

Mrs. Morton looked aghast. "It will take an hour to get that out!"

"Confound those kids! Mother, you can just make those smarties come rip that stitching out!"

"My son, whom are you addressing?"

"Well, Mother, I didn't mean to be disrespectful, but this is a little more than I can stand! Wait till I get my hands on Jane!"

"You would do well to remember, Ernest, that you started this practical joking yourself. I hope it will be a lesson to you to refrain from such pranks in future."

"We didn't do anything but carry the bread over to the Captain without telling them. That's where they wanted it to go."

Mrs. Morton gasped. "Did you take the whole baking?"

"Sure, wasn't that what you wanted?"

Mrs. Morton considered a moment before replying.

"Well, Ernest, you boys have brought this annoyance upon yourselves—I think you will have to accept the consequences. I am too tired to fuss with the stitching to-night. If you go to Jenkinses you will have to wear your every day suits."

"But Mother!"

Mrs. Morton was already descending the stairs; she did not respond.

Ernest turned in despair to Sherm, who was examining the neat stitching ruefully.

Sherm grinned; "Guess we might as well take our medicine. Score one for the kids!"

"I think they might take a joke the way it was intended."

"They seem to have taken the joke and a few other things besides."

Sherm chuckled. Ernest laughed, too, a little sulkily.

"We're elected to stay at home all right, but I'll get ahead of them if it takes a month!"

By the time the boys had rearrayed themselves and come downstairs, the occupants of the grape arbor had vanished. They didn't return until the enemy had departed for a ride to soothe its ruffled feelings.

The girls retired to bed early, as innocent young people should.

"Did you have a good time at Mamie's last night?" asked Chicken Little at breakfast the next morning.

"Mamie's? We didn't go to Mamie's."

"No? I thought you intended to." This from Katy.

"You girls do get the queerest notions in your heads," observed Ernest loftily.

Gertie giggled. The boys looked at Gertie; they hadn't suspected Gertie. Katy also giggled, likewise Chicken Little. There is something exceedingly contagious about giggling.

Ernest became even loftier.

"You girls seem to spend about half your time cackling—I hope you know what you are cackling about."

"We do," retorted Chicken Little, still sweetly.

Ernest and Sherm exchanged glances. After breakfast Ernest asked his mother if she had told the girls what happened the night before.

"Not a word. They didn't ask me."

"Humph!" The boy was puzzled.

At noon they took another tack.

"I forgot to tell you that Mamie sent her regards to you and Katy," Ernest remarked casually.

"She said she was sorry you didn't come, too," added Sherm.

Jane lifted her eyebrows at Katy. Katy shook her head.

"By the way, Sis, I forgot to tell you that Captain Clarke invited us all to come over to supper to-morrow night. He said to tell you he appreciated that bread very much. And while I think of it, if you can spare a little of your valuable time, I'd thank you to rip that stitching out of our clothes. I want to wear mine to the Captain's."

"All right, we'll rip out the stitching if you'll bake us a batch of bread as good as the one you took."

"Not much, Mary Ann! We took the bread to the Captain, all right."

"Yes, but we only intended to send one loaf—and, besides, you made us a lot of trouble."

"Mother, haven't the girls got to take out that stitching?"

"I think Jane's proposition is a fair one, Ernest," observed Dr. Morton dryly.

The boys retired to their room early that night where they worked most industriously with scissors and penknife and clothes brush. They had paid a hurried visit to Chicken Little's room when they first came upstairs. This visit did much to sweeten their hour of labor.

The girls were spending the evening at Frank's. They were late in getting home. The night was hot and they hated to go to bed until it began to cool off. Dr. and Mrs. Morton were sitting on the front porch.

"Go to bed, children. Father was just starting over to call you." Mrs. Morton kissed them each goodnight.

Dr. and Mrs. Morton followed them in and had barely settled themselves for the night, when an unearthly shriek rent the air, followed by another and yet another.

"What in thunder are those children up to now?" Dr. Morton spoke in the tone of one who considered that patience had ceased to be a virtue.

"O Mother, come quick—there's snakes or frogs or something in our bed and we haven't any light!"

Mrs. Morton hurriedly lit a lamp and went to the rescue, followed by the doctor armed with a stick.

Holding the lamp aloft they went into the room, the three girls, who had retired in a panic to the head of the stairs, bringing up the rear. Katy had scrambled into bed and out again in haste, dragging the coverlet and sheet half off on the floor. The interior of the bed was fully exposed to view. It was already occupied—not by snakes, but by a handful of fat, squirming, little polliwogs.

"Ugh, I thought it was a snake—they were so slimy and cold!" Katy shivered at the recollection.

Dr. Morton grimly gathered up the polliwogs, then, leaving his wife to restore order, went into the boys' room and held a conversation behind closed doors. No report of what was said ever reached the girls, but the practical jokes ended then and there.



CHAPTER X

SUPPER AT THE CAPTAIN'S

Their late unpleasantness had made the young people unusually polite to each other. Irritating subjects were carefully avoided the next day. When they set out for the Captain's, Sherm gallantly handed Katy in to the front seat to sit beside Ernest, while he sandwiched himself between Jane and Gertie. The boys had finally concluded that the real joke was on them and were trying to make up.

The Captain received them at the gate.

"I can't be grateful enough for that bread. I haven't had such bread since I was a boy at home. I believe I am indebted to both Chicken Little and Gertie for the treat. Wing Fan is consumed with envy and asked me to-day if I would ask the honorable miss to tell him how she make the so wonderful bread."

"I'd be delighted to," replied Chicken Little, "only it took more than telling for Gertie and me. We tried ever so many times before we got it just right, but, of course, Wing understands more about cooking than we did."

"Well, judging by the bread, you seem to know a good deal about cooking."

Sherm could not resist. "Yes, and the girls are first rate at sewing, too!"

This was too much for them all. They laughed until the Captain begged to be let in on the fun.

Their host had an unexpected treat for them. "You are to help me christen my new row boat. It came four days ago, but I have been saving it until you could all go with me."

He led the way down the creek to a long, deep pool, where a blue and white skiff floated gaily at anchor. A piece of white cardboard was tacked over the name so they could not see it.

"I covered it up to see if you could guess it. I'll give one of those Siamese elephants to the one who gets it first."

A lively contest followed. The girls suggested all the poetical names they could think of from Sea Rover to Bounding Billow. The boys, after a few wild guesses, settled down to the names of places in the neighborhood, and women's names.

The Captain laughed at their wild hazards.

"It isn't the name of any ship or famous naval hero?" Ernest asked this question for the second time.

The Captain shook his head. "Some of your neighborhood guessers were the nearest. There's one thing I'm sure of, Chicken Little won't guess it."

This was hint enough for Sherm. "Chicken Little," he sang out instantly.

"Bright boy, the elephant is yours."

"Did you really?" Chicken Little eyed the long strip of cardboard that concealed the name, incredulously.

The Captain took out his penknife and deftly ripped the covering off. There it was—the letters an inch tall in white paint: "Chicken Little."

"I think we should have a proper christening ceremony while we are at it. Ernest, would you mind stepping up to the house and asking Wing for a bottle of ginger ale?"

When Ernest returned with the bottle of amber-colored liquid, Captain Clarke turned to Gertie.

"We must divide the honors, will you break the bottle over the bow while Sherm pushes off? Champagne is customary, but this is better for a prohibition state, and for young folks in any state."

Gertie took the bottle and waited for directions. The others looked on curiously. Sherm untied the boat, and, holding the cord in his hand, also waited.

"Perhaps we'd better consider Ernest the crew; that cord is hardly long enough to permit the Chicken Little to float off in style, and we don't want to have to swim, to bring her back. Jump in, Ernest; you know how to handle an oar in fresh water, don't you?"

"I think I can manage it."

Captain Clarke explained to Gertie exactly how to strike the blow that should send the ginger ale foaming over the bow, and repeated the formal words of christening until she knew them by heart. Gertie was so interested she forgot to be shy, and performed her office with much spirit, repeating the "I christen thee, Chicken Little," as solemnly as if she were standing beside a battleship instead of a blue-and-white row boat. It was a pretty ceremony, but it took so long that Wing Fan came to announce supper before they were all fairly packed away in the boat for their promised ride. The six were a snug fit.

Supper was served on the uncovered veranda. A stream of late afternoon sunshine filtered through the trees, and, with the lengthening shadows, cast a sunflecked pattern of branch and foliage on the white linen tablecloth and shining glass and silver. Some of Chicken Little's own clove pinks, mingled with feathery larkspur and ribbon grass, filled a silver bowl in the center of the table.

"How did you keep them fresh so long?" Chicken Little asked curiously.

"Wing Fan performed some kind of an incantation over them. You'll have to ask him."

Wing was delighted to have Jane notice them. "Velly easy keep—put some away in box with ice all same butter."

Captain Clarke had been the first person on the creek to put up ice for summer use and Wing was the proud possessor of a roomy ice box.

"It seems like home to have ice again." Katy was stirring the sugar in her tea for the sheer satisfaction of hearing the ice tinkle against the sides of the glass. A sudden thought disturbed her. "Though there couldn't be anything nicer than your spring house for keeping things. I don't believe our melons at home ever got so nice and cold all through as yours do down in the spring stream."

"That's a wonderful spring you have over on the place." Captain Clarke came to Katy's rescue. "And that big oak above it is the finest tree in this part of the country. I'll venture it has a history if we only knew it."

"Yes, Father is very proud of the old oak. He says it is at least two hundred years old. He wouldn't take anything for it," Ernest replied.

"Everybody calls Kansas a new country," said Sherm, "but I guess it is pretty old in some ways. Kansas had a lot of history during the war."

"Yes, and lots of the people who helped make the history are living down at Garland now. The old Santa Fe trail runs clear across our ranch. You can tell it still—though it hasn't been traveled for almost twenty years—by the ruts and washouts. And even where the ground wasn't cut up by the countless wheels, it was packed so hard the blue stem has never grown there since. It is all covered with that fuzzy buffalo grass. In winter this turns a lighter brown than the prairie grass and you can see the trail for miles, distinctly." Ernest loved history and politics.

"What was the Santa Fe trail? I have heard you speak of the trail so much and I never knew what you meant." Katy asked eagerly.

The Captain answered: "The old trans-continental wagon road to the gold fields of California. You know there was a time when Kansas didn't have anything so civilized as a railroad and people traveled by wagon and horseback—even on foot, all the way to the coast."

"Yes," added Ernest, "and lots of them died on the way or got killed by Indians."

"Indians?" said Katy, "why, we haven't seen a single Indian and Cousin May said she'd be afraid to come out here because there were lots of them still about."

"Not in this part of Kansas—you needn't lose any sleep. The Kaw reservation isn't so very far away and parties sometimes come this way to revisit their old hunting grounds, but the Kaws were a peaceable tribe even in their free days."

"There are lots of Indian mounds and relics around here," put in Chicken Little. "Father got those arrow heads, and that stone to pound corn, and his tomahawk heads out of a mound over on Little John."

"Yes, and there's a tree on the main street in town that used to be a famous meeting place for the Indians. Oh, we must take you all to see the old Indian Mission. It was used as a fort, too, more than once, they say. The walls are fully two feet thick."

"Whew, I didn't know you had so many interesting things round here!" exclaimed Sherm.

"We are so used to them we hardly think of them as being interesting. Have I ever told you about the hermit's cave?"

"Hermit's cave? No, where is it?"

"On the side of that big bluff just west of town. Oh, that's some story. The hermit lived there until about ten years ago. Some said he was a Jesuit priest who lived a hermit's life to become more holy, and others that he was an Italian Noble who had fled from Italy to escape punishment for a crime. Nobody ever really knew much about him except that he was highly educated and read books in several different languages. But the cave is still there, in the ledge of rocks near the top of the bluff."

"Oh, I'd love to see it." Gertie liked romantic things.

"So would I," Katy added.

"Me too," echoed Sherm.

"Count me in," said the Captain, "or rather let me take you all to town some day to explore these marvels."

"They really aren't much to see—they're more interesting to tell about. But I'd be glad to see them all again myself," Ernest replied.

Wing Fan had prepared so many good things for them that none of the party felt energetic enough for rowing immediately after supper. They were glad to linger over the peach ice cream which was Wing's crowning triumph, and nibble at the Chinese sweetmeats about which they were rather doubtful.

"I don't believe I ever tasted such good ice cream," exclaimed Katy.

"I think Wing Fan must say magical words over everything he cooks—his things are so different and taste so good. I never thought I liked rice before, but his was delicious."



"Wing Fan knows all about the family history of rice. He talks to each grain separately," laughed the Captain.

The boys didn't praise Wing's efforts in words, but their appetites kept Wing on the broad grin. He could not resist looking proudly at his employer when Sherm accepted his third saucer of cream.

The Captain invited them into the library to pick out Sherm's elephant. They were all so interested in the curios and asked so many questions they came near forgetting the boat ride. Ernest picked out a ship's cutlass the first thing. The Captain took it down for him to examine and he brandished it fiercely.

Captain Clarke smiled. "I fear you wouldn't do much execution if you handled it that way, Ernest. A cutlass has tricks of its own. Here, this is the way." He showed the boy how to get the proper hold and how to swing it.

Ernest struck an attitude. "Behold your sailor brother as he skims the briny deep, Chicken Little."

"Pooh, naval officers don't carry cutlasses, do they, Captain Clarke?"

"No, I believe the sword used now is straight. But this cutlass has a history I think might interest you."

"Tell us."

"If you like. It won't take long. Boys, will you draw up chairs for the girls?" Captain Clarke reached out his hand for a big easy chair nearby at the same moment that Sherm laid his hand upon it to draw it nearer for their host himself. The two hands rested in almost the same position on the opposite arms of the chair. They were singularly alike. Katy, the observing, noticed this instantly.

Captain Clarke studied Sherm's hand for a minute, then his gaze shifted to his own.

"I doubt if my hand was ever as good looking as Sherm's," he said easily. "You have a hand that denotes unusual strength and will power, according to 'palmology.' You will have to live up to it."

But Katy was persistent. "It's almost exactly like yours, Captain Clarke, only yours isn't so smooth and has more lines. Don't you see it's a square hand with unusually long fingers. The thumbs are shaped just the same, too."

"You should be an artist, Katy, you are such a close observer," replied the Captain.

They settled down comfortably for the story. Chicken Little noticed Sherm regarding his own hand rather critically and glancing from it to the Captain's, who used frequent gestures as he warmed with his talk.

Gertie could not take her eyes from the cruel steel blade of the cutlass. "I wish there were no awful things to kill people with. I don't believe God meant people to kill each other in battle any more than to kill each other when they get mad."

Captain Clarke smiled at her disturbed look. "That is one of the most terrible questions human beings have ever had to answer, little girl. I thought as you do once, Gertie, before the Civil War broke out. I loathed the histories and pictures of fighting. My schoolmates used to dub me a sissy because I hated the sight of blood. But when President Lincoln called for volunteers to save our country, when I realized that it was a choice between having one great free country with liberty in it for both blacks and whites, or letting our own race and kin leave us in hatred to continue the wickedness of human slavery right at our doors, it didn't take me long to decide. War and all unnecessary suffering inflicted by human beings upon each other, are hideous. But have you ever thought how much more of such suffering there would be if parents didn't inflict suffering upon their children to make them control their ugly passions? If our courts didn't punish people for being cruel to other people? And when it isn't a child or one or two grown men or women who try to be cruel or unjust, but a whole nation, what then? Surely other nations should come to the rescue of the right, even if it means war. You wouldn't let a big dog kill a little one without trying to save it, would you, Gertie?"

Gertie mutely shook her head.

"Neither should Christian nations allow weaker peoples nor any part of their own people to be unjustly treated, when it is in their power to prevent it. 'Am I my brother's keeper?' will some day be a question every nation must answer as well as every individual."

"But most of the world's wars have been to take other nations' rights away from them, not to protect them," objected Ernest.

"Yes, on one side, but in every war there has always been the side that fought to protect its loved ones and its homes from the brutality of conquerors. There is hideous wrong in every war, but the wrong is in the hearts of those who would rob and oppress those weaker than themselves, not in the patriots and heroes who resist. But I didn't mean to deliver a lecture. I'd rather tell you about the brave boy who wielded this cutlass."

Chicken Little drew her chair closer.

"It was in '65—soon after I was mustered out of service at the close of the war, I was offered the command of a freighter going round The Horn to the Orient. I hated to leave my wife and little boy for a year's voyage, especially after being away so long during the war, but it was the only opening worth while I could find. I guess I had the get-rich-quick idea, too, but never mind, that has nothing to do with the story. We had a terrible voyage. Storms and bad luck of every kind. The rigging was shrouded with ice for weeks—two men were frozen to death on watch. I don't know that I blame the men as I look back. I had been so hardened myself by the terrible discipline and sights of war, I guess I didn't take much trouble to make my crew see the necessity of some of our hardships. At any rate, they mutinied and would have killed me while I slept, but for my cabin boy. He was only sixteen, but he discovered the conspiracy and roused me. With the help of the other officers and a few loyal sailors we stood them off. Hot work it was." The Captain stopped an instant, musing.

The young people waited, expectant. Captain Clarke held up the cutlass reverently. "Charlie used this to good purpose after he had fired his last round of ammunition. I was wounded—had propped myself against the rail and was aiming my last precious bits of lead at the ring-leader, when some one jabbed a bayonet at me from the side. Charlie knocked it up, cutting the dastard down with a second blow that was a marvel. Those two strokes saved my life and saved the ship. Do you wonder this ugly thing looks beautiful to me?"

"And the boy?" Katy asked softly.

"Commands a vessel of his own in the Pacific trade. I had a letter and a Satsuma jar from him a few weeks ago. But we are neglecting the Chicken Little! That will never do."

A crescent moon was visible in the sky as they came back to the place where the boat was moored.

"I fear I detained you longer than I intended with my yarn," said the Captain. "It will soon be dark and that moon is too young to be very useful."

"Oh, it will give a good deal of light for two or three hours. I know every inch of the road, and even if I didn't, the horses do," Ernest replied.

"Will you boys take the oars together or one at a time? Chicken Little, you girls may take turns in the bow and the rest of us will make a nice tight fit here in the stern."

The boys preferred to try their luck singly. Ernest picked up the oars awkwardly. He had had little experience in rowing and he felt self-conscious under the Captain's eye. His first stroke sent a shower of drops flying over them.

"Here," called Sherm, "that isn't a hose you're handling!"

"Anyhow, the drops feel lovely and cool." Katy was inclined to defend Ernest.

"A longer, slower stroke will do the work better and not blister your hands so quickly," admonished Captain Clarke. "Our future admiral must learn to row a boat skillfully. You boys are welcome to use it whenever you see fit."

Ernest set his lips together firmly and soon had the boat skimming along rapidly, though still rather jerkily, his strokes being more energetic than regular. The woods were already echoing with soft night noises, frogs croaked; the clicking notes of the katydids mingled with the whining of the wind through the boughs overhead. Part of the pool disappeared in the shadows; the rest broke into shimmering ripples with every stroke of the oars.

"Oh, I love the night time!" exclaimed Chicken Little. "Seems as if everything in the world had done its day's work and was sitting down to talk it over—even the frogs. Don't you s'pose they're glad or sorry about things when night comes, just as we are?"

Sherm looked at Chicken Little, who was leaning over the side of the boat, trailing her hand in the water.

"Chicken Little, you work your imagination overtime—it will wear out if you aren't careful."

She rewarded him with a grimace.

"You are getting a much evener stroke, Ernest," observed the Captain.

"I bet he's getting a blister on his hand, too," said Katy.

"Yes, Ernest, you'd better let me have a turn." Sherm slid over to the rower's seat and reached his hand for the oars, which Ernest yielded reluctantly.

Sherm had spent one summer near Lake Michigan and was a better oarsman than Ernest. The boat skimmed along smoothly. "Good for you, Sherm, you have a strong, even stroke," the Captain praised.

Presently the girls began to sing, Ernest and Sherm joining in. Captain Clarke listened happily to the young voices until they struck up "Soft and Low over the Western Sea." They all loved it and were crooning it sweetly, but the Captain's face went white as they sang: "Father will come to his babe in the nest." "Don't!" he exclaimed involuntarily.

They all looked at him in surprise. He regained his self-possession instantly, saying with a smile: "Go on—don't mind my twinge of rheumatism—I slept in a draught last night. That is one of the loveliest things Tennyson has ever written."

The young people finished the song and began another, but they wondered. The spell of the evening was broken. Soon after, they started home.



CHAPTER XI

CALICO AND COMPANY

Mrs. Morton passed the muffins for the fifth time to Ernest. Ernest's appetite for muffins was prodigious. Sherm was also ready for another. Chicken Little hadn't quite finished hers, but at the rate they were disappearing—she thought she'd better. Katy said: "Yes, thank you," and Gertie, who ate more slowly than the others, had only had one. Dr. Morton was merely waiting to be urged. Mrs. Morton rang the bell doubtfully. Annie had filled the plate three times already. Annie appeared with a questioning grin.

"Shall I bring some bread, Ma'am? They ain't no more muffins."

Dr. Morton laughed. "Our appetites do credit to your cooking, Annie."

Mrs. Morton sighed, then smiled as she surveyed the rosy, tanned faces.

"There is certainly nothing like country air to make people eat. I wonder when Alice and Dick will be getting back. Dick said the first week in August probably."

"Oh, dear," said Chicken Little, "I want to see Alice and Dick again, but I don't want Katy and Gertie and Sherm to go home. They can only stay a few days this time, Alice said so."

"I don't want to go home a bit," replied Katy.

"There's nothing to do at home till school begins."

"I'd like to go home and see Mother, and then come back." Gertie looked a little wistful. She did want Mother within reach.

"I wish we could keep you all till September." Dr. Morton liked to have the clatter of the young people about. "If we only knew some one going back to Illinois at that time to look after you. I don't suppose Mrs. Halford would like to have you girls travel so far without some grown person along. But I don't see why Sherm can't just as well stay till time to get ready for college."

"I'd like nothing better, and I'm not dead sure I'm going to college this fall. Father seemed a little doubtful when I left, and the folks haven't said anything about it in their letters. If I can't, I guess I'll try for a clerkship in the post-office when I go back."

Dr. Morton studied a moment. "How would you like to work here on the ranch if you don't go to college, Sherm?"

"Do you mean it, Dr. Morton?"

"I surely do. Of course, Ernest's going is not quite settled yet, but I have practically made up my mind that he must go off to school somewhere. We shall need some one to take his place and it would be very pleasant to have you. Chicken Little here wouldn't be quite so homesick for Ernest, perhaps, if you would let her adopt you in his place."

Jane jumped up and down in an ecstasy.

"Oh, Sherm, please do—I thought I'd just die with lonesomeness this winter with all of you gone, and Ernest, too."

Sherm looked pleased at her eagerness. His news from home was still depressing and Sherm, if not homesick, had his lonely hours.

"I would pay you regular wages—whatever is customary for boys of your age. I should have to make some inquiries," continued Dr. Morton.

"Yes, and we could go to the lyceums—they most always have one every winter over at the Fair View Schoolhouse. It's heaps of fun when there's snow on the ground. Frank puts the big wagon bed on runners and we fill the bottom with straw and buffalo robes and all snuggle down together. You just must stay, Sherm!"

"Perhaps he will, if you don't talk him to death, Chicken Little. You haven't given him a chance to get in a word edgeways." Ernest reproved his sister sharply after the manner of brothers slightly older.

"What about you?" retorted Chicken Little. "Sherm, we'll all keep quiet and let you have a chance."

"I'd like to, if college is ruled out, and Mother and Father will let me. They may want me at home, especially if Father grows worse." Sherm gave a little gulp. He was very fond of his father.

"I'll write to him to-day, Sherm, and you might write, too, for I'm going in to town about noon. Any commissions, Mother? Why don't you drop things and come along? A change will do you good—you haven't been off the place for two weeks or more."

"I don't know but I will. Chicken Little, you girls might get up a little picnic lunch for yourselves and the boys, and have it out in the orchard. Annie has a big ironing to-day and it would help her out not to have a dinner to get. Then we'll have a hearty supper this evening."

"Yes, and Chicken Little, did you girls feed the porkers last evening? I heard them squealing and grunting in the night."

"Golly!" said Chicken Little, sitting up with a start and looking at Katy. Katy looked guilty, and Gertie concerned.

Dr. Morton did not need any further answer. "Well, you'd better run right out. Remember dumb beasts must never be neglected, daughter."

"And Jane, I don't want to hear you say Golly again. By-words of any kind are objectionable for young girls, and that is particularly rough and coarse," Mrs. Morton added severely.

"You never say it is coarse when Ernest says it—and he uses it an awful lot."

"My dear, you are not a boy," Mrs. Morton replied with a dignity that was final.

"I don't care," said Chicken Little when the trio got out doors, "it's not one bit fair to let boys do so many more things than girls! You just wait, if I ever have a daughter she's going to do every single thing her brother does. So there!"

Sherm overheard and later in the day when he and Jane were talking together, he remarked: "Chicken Little, I don't think it is exactly fair either to hold the girls in so much tighter than boys, but your mother is right, allee samee. I have heard the fellows talk often enough to know they think a lot more of a girl who isn't slangy, than of one who is. Of course, mild ones like 'Oh dear' don't matter, but you see a man kind of likes to have a girl, well—different." Sherm was getting in a little beyond his depth.

The girls carried two pails of sour milk and a great basket of parings to their greedy pigs and watched them feed without interest.

"The only reason I'm glad to go home is I won't have to feed these horrid pigs any more. I never saw anything grow and eat like they do. They ought to be worth a lot of money after all the stuff they've eaten." Katy kicked her toe against the log pen to emphasize her remarks.

"I don't think they're worth so very much yet." Chicken Little was regarding them with no very friendly eye.

"I wouldn't mind so much if they weren't getting so ugly and smelly," said Gertie plaintively.

Frank, happening by just then, was amused to see their disgusted expressions.

"Say, Frank, how soon will these pigs be big enough to go in the corral with the others?"

Frank's eyes twinkled. He came up and scanned the ten muddy, impudent pigs, who were already coming up to the sides of the pen, grunting for more. "Well," he said judicially, "I think perhaps you will be rid of them inside of two or three months, but they'll eat a lot more from now on."

The three set up a united protest.

"Father said it would only be a few weeks when we caught them, and it's been five already," Chicken Little remonstrated hotly.

"Well, don't go for me. You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you."

Frank grinned so broadly that Jane grew suspicious. "Pooh, you're teasing, I'll ask Father to-night."

The girls scoured the pantry and spring house for provender for the picnic. Sherm and Ernest would be in from the meadow where they were cutting down thistles about half-past twelve. Bread and butter and cold ham were flanked with cookies, pie, and musk melons. Annie wanted them out of her road as speedily as possible, so they took their stuff all down to the orchard and stowed it away in the shade.

"Now what?" demanded Katy.

"I don't know. Wish we could think of something new." Chicken Little stared up and down the rows of apple trees, seeking an inspiration.

Her glance fell upon a lone apple tree standing in the center of an open space, apart from all its fellows. Katy's glance followed hers.

"Why is that old tree all by itself that way?"

"I don't know—they were all big trees when we came here. It is a bell-flower and we call it Old King Bee. Say, I've got an idea. Let's get Calico and Caliph and play riding school—you remember that article in 'The Harper's' about a riding school in New York, and you said you wished you could go."

"Would Ernest let us take Caliph?"

"I don't know, but I know I could ride him if I tucked my skirts up and used the man's saddle. There can't a soul see us here; it's so shut in by the trees."

"It would be fun. Let's try to ride bare back and do stunts to surprise the boys. I wish we could take our skirts clear off—they catch so on the saddle horn and in the stirrup buckles."

"I tell you what we'll do." Chicken Little's eyes danced impishly. "There are lots of Ernest's old trousers in the lumber-room closet that he outgrew ever so long ago. I believe we could find some to fit all of us. Let's go see."

A swift rummage of the dusty closet set them all sneezing, but they triumphantly brought forth an armful of defunct trousers and carried them up to their room. For the next fifteen minutes such giggles and exclamations and shrieks of laughter escaped from their room that Annie left her ironing to see what was up. An astonishing sight met her gaze. Once started upon the dressing-up craze, the girls had not been content with one garment. Chicken Little had daringly ransacked not only Ernest's bureau, but Sherm's possessions, in quest of shirts and ties.

She had decked herself in a blue checked cheviot shirt, tucked into blue serge trousers, liberally patched at the knees. Sherm's best red tie was neatly knotted at her throat, and an old straw hat adorned with a red hair ribbon, topped her brown braids. Katy was resplendent in a tan colored shirt, with a bright green tie popularly supposed to belong to Ernest. Her own black sailor finished her off nicely. Gertie had a faded pink shirt, which dated back to Centerville days—all Ernest's more recent garments being too big for her slim little figure.

Annie threw up her hands. "You're a pretty-looking lot. I'd just like to have the Missus see you now. I bet you'd catch it."

But Annie had troubles of her own and retired to her ironing.

The trio slipped out the back way—they didn't care to have Marian see them, and they didn't wish to bother with Jilly. The stable was deserted. They quickly saddled Caliph after making friends—with sundry lumps of sugar. Calico was equipped only with a saddle blanket and girth. Gertie decided that she would let the others experiment first, so she walked back to the orchard.

"Let's try them down the lane first. They will be easier to manage on a straight road than in among the trees, if they are fractious."

Jane helped Katy upon Calico's back and showed her how to press her knees against the sides to secure her seat in the place of stirrups.

"You can put your hand under the girth if you begin to slip."

Katy took a turn or two and decided she could stick on if Calico didn't trot. He was a single footer and had a very easy gait except on the rare occasions when he insisted upon breaking into a hard trot. Chicken Little led Caliph to the fence. She wanted to be sure that she was well in her seat before Caliph discovered she was a girl.

But Caliph liked Chicken Little, and not having any skirts to make him suspicious, seemed inclined to take her for what she seemed. He noticed only that he had a lighter hand on the reins. He dashed off as lightly and smoothly as if Ernest or Sherm were on his back, and Chicken Little was in a transport of pleasure and triumph to think she could ride him. Katy had a harder time, but she stuck on pluckily for three turns up and down the lane.

They didn't dare linger too long lest some neighbor come by and see them. So they presently turned off upon the faint track that led through the gate into the orchard. Gertie was awaiting them under the big tree. Katy slipped off Calico to give Gertie her turn. Chicken Little led the way on Caliph and they went round and round the tree, faster and faster, till both were ready for a rest. The ponies were fresh and seemed to enjoy the sport as much as they did.

Katy tried Calico next, enchanted to find she could stick on at a canter. By this time they were ready for something new.

"Do you suppose we could ride backwards?" Katy was in a daring mood.

They could and they did, though Calico was a little doubtful as to whether he approved of this innovation. It was not exactly comfortable for anyone concerned and they soon gave it up. But when Chicken Little tried to make the intelligent pony dance on his hind legs, Calico waxed indignant. Instead of rising gracefully, he gave two short, plunging leaps, descending with forelegs rigid and head down, a maneuver which sent his mistress flying over his head.

The turf was soft and she was up in a trice, gripping Calico's rein before he could make use of his freedom. The crowning feat of the morning was another of Chicken Little's brilliant ideas. They had tethered the ponies by their bridle reins and were letting them graze on the orchard grass while they stretched out and rested. Suddenly Jane sat up with a start and began to take off her shoes.

"What on earth are you going to do now, Jane Morton?" demanded Katy sharply.

"Wait and see. I'm most sure I can. I want you to lead Calico very slowly."

Katy obediently followed directions. Chicken Little put her hand on the girth and vaulted on his back. She rode once around the tree tamely, then slowly got to her feet on Calico's slim back, bidding Katy steady her. She succeeded in going about three feet with this precarious footing before she lost her balance and slid harmlessly down on the pony's back. Calico did not look specially pleased at the jounce she gave him as she lit. She persevered until she could go round the tree, then insisted upon trying it alone. Katy and Gertie both remonstrated.

"You'll get killed! Calico doesn't like it a bit."

"I won't—I tried once all by myself last summer on old Kit, but Calico's harder, because he isn't so fat. You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Calico?" She put her arm around his neck and squeezed him hard.

Calico whinnied and began to nose her for sugar. She produced two lumps, and stroked him, talking to him in whispers while Katy hooted.

"A lot of good that will do."

Chicken Little got up again with Katy's help, then started off slowly by herself. Calico moved carefully at a snail's pace. She made the entire circuit of the tree successfully this time. Again she went around, increasing the speed of Calico's walk. She was so jubilant she grew reckless and clucked, which was Calico's signal to canter. He responded promptly and with equal promptness, she slid down on him kerplunck. Calico laid back his ears in disapproval, and looked around inquiringly.

By this time Katy had plucked up her courage and wished to try it. She was entirely willing, however, to have Chicken Little at the pony's head. Katy slipped, too, but she was lighter, and Calico was growing used to it and did not mind so much. Chicken Little patted him each time and he soon ceased to notice the bumps. Gertie preferred to be a spectator at this stunt, but the others persisted until Jane succeeded in going round the tree once with Calico pacing.

"Golly, I wish Ernest and Sherm could see us!" Chicken Little was already sighing for new worlds to conquer.

"You said Golly again."

"Golly, I did, didn't I? It's awfully hard to quit anything like that. Say, I want you girls to pinch me every time I say it, then I'll remember."

"You'll get mad if we do," replied Gertie, wise beyond her years.

"No, I won't! Honest to goodness I won't. I truly want to stop it."

"All right," said Katy firmly, "but you will get more pinches than you are expecting."

Katy and Gertie and poor Calico were all ready to settle down for a rest. But Chicken Little was burning to show off before Ernest and Sherm. She untied Caliph and took several turns around the tree, going faster and faster.

"Pooh," she said after a while, "I bet I could ride Caliph anywhere. Suppose we go meet the boys. You and Gertie can both ride Calico bare back. I guess they'll be surprised. It's most noon; I can tell by the sun."

"But Jane, we can't go to meet the boys this way." Gertie looked distressed.

"Oh, I forgot. What can we do? I'd be afraid to ride Caliph with even a short skirt—he's never had a woman on him before."

"What if the boys do see us? Nobody else is likely to come along just at noon. Anyway, your father thinks it's dangerous for girls to wear long skirts to ride in. I heard him say so." Katy was plausible and Chicken Little wanted to be persuaded.

"I don't care, if you don't."

"All right, let's do it. I think you look real nice that way, Chicken Little, honest I do."

"Well, they're heaps more comfortable. I feel so light. You make an awfully cute boy, Katy, and Gertie is just sweet. And you couldn't ride bare back half so well sidewise."

It took some persuasion to secure Gertie's consent, but she finally gave in.

They rode gaily out into the lane. Calico was too tired to make any protest to his double burden. Once in the lane, they waited in the shade. But the boys did not come. They waited until Jane was sure it must be one o'clock and their appetites suggested two at the very earliest. Calico waited patiently enough, but Caliph was uneasy over the flies. Finally, they decided to give the boys up and go back and have their picnic alone.

"We might take one gallop down the line to the creek to make sure they're not in the meadow," Katy suggested.

"I bet they finished the weeds sooner than they expected and went fishing." Chicken Little strained her eyes in the direction of the meadow.

They started the horses off at a smart pace, then faster and faster, till they broke into a swift gallop.

"Isn't it glorious?" Chicken Little called back. She was several lengths ahead.

She did not hear Katy's response. A jack rabbit, frightened by the approaching horses, broke cover from some wild blackberry bushes that grew over the stone wall, and dashed across the road directly in front of Caliph. The spirited beast shied violently, then leaped forward, throwing Chicken Little neatly off into the exact middle of the dusty lane. Her pride was more hurt than she was. She tried to stop him by calling "Whoa" lustily. But Caliph seemed to have a pressing engagement elsewhere. He quickly disappeared around a bend in the lane.

The girls looked at each other in dismay.

Chicken Little got hastily to her feet. There was no time to nurse bruises. She must catch Caliph somehow.

"Golly, he's got that beautiful Mexican saddle on and he may take a notion to roll. I knew I hadn't any business to take it, but I wanted to ride him just as Ernest does."

Katy and Gertie noticed the "Golly," but there seemed to be more important business on hand.

"Do you suppose you could take Calico and catch him?" asked Katy anxiously.

"I don't know, but I guess I'll have to try."

Katy and Gertie climbed down and Chicken Little swung herself up.

"Maybe one of you'd better come, too, to hold Calico and ride him home if I catch Caliph."

"I'll come, and Gertie had better run and change her clothes and go back to the orchard to give the boys their lunch, if they come before we get back. Don't tell them where we're gone."

"Nor about Caliph, Gertie, you can say we'll be back in a minute."

Katy had mounted behind Jane while she was giving this last direction and poor Calico started off at a gallop. They crossed the creek and came to the place where the road forked just beyond the timber without seeing hide or hair of Caliph.

"He must have streaked it. I don't think he'd take the road to town—he must have gone straight home to the Captain's. Oh, dear, I'll have to tell him I used Ernest's horse without permission, and I've got these awful clothes on! It just seems as if the Captain has to know every single bad thing I ever do." Chicken Little heaved a long sigh and clucked to Calico.

They had almost reached the Captain's gate when they saw Wing Fan approaching on horseback, leading the truant Caliph. Chicken Little was immensely relieved to find, as they came near, that neither saddle nor bridle had suffered from the run away.

Wing Fan was also greatly relieved to find that no one had been hurt.

"Me velly 'fraid honorable brother have bad fall. Captain Clarke no home. I bring horse, find out."

Wing held Caliph while Jane mounted, and rode a little way with her to make sure he would not be fractious, but Caliph seemed to have had his fling and bowled along smoothly.

In the meantime Ernest and Sherm had arrived and were plying Gertie with questions between mouthfuls. Gertie parried as long as she could, shutting her lips together tight when they began to press her too hard.

"I'd just like to know what they are up to now. That precious sister of mine can get into more scrapes than any kid I ever saw."

"And Katy isn't far behind her," added Sherm, hoping Gertie would try to defend her absent sister and let something out.

Chicken Little and Katy took the horses to the barn, carefully unsaddled Caliph, and rubbed both horses down and fed them, before going back to the orchard. They forgot all about their unusual dress.

They arrived there, tired and flushed, in time to help the boys finish the last melon.

"You mean things to eat the melons all up." Chicken Little almost forgot her own offense in her disgust over their greediness.

The boys did not waste time defending themselves; their attention was concentrated on the girls' peculiar costume.

"Well, what in the demnition bow wows have you been doing now, Chicken Little Jane Morton?" Ernest's gaze wandered from his sister to Katy, who suddenly became self-conscious and tucked her feet and as much of her trouser-clad legs as she could manage, underneath her.

Chicken Little gave a start of surprise, then faced Ernest boldly.

"Oh, just having a little fun."

By this time Ernest was beginning to grasp details. "Suppose next time you start out to have fun you let my things alone. Isn't that Sherm's best tie you've got on?"

Chicken Little clutched the offending tie and glanced hastily at Sherm. The boy was regarding her with a peculiar expression, both admiring and disapproving. There was no denying that Chicken Little made a most attractive boy.

The swift color swept into the girl's face as she caught Sherm's glance. "Oh, dear, and he had told her only that morning that girls should be different!" She liked Sherm—she didn't want him to think she was a bold, awful girl. Some way their prank seemed to need excusing. She replied to the look in Sherm's eyes rather than to her brother's accusation.

"We—I wanted to ride Caliph—I just knew I could if I didn't have a lot of horrid skirts to frighten him. And we did beautiful stunts and we couldn't, if we hadn't put on your old things. I bet if you had to wear cluttering things like skirts all the time you'd be glad to take them off some times, too." Chicken Little's big brown eyes sought Sherm's appealingly.

Ernest answered before Sherm could say anything.

"Well, you can settle with Mother about the skirts, but I'll thank you to let Caliph and my best ties alone."

"Did you ride him?" asked Sherm. "You're welcome to my tie, Chicken Little. It's very becoming."

Chicken Little felt subtly consoled. "Yes, I rode him, but he threw me once," she confessed.

"He threw me once, too," said the boy. "You'd better be a little careful."

Sherm grinned and Chicken Little smiled back happily.



CHAPTER XII

DICK AND ALICE GO ON ALONE

Dr. and Mrs. Morton got home about four o'clock. The girls had studied some time as to whether they should make a clean breast of the morning's doings, but Ernest, urged on by Sherm, had discouraged them.

"You needn't be afraid I'll peach, Sis. You're an awful good rider for a girl and I don't mind your taking Caliph so long as you didn't get hurt. And I guess it was sensible of you not to try him with skirts. But you'd better be careful. You're getting most too big for such tom boy business."

"It wasn't anything really wrong," argued Chicken Little.

"I know my mother wouldn't have cared way off out here in the country." Katy added her mite to the whitewashing.

"I don't think it was wrong, but I guess your mother wouldn't be pleased to hear about it," observed Gertie sagely.

"She isn't going to," said Chicken Little with decision. "I shall tell Father instead."

Father only laughed. Mrs. Morton did not learn of it until the girls had gone home to Centerville, when Chicken Little, wishing to convince her that she could ride Caliph safely, let it out, and received the long-delayed scolding.

Two days after the riding school, a letter came from Dick and Alice, saying they would arrive Sunday and must leave for Centerville the following Saturday. The same mail brought a letter for Sherm from his mother, and another from Mrs. Dart to Dr. Morton. The doctor did not mention the contents of his until the boy had finished reading his own. Then he stepped over to his side and laid his hand gently upon his head. Sherm was looking pretty sober. "Can you be content to be our boy this winter, Sherm?"

"Thank you, you're mighty good to want me. I—I guess there's no college for me this winter. Father's no better. I wish—excuse me." Sherm finished abruptly and bolted out of the house.

Chicken Little looked after him with some concern. She turned inquiringly to her father.

"Poor lad," he said in response to her look, "his father is no better—will be a helpless invalid to the end, I judge, more from what Mrs. Dart doesn't say than from what she does. I'm afraid their affairs are in bad shape. Dart's illness must have cost enormously and they have had no man to look after their business. She writes that Sue is to be married quietly next month. She says they are sadly disappointed not to have Sherm home for this event, but feel that he will be better off to stay with us this winter, and she can hardly afford to have him come so far just for a short visit. There is something sort of queer about the letter—something mysterious, as if she were keeping the really important facts to herself. See what you make of it, Frank."

He handed the letter to Frank, who had just walked in with Jilly perched on his shoulder.

Chicken Little did not wait for Frank's verdict, she slipped out the door in search of Sherm. Her first guess was the stables and she made a hurried survey of stalls and hay mow. He was not there. She tried the orchard next, then the arbor. Perhaps he had taken one of the ponies and gone for a ride. No, she remembered both Calico and Caliph had whinnied as she went by their stalls. He might have walked down the lane. She went clear to the ford and hunted among the trees for a short distance up and down the bank. He was nowhere in sight. Coming back, she caught sight of the tops of the Weeping Willows and, remembering that Sherm sometimes went there Sundays with a book, she stole up quietly. He had thrown himself down on the ground under the interlacing branches. No, he was not crying—just lying perfectly still, staring up into the boughs above him with such misery in his face, it hurt her to see him.

She hardly knew what to do. She knew Ernest generally preferred to be let alone when things went wrong, but then Ernest had never come up against any real trouble. She suspected that Sherm's was very real. Chicken Little watched him for several minutes, undecided. He did not stir. Finally, she decided she didn't care whether Sherm wanted her round or not, she wasn't going to go off and leave him to grieve all alone.

"Sherm," she called softly. The boy raised up on his elbow. "What do you want?" he asked rather gruffly.

His manner didn't suggest any longing for her society, but she persevered. "I won't bother you but just a minute, Sherm, but I'm awful sorry—about your father—and college and everything."

Sherm did not answer or look at her. The tender note of sympathy in her voice was imperilling his self-control. He didn't mean to play the baby, especially before a girl. But the braver the boy was, the more Chicken Little burned to comfort him. She stood for a moment staring at him helplessly, the tears welling up into her own eyes. Then on a sudden impulse she dropped down beside him, and before he could protest, began to stroke his hair. Sherm tolerated the caressing fingers for a few minutes, but his pride would not let him accept even this comforting. He dabbed his eyes fiercely. "Don't, Chicken Little, don't! You're a trump to stand by a fellow this way. I am all right—I just got to thinking about Father—and Sue's going."

Sherm would have carried it off beautifully if he hadn't attempted a smile, but his heart was too sore to quite manage that. The smile vanished in a hasty gulp, and, burying his face on his arm, he had it out.

Chicken Little's eyes were redder than Sherm's when she got up to go back to the house. Sherm noticed her tear-stained appearance. "Wait a minute," he ordered bruskly. He ran down to the spring stream just beyond the willows and soaking and rinsing out his handkerchief, brought it dripping to her. "Mop your eyes, Jane, they look awful. There—that's better. I'll be along pretty soon!"

Mrs. Morton had not considered it necessary to inform Katy and Gertie that she had also written to their mother, asking if their visit might be prolonged until the last of August. Mrs. Morton was firm in the opinion that every detail of children's lives should be settled by their elders for their best good, and she expected the children to be properly thankful. Her expectations had not always been realized with her own children—all three having often very definite ideas of their own as to what they wanted and what they didn't want. But in this instance she was not disappointed. The joy was general when Mrs. Halford wrote that the girls might remain until the twenty-eighth, when a business friend of Mr. Halford's would be coming through Kansas City, and would meet the girls there and bring them on home. To be sure, Gertie had a bad half hour thinking how much longer it would be before she could see Mother, but she soon forgot all this in the bustle of preparation for Alice and Dick.

Marian and Frank had arranged several excursions for their last days at the ranch. They had seen fit to include the young folks in only one of these—a day in town when they were to go to the old Mission and look up some interesting Indian Mounds in the neighborhood. Captain Clarke was to be of the party, and, true to his promise, insisted upon driving the boys and girls in himself.

The afternoon Alice and Dick were expected, the girls were down the lane watching for the first glimpse of the bay team, to greet them. They had arrayed Jilly in white with a wreath of forget-me-nots on her blonde curls and a small market basket full of hollyhock blooms to scatter in the pathway of the expected guests. Frank was responsible for the hollyhocks. Flowers were becoming scarce, it had been so dry, and Chicken Little was bemoaning the fact that they could hardly find enough to trim up the house.

"Hollyhocks, sure. There's a whole hedge of them right at your hand. Nothing could be more appropriate for returning honeymooners. Further, they're gaudy enough to compete with the two inches of dust in the lane. If we don't have rain pretty doggoned soon we won't have any crop."

Both Mrs. Morton and Marian looked up anxiously.

"You don't think——?" Marian hesitated. She did not wish to burden Katy and Gertie with family worries.

"No, I don't think, not being in the weather man's confidence. But a rain inside of the next three days would mean hundreds of dollars to the Morton family and the whole Eastern half of Kansas as well."

Chicken Little's mind flew instantly to Ernest's cherished hopes. "Oh, can't Ernest go to college if we don't have rain?"

"Don't bother your head, Chicken, we'll find some way to take care of Ernest. Go back to your decorations."

Ernest and Sherm had spent the preceding evening erecting a remarkable arch over the front gate with "Welcome to Our City" done in charcoal letters a foot high on a strip of white paper cambric, depending from it, and an American flag proudly floating above. The girls completed this modest design by trimming up the gate posts with boughs.

Mrs. Morton's preparations were more practical. Three peach and three custard pies crowded a chocolate cake and a pan of ginger cookies on the lowest pantry shelf. The bread box lid would not shut, the box was so full, and a whole boiled ham was cooling down at the spring house, not to mention six dismembered spring chickens which had been offered up in place of the regulation calf.

"I shouldn't mind if they had cooked two of the pigs," groaned Katy. They were giving their charges an extra big feed, being fearful lest they should forget them in the excitement of the guests' arrival.

"Neither would I," Chicken Little replied with a sigh. "I'm sick of the sight of 'em!"

Gertie threw a carrot and hit the one time beauteous white one with the curly tail, so smart a rap on his snout that he squealed his disapproval while his relatives bagged the carrot.

"I don't care if I don't get any money for my share of 'em," said Katy after a pause of disgusted contemplation of the pigs. "I'd have to spend it for something useful like as not, or give some of it to the heathens. Let's give them back to your father."

"I'd just as lief, only Frank and the boys would tease us everlastingly if we backed out now—and we've worked so hard!"

"I don't care. I'd just as lief quit." Gertie's discouraged expression was so funny that Chicken Little laughed and Gertie, the patient, flared. She hated to be funny.

"Stop it—I am not going to help you feed those horrid pigs another time, Chicken Little Jane Morton. I've just been doing it to help you out. And I don't think it's a suitable occupation for girls—or company!" Gertie climbed down from her perch on the log pen and departed with dignity.

"Humph, I guess I never asked you to help me. Besides, you expected to get as much money as I did. You can just go off and sulk if you want to."

"Well, I don't think that is a nice way to talk to your guests." Katy climbed down and departed to soothe her sister.

Chicken Little whacked her heels against the logs and made a face at the nearest pig to relieve her feelings. She loathed the creatures. She wished she could wipe them off the face of the earth. Katy was half way to the house when she had an inspiration. "Katy!" she called eagerly, "Katy, I've got an idea."

Katy continued her way without glancing 'round.

"It's something you'll like."

Katy wavered and unbent enough to ask: "What is it?"

"Come here and I'll tell you. I'm not going to yell it."

Katy considered and finally returned reluctantly.

When she came back to the pen, Chicken Little glanced round to make sure that no one was about, to overhear, then, to make sure, whispered excitedly into Katy's ear.

Katy's face lighted. "All right, let's. Gertie won't care."

They had entirely made up this slight unpleasantness by afternoon. Perched on rocks under the shade of the cherry trees they waited impatiently for Dick and Alice. Jilly had been coached in her little speech so often that there was no doubt at all that she would get it wrong. She had been told to say, "Welcome, Uncle Dick, welcome Auntie Alice." She had said it faultlessly three times already when approaching wheels started them to their feet expectantly. They were disappointed by seeing a neighbor drive round the bend in the lane. When the familiar bays did come into view with their swinging trot, Jilly was so enchanted she started off pell mell to meet them, spilling her blossoms out generously as she ran. The girls overtook her before she quite got in the path of the horses and reminded her of her responsibility.

Dr. Morton pulled up and Dick leaped to the ground, punctuating her attempted "Weecome" by tossing her into the air and kissing her noisily.

Jilly struggled free. Her coaching had not been in vain.

"Oo muttant—I ain't said it, and oo pillin' ve fowers."

Dick set the mite on her feet with exaggerated courtesy. "Of course—to be sure. I beg your most humble pardon, Miss."

Jilly drew in a long breath and began at the beginning again. She plunged a fat hand into the market basket and aimed two hollyhock tops in the general direction of Dick's diaphragm, repeating impressively: "Wee-come, Unky Dick." She took no notice of his profound bow, but looking up at Alice, who was leaning out the side of the seat watching with amused eyes, she showered another handful upon the wheels and horses hoofs impartially. "Wee-come, An-tee Alish," she said solemnly, then, with a rapturous look of triumph, turned to the girls for approval.

She got it, with numerous hugs and kisses for interest.

Dick surveyed the remainder of the reception committee critically.

"Chicken Little, I hate to mention it, but is there anything left on the ranch to eat? I have been a little nervous all the time we have been away, remembering the execution Katy and Gertie and Sherm were doing when we left and now——" He gazed sorrowfully at the girls' plump cheeks. "I know they have gained ten pounds apiece. Be frank with me, Jane, is there anything left?"

"If there isn't, Dick, you might commandeer one of Chicken Little & Co.'s pigs. They are fat enough to sustain you for a few hours," replied Dr. Morton, glancing at the girls.

Katy and Jane also exchanged glances.

Dick was quite overcome when he caught sight of the triumphal arch and the flag.

"Support me, Chicken Little, this reception is so, ah, flattering it makes me faint with emotion. Young ladies, Dr. Morton," he placed one hand over his heart and bowed low to each, "and esteemed——" he hesitated, not seeing anyone but Jilly to include in this last salutation, "esteemed fellows," he bowed once more, including trees, bushes, and any other objects handy, with a courtly sweep of the arm, "it is with deepest gratitude I——"

"Heart-felt sounds better, Dick," interrupted Alice, laughing.

Dick gazed at her reproachfully. "'Tis always the way when I try to soar, my wife seizes my kite by the tail and pulls it down with a jerk. I thought lovely woman was supposed to inspire a man to higher——"

Dick was interrupted in the middle of his complaining by Mrs. Morton's coming out to greet them.

The next few days fairly flew by. Each member of both families had thought of a variety of things that Alice and Dick must do before they went home. Unfortunately, there were only twenty-four hours in a day and it seemed necessary to spend part of these in sleep.

"We ought to have at least one more hunting party," declared Chicken Little.

"We ought—I shall feel the lack of that hunting party for years to come, Jane. There will be a vacuum in my inner consciousness. I shall wake up in the middle of the night sighing for that hunting party. But you see to-day is Wednesday, and we must leave Friday, and Frank and I have sworn by every fish in the creek to take to-morrow off for a fishing trip. Chicken Little, there is only one way out of the dilemma. Painful as it will be for you, you'll have to invite us to come again."

The worst of it was that Frank firmly declined to take a single petticoat along. Neither Marian nor Alice could move him from this ungallant resolve.

"My dear wife," Frank replied, "I love you, but I don't love to have you round when I'm fishing."

"Never mind," said Marian with decision, "if we can't go we won't get them any lunch. Will we, Mother Morton?"

Mrs. Morton was rather horrified at such a breach of hospitality, Dick and Sherm being included in the boycott, but Marian and Alice both urged, and she finally promised neither to get up a lunch herself nor to permit Annie to.

Marian and Alice looked triumphant. Frank motioned to Dick and the two promptly disappeared. Marian quickly followed.

"The villain! He's gone over home to confiscate that batch of doughnuts I baked this morning. I hope he doesn't find them."

Mrs. Morton took the hint and locked up her pies and cake. But the two boys and Dr. Morton had joined the foraging party and food disappeared most mysteriously at intervals during the remainder of the day. A custard pie already cut and served on plates on the kitchen table, reassembled itself in the pie tin and walked out of the kitchen door when Annie changed the plates in the dining room. One entire loaf of bread vanished from the earth while Annie was trying to expel Ernest from the kitchen with a broom.

The foragers were so capable that even Mrs. Morton ceased to worry about the men folks going hungry.

But Marian's blood was up. "We've just got to do something to get even. The best pool for fish on the whole creek is on Captain Clarke's land and I know they are not going there. Let's take the spring wagon and drive over and get the Captain to go fishing with us. He'll take us to his own pool and with him to help, I'd be willing to wager we can beat these top-lofty fishermen at their own game."

Alice and the girls were instantly enthusiastic, but Mrs. Morton preferred to stay at home and keep cool.

Marian and Chicken Little left the others to put up the lunch, while they went out to the stable to hitch up the bays. They were soon on their way, with a can of bait and a pocket full of fish hooks and stout cord to rig up impromptu fishing lines, the men having taken all the poles with them.

The others had gone soon after daybreak. It was nearing ten when Marian drove up to the Captain's hitching post.

"What if he isn't at home?" said Chicken Little.

"He's got to be," laughed Marian.

Wing Fan came out, grinning. He did not share his master's reputed dislike for ladies.

He ushered them all into the big library and went off to notify the Captain, who was down in the meadow superintending the hay cutting.

"I am afraid we are an awful nuisance, but my prophetic soul tells me he will enjoy the joke and be pleased to have us come to him." Marian was bolstering up her courage.

"Of course he will. You don't suppose anybody could resist this crowd, do you?" Alice encouraged.

Captain Clarke was both pleased and amused. They were so excited they all talked at once, and it took several minutes for him to get command of the situation.

"They have the advantage in fishing early in the day, but I'll impress Wing Fan and we'll have more fish, if I have to get out a net and seine them. We'll go down to the long hole now and see what we can do, and Wing will come as soon as he gives the men their dinner. If there is a fish in the creek you can depend on Wing to lure him. He just goes out and crooks his little finger and they begin to hunt for the hook," he explained to Gertie.

The Captain proved to be an expert fisherman himself. He showed them all his little stock of fisherman's tricks and they had a good catch by noon when Marian and Alice stopped to prepare the lunch. About two o'clock Wing Fan appeared, his face one broad, yellow smile.

"Big missee and little missee have most," he assured them.

Chicken Little and Katy and Gertie laid off and perched some distance up the bank behind Wing to watch his methods. He didn't seem to do anything different, but the fish certainly came to his hook in a most astonishing manner.

They fished until four, and the catch exceeded their wildest expectations. They wanted to leave some with the Captain, but he wouldn't hear of it. "If the men have more than you, you can send me some of theirs. I should like to see if the flavor is better."

They expected their fishermen to drift in about five, and knew they would bring their fish to the house to display them before taking them down to the spring stream. Hurrying home, they put away the team and took their fish down to the spring house. Captain Clarke had saved a considerable part of their take alive for them, in a wooden cask, which Wing carefully loaded into the spring wagon. They got a piece of chicken wire and fastened it across the opening where the water flowed out underneath the spring house, and then, removing the milk and butter crocks from the rock-lined channel, turned all the living fish into the water. The others they spread out on the rock floor to make the best showing possible. The spring house seemed alive with fish.

"They'll never beat that!" Alice's eyes were dancing.

"I don't see how they can." Marian chuckled. "My lofty spouse will have to come down off his high horse this time."

"Don't breathe a word, girls. I don't want them to have the least inkling of what we have been up to, till they see this array."

The fishermen arrived, hot, dusty, and hungry. After all their efforts, their supplies had hardly kept pace with their appetites. They displayed their booty proudly. Frank had three trout and five catfish on his string. Dick, one trout, and three catfish. Dr. Morton and the boys had pooled theirs, and boasted twelve altogether. But most of the fish were small. The ladies obligingly went into ecstasies over their skill. Chicken Little and Katy admired and ohed and ahed until Marian was afraid they would rouse suspicion.

"Do you want them all here at the house or shall we put part of them down at the spring?" Frank asked, with emphasis on the all.

"Oh, since there are so many, perhaps you'd better put some away for breakfast," Marian replied, after an instant's consideration.

Frank, Dick and the boys started for the spring. The three girls rose to accompany them. Alice and Marian looked languidly uninterested.

The spring house was very dark and shadowy, coming in from the bright sunshine outside. Frank was in the lead. He stopped just in time to avoid stepping on a fish. He and Dick got their eyes focused to take in the display at almost the same instant.

"Well, I'll be darned!" Frank looked at Dick in wild amaze. Dick stared, speechless, for fully twenty seconds. Then he broke into a roar. The boys, a few paces behind them, rushed in to see what the fun was. Ernest took one good look over Frank's shoulder. "Jumping Jehosaphat!" he ejaculated, making room for Sherm. Sherm gazed his fill and glanced at Frank.

Dick came to first and hazarded a guess. "The ladies—God bless 'em—they've been to town and bought out a market."

"Nonsense, there isn't a fish market in the burg—men sometimes peddle fish round at the houses, but they never get out here. They've been fishing on their own hook."

Dick turned on Chicken Little, who was watching them demurely. "If you don't tell us how you worked this I'll——" He advanced threateningly.

"Fished," she replied laconically. And neither coaxing nor threats extracted any further information from the ladies that evening.

After supper Marian remarked carelessly: "Frank, there are more fish than we can use, don't you think it would be nice to send some over to the Captain?"

But it was Marian herself who finally let the cat out of the bag the following morning just before Alice and Dick left. The train would not leave until evening, but they were all going in to make a tour of the Indian remains and to do some shopping. Frank was driving for the guests and Marian; the youngsters were with the Captain. Marian reached down under the seat to push a satchel out of the way of her feet, and to her surprise, came in painful contact with a fish hook. She pulled up a bunch of line and several hooks.

"Oh, I wondered what became of our lines," she said carelessly. "Wing must have put them in for us."

She looked up to find both Dick and Frank regarding her with interest and Alice looking reproachful.

"Methinks," remarked Dick, gazing at the heavens thoughtfully, "I see a great light."

"I knew they'd let it out," Frank replied meanly. "Women are clever, but a secret is too many for them every time."

The day was cloudy but sultry. Collars wilted and little damp spots appeared between their shoulder blades if they ventured to lean against the backs of the seats.

Leaves were curling in the corn fields; the prairies were parched with the heat. Frank got out and examined several of the ears of corn just heading out in a field they passed.

He looked sober when he returned. "Forty-eight hours more like to-day will finish that field. It's a trifle better on the bottom lands."

Marian and Alice scanned the heavens. "That cloud bank off to the south looks hopeful," said Marian after several minutes' silence.

Whether it was the weather or their unusual exertions of the preceding day or the menace of the drouth, that weighed upon them, it would be hard to say, but their interest in the Old Mission and the Indian mound on the Cook place was languid. Perhaps Ernest had been right when he declared that they were more interesting to hear about than to see. "It looks just like other houses, only the walls are thicker and the stone chimneys go clear down to the ground outside!" Katy exclaimed, distinctly disappointed at the appearance of the one-time fort.

"Of course, it was just a schoolhouse. They used it for a fort because it was stronger than any of the other houses, and, being all of stone, the Indians couldn't set it on fire so easy."

The Indian mound looked as if somebody had made a nice symmetrical sand pile about twenty feet high out in the middle of the prairie and then grassed it over neatly.

"If we could cut into it after the fashion of a birthday cake," said Captain Clarke, "you would find some very interesting things inside, I imagine, weapons and iron utensils. I should think Mr. Cook would take the trouble to explore it some day."

"I guess he isn't interested in anything unless he sees a dollar close by," Ernest replied.

They had dinner at the one decently kept hotel in Garland, and scattered along the comfortable veranda afterwards to rest and cool off.

Ernest pointed out the place near the top of the bluff where a dark spot in the rocky ledge revealed the location of the hermit's cave. "Who is ready for the climb?" he asked, rejoining the others.

"I pass," said Dick from the depths of a willow porch chair.

"And I," Marian echoed.

"I am just dying to go, Ernest, but it wouldn't be proper for me to desert my liege Lord." Alice shot a mischievous glance at the occupant of the willow chair.

"I couldn't think of leaving our guests," Frank stopped smoking long enough to say.

"Put it to a vote, Ernest, and save us the trouble of inventing excuses," remarked the Captain dryly.

"Resolved—That we stay right where we are until train time. All in favor——" He was not permitted to continue. A chorus of "Ayes" drowned him out, the Captain leading.

And they stayed until train time.

"What is it," queried Ernest as they started homeward, "about a railroad train that makes one so crazy to go along?"

"Is it the train, or merely your love of adventure?" suggested Captain Clarke.

"I think it's because a train always seems so—oh, jolly—and exciting," ventured Katy.

"That's only part," said Chicken Little, who had been studying; "it's wondering what's at the other end of the track that tempts you so."

"Pooh, I know what's at the other end of this track and it tempts me like sixty."

"Home?" Katy and Jane asked together.

"No, supper!"



CHAPTER XIII

CHICKEN LITTLE AND ERNEST

The household was awakened in the middle of the night by peals of thunder and the rush of rain against the windows. Chicken Little was drenched before she could get the window down next their bed.

"I don't care," she said, as she hunted out a dry gown, "it's raining and Ernest can go to college."

They slept late the following morning. The rain was coming down in a steady, business-like way that gladdened the heart of every farmer on the creek. Dr. Morton was jubilant.

"This will save the corn and make thousands of dollars difference in the hay yield in the country," he remarked at the breakfast table.

"That's what I don't like about farming," said Ernest. "So much depends on things that you can't help. A man can work like a dog, and along comes a drouth or chinch bugs or too much rain during the haying season and, presto, all his fond hopes are knocked sky high."

"Well," replied his father, "I guess there are mighty few businesses or professions where you don't have to take chances. By the way, Son, I'm beginning to be afraid your hopes of Annapolis may be disappointed. I don't understand why Senator Pratt ignores my letter this way."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Father, Captain Clarke heard at the hotel yesterday that Senator Pratt has been seriously ill for several weeks, but they've been keeping it quiet. They say he's just beginning to take up his affairs again."

"We may hear then in a day or two. I believe I'll go to town to-day—it's too wet to do any work."

The day dragged for the young people indoors. They tried dominoes and authors, but the boys soon found these tame and settled down by themselves to chess as more worthy of a masculine intellect.

The rain ceased and the sun came out about two o'clock. Gertie was in the midst of a letter home, but Katy and Chicken Little hurried outdoors into the moist, fresh air joyfully.

"Let's go get some of those summer sweetings. I'm hungry for an apple. My, doesn't the air taste good?" Chicken Little was taking deep breaths.

They picked their way daintily to avoid the wet weeds and high grass. The sky once more serene, receded in deep bays above the arches of foliage. Every now and then a bird, startled by their coming, flew out from the branches overhead, sending down showers of drops on their hair and shoulders.

They found the sweeting tree and Chicken Little soon had an apron full. It was too wet to linger and they had started back, when Chicken Little stopped still and made a wry face. "Katy Halford, we haven't fed those pigs!"

"No sir, we haven't!"

"Say, this would be an awful good time to do it—everything's so wet, we could loosen one of the stones easy. And I guess they'll do the rest fast enough."

"If we don't give 'em much to eat they'll want to get out worse."

The days since Alice's and Dick's coming had been so full they had found no opportunity to carry out Jane's scheme for ridding themselves gracefully of their burdensome boarders. Katy had explained the plan to Gertie, who heartily endorsed it. She went back to the house after her now, while Chicken Little began scouting to see if there were anyone about. The coast seemed clear. Jim Bart had gone to look after the pasture fences, and Marian told her that Ernest and Sherm had taken the wheelbarrow and started to the south field after a load of watermelons. "They'll be back in half an hour if you want them for anything, Jane."

Jane didn't want them for anything: she merely wanted them safely out of the way.

She sped back to the house. "Hurry, girls, everybody's gone, and Marian's putting Jilly to sleep in the bedroom on the other side of the cottage, so she won't see us. I'll go get the milk and those pea pods Annie saved."

Katy and Gertie undertook the feeding, while Chicken Little went to the tool house for pick and spade. The log pig pen was merely one corner of the big hog corral, fenced off for the benefit of the new litters to protect them from the older hogs. Stones had been securely embedded underneath the lowest rail to keep the pigs from burrowing out beneath. Chicken Little went into the corral and inspected these, carefully trying one or two with the pick.

"Here's one that isn't very big and it's loose at one corner. Let's try it."

The stone had been put there to stay and did not yield readily. Jane dug till she was tired, then Katy took a hand. Gertie had been posted as a sentinel where she could watch the road.

They strained and tugged, but the stone was obstinate. Jane was getting red in the face.

"The old hateful——I'll get it out or bust!"

"Perhaps I can help you, Chicken Little."

The girls glanced up in dismay. Sherm stood there grinning. He had come back across lots.

"What you trying to do, anyhow? Have your pets been getting out?"

There was nothing to do but take Sherm into their confidence.

"Please promise you won't tell, Sherm—they'd tease me to death if they know. But we're sick of those pigs. I never want to lay eyes on a pig again. So we thought we'd just loosen a stone so they could get into the corral with the others and Father'd think they'd dug out themselves. Nobody can ever pick 'em out from the others. They are every bit as big as old Whity's pigs and Father turned them in two weeks ago."

Sherm chuckled. "Mum's the word. Hand over the pick and we'll do such an artistic job that the porkers themselves will think they are responsible for the whole business. I don't blame you. That's not girl's work!"

The pigs rose to the occasion beautifully. The tiny opening called as loudly as a pile of corn. They continued the excavating so promptly and expeditiously that by the time Dr. Morton returned from town, every piglet had deserted its maternal ancestor and was joyously rooting for itself in the corral.