"Yes, do, do," cried the girls. So they huddled up together on the big stone steps, Polly in the middle, and she told them the whole story as fast as she could. Meantime other girls hurrying to school, saw them from a distance, and broke into a run to get there in time.

And Polly gave Alexia's love all round, as she had been commissioned to do.

"We'll go up to your house to see her," cried Leslie, "perhaps this afternoon."

"Oh, no, you mustn't," said Polly. "I'm dreadfully sorry, girls, but Papa Fisher says no one must come yet, till he sends word by me."

"I thought you said Alexia was all right."

"And if her arm isn't broken I should think we might see her," said a big girl on the edge of the circle discontentedly. She had private reasons for wishing the interview as soon as possible, as she and Alexia had quarrelled the day before, and now it was quite best to ignore all differences, and make it up.

"But she's had a great strain, and Papa-Doctor says it isn't best," repeated Polly very distinctly, "so we can't even think of it, Sarah."

"Polly? is that Polly Pepper?" exclaimed a voice in the hall.



"Oh, yes, Miss Anstice," cried Polly, hopping up so quickly she nearly overthrew some of the bunch of girls.

Yes, she had on the black silk gown, and Polly fancied she could hear it crackle, it was so stiff, as Miss Anstice advanced primly.

"I hear that there was an accident, Polly Pepper, last night, which you and some of the other girls were in. Now, why did you not come and tell me or sister at once about it?"

"Oh dear me! do forgive me," cried poor Polly, now seeing that she had done a very wrong thing not to have acquainted Miss Salisbury first with all the particulars. "I do hope you will forgive me, Miss Anstice," she begged over again.

"I find it very difficult to overlook it, Polly," said Miss Anstice, who was much disturbed by the note she held in her hand, just delivered, by which Professor Mills informed her he should be unable to deliver his address that morning before her art class. So she added with asperity, "It would have been quite the proper thing, and something that would naturally, I should suppose, suggest itself to a girl brought up as you have been, Polly, to come at once to the head of the school with the information."

Polly, feeling that all this reflected on Mamsie and her home training, had yet nothing to do but to stand pale and quiet on the steps.

"She couldn't help it." The big girl pushed her way into the inner circle. "We girls all just made her stop. My! Miss Anstice, it was just a mob here when we saw Polly coming."

"Sarah Miller, you have nothing to say until I address you." A little red spot was coming on either cheek as Miss Anstice turned angrily to the big girl. "And I shall at once report you to sister, for improper behavior."

"Oh dear, dear! Well, I wish 'sister' would fire old black silk," exclaimed a girl on the edge of the circle under her breath. "Look at her now. Isn't she a terror!" and then the big bell rang, and they all filed in.

"Now she won't let us have our picnic; she'll go against it every way she can," cried a girl who was out of dangerous earshot. And the terror of this spread as they all scampered down the hall.

"Oh dear, dear! to think this should have happened on her black silk day!"

"No, we won't get it now, you may depend," cried ever so many. And poor Polly, with all this added woe, to make her feel responsible for the horrible beginning of the day, sank into her seat and leaned her head on her desk.

The picnic, celebrated as an annual holiday, was given by Miss Salisbury to the girls, if all had gone well in the school, and no transgressions of rules, or any misdemeanor, marred the term. Miss Anstice never had looked with favor on the institution, and the girls always felt that she went out of her way to spy possible insubordination among the scholars. So they strove not to get out of her good graces, observing special care when the "black silk days" came around.

On this unlucky day, everything seemed against them; and as Miss Anstice stalked off to sit upon the platform by "sister" for the opening exercises, the girls felt it was all up with them, and a general gloom fell upon the long schoolroom.

Miss Salisbury's gentle face was turned in surprise upon them as she scanned the faces. And then, the general exercises being over, the classes were called, and she and "sister" were left on the platform alone.

"Oh, now she's getting the whole thing!" groaned Leslie, looking back from the hall, to peer in. "Old black silk is giving it to her. Oh, I just hate Miss Anstice!"

"Sarah, why couldn't you have kept still?" cried another girl. "If you hadn't spoken, Miss Anstice would have gotten over it."

"Well, I wasn't going to have Polly Pepper blamed," said Sarah sturdily. "If you were willing to, I wasn't going to stand still and hear it, when it was our fault she told us first."

"Oh, no, Sarah," said Polly, "it surely was my own self that was to blame. I ought to have run in and told Miss Salisbury first. Well, now, girls, what shall I do? I've lost that picnic for you all, for I don't believe she will let us have it now."

"No, she won't," cried Leslie tragically; "of that you may be sure, Polly Pepper."



VIII "WE'RE TO HAVE OUR PICNIC!"

And that afternoon Polly kept back bad recollections of the gloomy morning at school as well as she could. She didn't let Alexia get the least bit of a hint about it, although how she ever escaped letting her find it out, she never could quite tell, but rattled on, all the messages the girls had sent, and every bit of school news she could think of.

"Were the other girls who went to Silvia's, at school?" asked Alexia suddenly, and twitching up her pillow to get higher in bed, for Dr. Fisher had said she mustn't get up this first day; and a hard piece of work Mother Fisher had had to keep the aunt out of the room.

"I wouldn't go in," Mamsie would say; "Dr. Fisher doesn't wish her to be disturbed. To-morrow, Miss Rhys." And it was all done so quietly that Alexia's aunt would find herself off down in the library again and busy with a book, very much to her own surprise.

"I'll shake 'em up," Polly cried; and hopping off from the foot of the bed, she thumped the pillows, if not with a merry, at least with a vigorous hand. "There now," crowding them in back of Alexia's restless head, "isn't that fine?"

"I should think it was," exclaimed Alexia with a sigh of satisfaction, and giving her long figure a contented stretch; "you do know just the best things to do, Polly Pepper. Well, tell on. I suppose Amy Garrett is perfectly delighted to cut that old art lecture."

"Oh, Professor Mills didn't come at all," said Polly. That brought it all back about Miss Anstice, and her head drooped suddenly.

"Didn't come? oh dear!" And Alexia fell to laughing so, that she didn't notice Polly's face at all. But her aunt popping in, she became sober at once, and ran her head under the bedclothes.

"Oh, are you worse? is she, Polly?" cried Miss Rhys all in a flutter. "I heard her cry, I thought."

"No, I was laughing," said Alexia, pulling up her face red and shining. "Do go right away, aunt. Dr. Fisher said Polly was to tell me things."

"Well, if you are not worse," said her aunt, slowly turning away.

"No," said Alexia. "Polly Pepper, do get up and shut that door," she cried; "slam it, and lock it."

"Oh, no," said Polly, in dismay at the very thought, "I couldn't ever do that, Alexia."

"Well, then I will." Alexia threw back the bedclothes with a desperate hand, and thrust one foot out.

"If you do," said Polly, not moving from where she sat on the foot of the bed, "I shall go out of this room, and not come back to-day."

"Shall you really?" cried Alexia, fixing her pale eyes on her.

"Yes, indeed I shall," said Polly firmly.

"Oh, then I'm not going." Alexia drew in her foot, and huddled all the clothes up over her head. "Polly Pepper," she said in muffled tones, "you're a perfectly dreadful creature, and if you'd gone and sprained your arm in a horrible old railway accident and were tied in bed, I'd do just everything you said, I would."

"Oh, I hope you wouldn't," said Polly.

"Hope I wouldn't!" screamed Alexia, flinging all the clothes away again to stare at Polly out of very wide eyes. "Whatever do you mean, Polly Pepper?"

"I hope you wouldn't do as I wanted you to," said Polly distinctly, "if I wanted something that was bad."

"Well, that's a very different thing," mumbled Alexia. "Oh dear me!" She gave a grimace at a twinge of pain in her arm. "This isn't bad; I only wanted that door shut."

"Oh now, Alexia, you've hurt your arm!" cried Polly; "do keep still, else Papa-Doctor won't let me stay in here."

"Oh dear, dear! I'll keep still," promised Alexia, making up her mind that horses shouldn't drag any expression of pain from her after that.

"I mean, do sit up straight against your pillows; you've got 'em all mussed up again," cried Polly. So she hopped off from the bed, and thumped them into shape once more.

"I wish you'd turn 'em over," said Alexia: "they're so hot on that side." So Polly whisked over the pillows, and patted them straight, and Alexia sank back against them again.

"Wouldn't you like me to smooth your hair, Alexia?" asked Polly. "Mamsie does that to me when I don't feel good."

"Yes, I should," said Alexia, "like it very much indeed, Polly."

So Polly, feeling quite happy, albeit the remembrance of the morning still lay deep in her mind, ran off for the brush and comb. "And I'm going to braid it all over," she said with great satisfaction, "after I've rubbed your head."

"Well, now tell on," said Alexia, as Polly climbed up back of the pillows, and began to smooth the long light fluffs of hair, trying to do it just as Mamsie always did for her. "You say Professor Mills didn't come—oh dear! and think of that black silk gown wasted on the girls. Well, I suppose she was cross as two sticks because he didn't come, wasn't she, Polly? Oh dear me! well, I'm glad I wasn't there," she hurried on, not waiting for a reply; "I'd rather be in with this old bundle"—she patted her bandages—"Oh Polly!" She started up so suddenly that the brush flew out of Polly's lap and spun away across the floor. "Take care," said Polly, "oh, there goes the comb now," and she skipped down, recovered the articles, and jumped up to her post again. "What is it, Alexia?"

"Why, I've just thought—you don't suppose Miss Salisbury will appoint the day for the picnic, do you, while my arm is lame?"

The color in Polly's cheeks went out, and she was glad that she could get well behind the pillows.

"Oh, no, Alexia," she made herself say, "we wouldn't ever in all this world have the picnic till you were well. How could you think it, Alexia?"

"I didn't believe you would," cried Alexia, much gratified, and huddling down again, without once seeing Polly's face, "but most of the girls don't care about me, Polly, and they wouldn't mind."

"Oh yes, they do," said Polly reassuringly, "they're very fond of you, most of them are."

"Well," said Alexia, "I'm not fond of them, so I don't really expect them to be, Polly. But I shouldn't like 'em to go off and have that picnic when I couldn't go. Was anything said about it, Polly?" she asked abruptly.

"Miss Salisbury or Miss Anstice didn't say a word," said Polly, trembling for the next question. Just then Mother Fisher looked in with a smile. "Polly, you are wanted," she said. "Grandpapa and Jasper are ready to go to the railroad station. I'm going to stay with Alexia and finish her hair just as I do for Polly."

Alexia looked up and smiled. It was next best to having Polly, to have Mrs. Fisher. So Polly, happy to have a respite from Alexia's questions about the picnic, and happier still to be going to find out something about the poor brakeman's family, flew off from the bed, set a kiss on Alexia's hot cheek, and another on Mamsie's, and raced off.

"I'm coming, Jasper," she called. She could see him below in the wide hall.

"All right, don't hurry so, father isn't ready yet. Dear me! Polly, you can get ready so quickly for things!" he said admiringly. And, in the glow of starting, he couldn't see that Polly's spirits seemed at a low ebb, and he drew a long breath as he tried to make himself believe that what he had noticed at luncheon wasn't really so at all.

And Polly, between Grandpapa and Jasper, tried to make them have such a good time that really it seemed no walk at all, and they were all quite surprised when they found themselves there.

"We must go up into the superintendent's room," said Mr. King. So up the long stairs they went, the old gentleman grumbling at every step because there was no elevator, and at all other matters and things that were, as he declared, "at loose ends in the whole system." At last they stood before the desk.

"Have the goodness," began old Mr. King to the official, a short, pompous person who came up in the absence of the superintendent and now turned a cold face up to them, "to give me some information regarding a brakeman who was killed last night in the accident to the train due here at 7.45."

"Don't know anything about him," said the official in the crispest accents. He looked as if he cared less, and was about to slam down the window, when Mr. King asked, "Does anybody in this office know?"

"Can't say." The official pulled out his watch, compared it with the big clock on the wall, then turned away.

"Do any of you know who the man was who was killed last night?" asked the old gentleman, putting his face quite close to the window, and speaking in such clear, distinct tones that every clerk looked up.

Each man searched all the other faces. No, they didn't know; except one, a little, thin, weazen-faced person over in the corner, at a high desk, copying. "I only know that his name was Jim," he said in a voice to match his figure.

"Have the goodness to step this way, sir, and tell me what you do know," said Mr. King in such a way that the little man, but with many glances for the pompous individual, slipped off from his high stool, to advance to the window rubbing his hands together deprecatingly. The other clerks all laid down their pens to see the interview.

"What was his name—this brakeman's?" demanded Mr. King.

"I don't know, sir," said the little, thin clerk. "Jim—that was all I knew him by. I used to see him of a morning when I was coming to the office, and he was waiting to take his train. He was a steady fellow, Jim was," he added, anxiously scanning the handsome face beneath the white hair.

"I don't doubt that," said old Mr. King hastily. "I don't in the least doubt it."

"And he wasn't given to drink, sir," the little, thin clerk cried abruptly, "although some did say it who shouldn't; for there were many after Jim's place. He had an easy run. And——"

"Yes, yes; well, now what I want to know," said Mr. King interrupting the stream, Polly and Jasper on either side having a hard time to control their impatience, "is where this 'Jim,' as you call him, lived, and what was his last name."

"That I don't know, sir," said the little, thin clerk. "I only know he had a family, for once in a while when I had a minute to spare he'd get to talking about 'em, when we met. Jim was awful fond of 'em; that any one could see."

"Yes, well, now what would he say?" asked the old gentleman, trying to hurry matters along. The pompous official had his eye on the clock. It might go hard for the little, thin clerk in his seedy coat, if he took too much time from office hours.

"Why, he had one girl who was crazy about music," said the little clerk, "and—"

"Oh dear me!" exclaimed Polly. Old Mr. King heard her sigh at his side, and he cried, "Well, what else?"

"Why, I've heard Jim say more'n once he'd live on bread and water if he could only give his daughter a chance. And there were his three boys."

"Three boys," echoed Mr. King sharply.

"Yes, sir. I saw 'em round the train once or twice; they were likely chaps, it seemed to me." The little, thin clerk, a bachelor with several unmarried sisters on his hands for support, sighed deeply.

"Well, now," cried Mr. King, thinking it quite time to bring the interview to a close, "I'd take it quite kindly if you'd find out for me all you can about this Jim. A member of my family was on the train last night, who but for this noble brakeman might—might—bless me! There is my card." The old gentleman pulled out one from his cardcase, then fell to wiping his face violently.

"What is your name?" asked Jasper, seeing that his father couldn't speak.

"Hiram Potter," said the little clerk. The pompous official drew near, and looked over his shoulder at the card. "Oh! why—Mr. King!" he cried, all the pomposity suddenly gone. "I beg your pardon; what can I do for you, sir?"

"Nothing whatever, sir." Mr. King waved him away. "Well, now, Mr. Potter, if you'll be so very good as to get this information for me as soon as possible and bring it up to my house, I'll be very much indebted to you." With a bow to him, in which the official was nowise included, the old gentleman and Polly and Jasper went off down the stairs again.

"Finkle, you're caught this time; you're in a hole," the brother officials sang out when the card had been displayed around the office. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," said more than one.

Finkle tried to brave out the dismay he felt at having offended the powerful millionaire railroad director, but he made but a poor show of it. Meanwhile the little, thin clerk, slipping the precious card into his seedy coat pocket, clambered up to his high stool, his mind busy with plans to unearth all possible information concerning Jim, the brakeman, as soon as the big clock up on the wall should let them out of the office.

"Polly, my dear," old Mr. King kept saying, as they went down the stairs, and he held her hand very closely, "I think this Potter—a very good sort of a man he seems to be, too—will find out all we want to know about Jim. I really do, Polly; so we won't worry about it, child."

Nevertheless, on top of all the rest that was worrying her, Polly had a sorry enough time, to keep her troubles from showing on her face. And after dinner, when the bell pealed violently, she gave a great start and turned quite pale.

Jasper saw it. "I don't believe it's any bad news, Polly," he hastened to say reassuringly, and longing to comfort, though he couldn't imagine the reason.

"Oh, where's Polly?" She heard the girls' voices out in the hall, and ran out to meet them. "Oh dear me!" she cried at sight of their faces that confirmed her worst fears.

"Yes, oh Polly, it's just as I said," cried Leslie Fyle, precipitating herself against Polly. "Now, girls, keep back; I'm going to tell her first."

"Well, we are all going to tell too, Les; that's what we've come for," cried the others, crowding up.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Polly, standing quite still, and feeling as if she never could hold up her head again now that the picnic was lost through her.

"I shall tell, myself," declared Sarah bluntly. "I'm the one, it seems, that made all the trouble, so it really belongs to me, I should think, to be the first speaker."

Polly folded her hands tightly together, while the babel went on, feeling that if she didn't hear the dreaded news soon, she should fly off to Mamsie.

"Miss Salisbury said—" She could hear little scraps of chatter.

"I know—oh, do hurry and tell Polly."

"Oh, and just think, Miss Salisbury——"

"And Miss Anstice—" Then some of them looked around and into Polly's face. "Oh my goodness, girls, see Polly Pepper!"

With that they all rushed at her, and nobody told first, for they all shouted it out together: "Polly, Miss Salisbury has given us our picnic!" and "Polly, isn't it too splendid!" and "Polly Pepper, just think how perfectly elegant! Our picnic, Polly—only think!" till the circle in the library popped out their heads into the hall.

"Jasper," cried Polly, deserting the bunch of "Salisbury girls," to plunge up to him with shining eyes, "we're to have our picnic; we truly are, Jasper, and I thought I'd lost it to all the girls."

And just then Johnson advanced down the length of the hall. "It's a person to see you, sir," he said to old Mr. King,—"says it's quite important, sir, and that you told him to come. He's sitting by the door, sir."

"Oh, it's Mr. Potter, I think," said the old gentleman; "show him into the library, Johnson. Polly, my child. Bless me! I don't see how you stand it with these girls chattering around you every minute. Now be off with you," he cried gaily to the group. He was much pleased at the success of his plan to find out about the brakeman, of which he felt quite sure from the appearance so promptly of the little clerk. "I have something quite important for Polly to attend to now; and I really want her to myself once in a while."

"Yes, I must go, girls," said Polly, turning a blooming countenance on them; "so good night. We won't have the picnic, you know, till Alexia is well," she added decidedly.

"Oh, that's what Miss Salisbury said," cried Leslie, turning back. "You see, I saw her after school—went back for my history—and I was to tell you that, Polly; only Sarah spoilt it all."

"Never mind," said Polly brightly, "it's all right now, since we are really to have our picnic." And then she put her hand in old Mr. King's, quite bubbling over with happiness,—Jasper, just as jubilant, since Polly was herself again, on the other side,—to go in and meet the little, thin clerk, scared at his surroundings, and perched on the extreme edge of a library chair.



IX ALL ABOUT THE POOR BRAKEMAN

Mr. Potter was very miserable indeed on the edge of his chair, and twirling his hat dreadfully; and for the first moment after the handsome old gentleman spoke to him, he had nothing to say.

Old Mr. King was asking him for the third time, "You found out all about poor Jim's family, eh?"

At last he emerged from his fit of embarrassment enough to reply, "Yes, sir."

"Now that is very good," the old gentleman cried approvingly, and wiped his face vigorously after his effort, "very good indeed, Mr. Potter."

Hiram Potter now followed up his first attempt to find his voice; and trying to forget the handsome surroundings that had so abashed him, he went on now quite glibly.

"You see, sir, there's six of 'em—Jim's children."

"Dear me!" ejaculated old Mr. King.

"Yes, sir, there are." Mr. Potter's hat began to twirl uneasily again. "And the wife—she ain't strong, just got up from rheumatic fever."

"That's bad—very bad," said Mr. King.

"Those three boys of his are good," said Mr. Potter, brightening up a bit in the general gloom; "and the biggest one says he's going to be a brakeman just like his father. But the mother wants 'em all to go to school. You see, that's what Jim was working for."

"And the girl who wanted to play on the piano?" broke in Polly eagerly. Then she blushed rosy red. "Oh, forgive me, Grandpapa, for interrupting," and she hid her face on old Mr. King's arm.

"I was just going to ask about that girl, myself," said Grandpapa promptly. "Tell us about her, Mr. Potter, if you please."

Hiram Potter set his hat carefully on the floor beside his chair. It was his Sunday hat, and evidently that, with his best clothes which he had donned in honor of the occasion, were objects of great care. He scratched his head and thought deeply. "Well, now, you see, sir," he said slowly, "that's almost a hopeless case, and I wish, as sure as I sit here, that girl hadn't never thought of piano music. But it's born in her, the mother said; the girl's grandfather was a musician in the old home in Germany, and so she can't help it. Why, she's just so crazy about it, she'll drum all up and down the kitchen table to make believe that——"

"Oh Grandpapa!" cried Polly in the greatest excitement, and hopping up and down by his side, "that's just as I used to do in the little brown house,—the very same way, Grandpapa, you know."

"Yes, she did, father," cried Jasper, bobbing his head scarcely less excited, just as if old Mr. King hadn't heard the story many times.

Mr. Potter, for want of something to do to express his amazement, picked up his hat, stroked it, and set it down again, staring with all his might.

"So you did, Polly; so you did, my child," cried Grandpapa, taking her hands in both of his, and looking down into her shining eyes; "well, well, to be sure. Now, Jasper, get the tablet, and write down the address of Jim's family as quickly as you can, my boy."

So Jasper ran over to the library table, and brought back the tablet and pencil hanging to it; and pretty soon Jim's home was all described thus: "Mrs. James Corcoran, 5 Willow Court—third house from Haven Street."

"It's kinder hard to find," observed Mr. Potter slowly, "because Willow Court runs into Haven Street criss-cross, and this number isn't on the house; it's got rubbed off; but if you follow up No. 3, and come up carefully, why, there you'll be where No. 5 was."

"Oh dear me!" said Mr. King. "Well, you may describe the house, for I am going down there to-morrow, and I certainly do not wish to waste my time walking about."

Polly and Jasper looked so very decidedly "Oh, may we go too?" that the old gentleman added quickly, "And my young people will accompany me," which really left nothing more to be desired at present.

"Well, it's a yellow house," said Mr. Potter, thinking very hard, "that is, it is in spots, where the paint is on; and it's low, and runs down to the back, and sets sideways. But I tell you how you'll know it. She's got—Mrs. Jim Corcoran has—the greatest lot of flowers in her window. They're chock full, sir."

"I shall know it, then," cried Polly in great satisfaction.

"I think there's no danger, sir, but what we will find the place all right." Old Mr. King was fumbling in his pocket in great perplexity. "It never would do," he decided, pulling his hand out. "No, I must contrive to send him something. Well, now—hem—Mr. Potter," he said aloud, "and where do you live? Quite near, I presume?"

"Oh, just the other end of the town, sir," said Mr. Potter. "I live on Acorn Street."

"Acorn Street?" repeated Mr. King, wrinkling his brows, "and where may that be, pray tell?"

"It's over at the South End, sir; it runs off from Baker Street and Highland Square."

"Oh yes, yes," said the old gentleman, without much more idea than before.

"I know where it is, father," said Jasper. "Dear me! You've had to take a good bit of time to get all this information, Mr. Potter."

Mr. Potter looked down busily on the carpet, trying not to think how tired his feet were, saving some car-fare for their owner.

"Well, now what number?" The old gentleman seeming to desire his whole address, that was soon given too,—"23 Acorn Street, South End."

"And I suppose you have a family?" went on the old gentleman, determined to find out all there was to it, now he had commenced.

The little clerk began to hem and to haw, behind his hand. "No, sir, I haven't; that is, yes, I have considerable—I mean my four sisters, sir; we all live together."

"Oh—ah!" replied Mr. King. "Well, now thank you very much, Mr. Potter; and as your time is valuable, and should be paid for,"—he tucked a bill within the nervous hands.

"Oh, I couldn't take it, sir," cried Hiram Potter, greatly distressed.

"But it's your due. Why, man, I shouldn't have asked you to take all this trouble, and spend so much time after I've found you had so far to go." Mr. King was really becoming irate now, so that the little clerk didn't dare to say more. "Bless me! Say no more—say no more!"

The little clerk was too much frightened to think of another word; and finding that the interview was considered closed, he picked up his hat, and in some way, he could never remember how, he soon found himself out of the handsome house, and skipping off nimbly in the fresh air, which quite revived him.

"I could offer him only a trifle," old Mr. King was saying, "only what might repay him for his trouble and time to-night. But I shall speak to Fraser about him to-morrow, Jasper. That agent of mine is, curiously enough, in want of a clerk just at this time, and I know this little man can fit in very well, and it will get him away from that beastly office. Four sisters—oh my goodness! Well, Fraser must give him enough to take care of them."

"Oh, how fine, father!" exclaimed Jasper with kindling eyes. "And then the girl that wants to learn to play on the piano."

"Oh dear me, yes!" Old Mr. King burst into a merry laugh. "I must look after that little girl, or Polly won't speak to me, I am afraid. Will you, Polly, my child?" He drew her close to him, and kissed her blooming cheek.

"I am so very glad you are going to look out for her, Grandpapa," she cried, "because you know I did feel so dreadfully when I used to drum on the table in the little brown house," she confessed.

"I know—I know, child." Grandpapa's face fell badly, and he held her very close. It always broke him up to hear the Peppers tell of the hard times in the little brown house, and Polly hastened to add brightly, "And then you came, Grandpapa dear, and you made it all just beautiful—oh Grandpapa!" and she clung to him, unable to say more.

"Yes, yes, so I did—so I did," cried the old gentleman delightedly, quite happy again, and stroking the brown hair. "Well, Polly, my girl, it isn't anything to the good times we are always going to have. And to-morrow, you and I must go down to see after poor Jim's family."

"And Jasper?" cried Polly, poking up her head from old Mr. King's protecting arm; "he must go too, Grandpapa."

"And Jasper? Why, we couldn't do anything without him, Polly," said the old gentleman in such a tone that Jasper threw back his head very proudly; "of course my boy must go too."

And the next day, Pickering Dodge, who thought he had some sort of a claim on Jasper for the afternoon, came running up the steps, two at a time. And he looked so horribly disappointed, that old Mr. King said, "Why don't you take him, Jasper, along with us?"

Jasper, who would have much preferred to go alone with his father and Polly, swallowed his vexation, and said, "All right;" and when he saw Pickering's delight, he brightened up, and was glad it all happened in just that way after all.

"Now see here," said old Mr. King suddenly. They were turning out of Willow Court, after their visit, and Thomas had a sorry time of it, managing his horses successfully about the old tin cans and rubbish, to say nothing of the children who were congregated in the narrow, ill-smelling court. "Why don't you boys do something for those lads in there?" pointing backward to the little run-down-at-the-heel house they had just left.

"We boys?" cried Pickering faintly. "Oh dear me! Mr. King, we can't do anything."

"'Can't' is a bad word to use," said the old gentleman gravely, "and I didn't mean that you all alone should do the work. But get the other boys interested. I'm sure you can do that. Phew! Where are the health authorities, I should like to know, to let such abominations exist? Thomas, drive as fast as you can, and get us out of this hole;" and he buried his aristocratic old face in his handkerchief.

Pickering looked over at Jasper in great dismay.

"We might have our club take it up," said Jasper slowly, with a glance at Polly for help.

"Yes, why don't you, Jasper?" she cried. "Now that's what I'm going to propose that our club of Salisbury girls shall do. We're just finishing up the work for a poor Southern family."

"You've had a bee, haven't you," asked Pickering, "or something of that sort? Although I don't really suppose you do much work," he said nonchalantly, "only laugh and play and giggle, generally."

"Indeed we don't, Pickering Dodge," cried Polly indignantly, "laugh and play and giggle, the very idea!"

"And if you say such dreadful things I'll pitch you out of the carriage," cried Jasper in pretended wrath.

"Ow! I'll be good. Take off your nippers," cried Pickering, cringing back down into his corner as far as he could. "Goodness me! Jasper, you're a perfect old tiger."

"Take care, and keep your tongue in its place then," said Jasper, bursting into a laugh.

"And we work—oh, just dreadfully," declared Polly with her most positive air. "We cut out all the clothes ourselves. We don't want our mothers to do it; and sew—oh dear me!"

"You ought to see our house on club day when Polly has the bee," said Jasper. "I rather think you'd say there was something going on for those poor little Southern darkies."

"Well, I don't see how you can work so for a lot of disgusting pickaninnies," said Pickering, stretching his long figure lazily. "The whole bunch of them isn't worth one good solid afternoon of play."

Polly turned a cold shoulder to him, and began to talk with Jasper most busily about the club of boys.

"Yes, and oh, Jasper, let's have one meeting of all you boys with us girls—the two clubs together," she cried at last, waxing quite enthusiastic.

"Yes, let us," cried Jasper, just as enthusiastic; "and oh, Polly, I've thought of something. Let's have a little play—you write it."

"Oh Jasper, I can't," cried Polly, wrinkling her brows.

"Oh, yes, Polly, you can," cried Jasper; "if it's one half as good as 'The Three Dragons and the Princess Clotilde,' it will be just fine."

"Well," said Polly, "I'll try; and what then, Jasper?"

"Why, we'll give it for money—father, may we, in the drawing-room? And perhaps we'll make quite a heap to help those boys with. Oh Polly!" He seized both of her hands and wrung them tightly. "Oh, may we, father, may we?"

"Eh—what's that? Oh, yes." The old gentleman took down his handkerchief. "Dear me! what a mercy we are where we can breathe!" as Thomas whirled them dexterously past a small square. "What are the health authorities about, to allow such atrocious old holes? Oh, yes, my boy, I'm sure I'd be delighted to have you help along those three lads. And it's really work for boys. Polly's going to start up something for the girl."

"How perfectly fine!" exclaimed Jasper and Polly together, now that the consent was really gained. Then they fell into such a merry chatter that Pickering, left out in the cold, began to wriggle dreadfully. At last he broke out:

"Yes, I think it would be fine too," trying to work his head into the conference, where Polly and Jasper had theirs together buzzing over the plans.

But nobody paid him the slightest attention; so he repeated his remark, with no better success.

"I should think you might turn around," at last he said in a dudgeon, "and speak to a body once in a while."

"Why should we?" cried Jasper over his shoulder. "You don't think it's worth while to work for any of those people. No, Polly, we'll let him severely alone." Then he fell to talking again, busier than ever.

"Yes, I do," cried Pickering in a high, wrathful key, "think it's worth while too, so there, Jasper King!"

"Oh, he does, I do believe, Jasper," cried Polly, looking at Pickering's face.

"Why, of course I do," said Pickering.

"And so we must let him into the plans." So Polly turned around to draw Pickering in, and old Mr. King leaned forward in his seat, and the committee of ways and means got so very busy that they didn't even know when Thomas turned in at the big stone gateway, until Polly looked up and screamed out, "Why, we are home! Why, we can't be!"

"Well, we are, Polly, my child," said old Mr. King, getting out to help her with his courtliest air. "We've been gone just three hours and a half, and a very good afternoon's work it is too. For Jim's children will care twice as much for what you young folks are going to do for them as for anything I may do. Yes, Polly, they will," as he saw her face. "And I'm sure if I were in their places, I'd feel just the same way."



X JOEL AND HIS DOG

"Now, children," hummed Phronsie, pausing in the midst of combing her doll's flaxen hair, "you must keep still, and be very good; then I'll get through pretty soon," and she bowed to the several members of her numerous family set up in a row before her, who were awaiting their turn for the same attention. Then she took up the little comb which had dropped to her lap, and set herself busily to her task again.

Alexia looked in at the door of the "baby-house," as Phronsie's little room devoted to her family of dolls, was called. "Oh my goodness me!" she exclaimed, "don't you ever get tired of everlastingly dressing those dolls, Phronsie?"

Phronsie gave a sigh, and went patiently on with her work. "Yes, Alexia, I'm tired sometimes; but I'm their mother, you see."

"And to comb their hair!" went on Alexia, "Oh dear me! I never could do it in all this world, Phronsie. I should want to run and throw them all out of the window."

"Oh Alexia!" exclaimed Phronsie in horror, "throw them all out of the window! You couldn't do that, Alexia." She tightened her grasp on the doll in her arms.

"Yes, I should want to throw every one of those dreadful dolls out of the window, Phronsie Pepper!" declared Alexia recklessly.

"But they are my children," said Phronsie very soberly, trying to get all the others waiting for their hair to be fixed, into her arms too, "and dear Grandpapa gave them to me, and I love them, every single one."

"Well, now, you see, Phronsie," said Alexia, getting down on the floor in front of the doll's bureau, by Phronsie's side, "you could come out with me on the piazza and walk around a bit if it were not for these dreadfully tiresome dolls; and Polly is at school, and you are through with your lessons in Mr. King's room. Now how nice that would be, oh dear me!" Alexia gave a restful stretch to her long figure. "My!" at a twinge of pain.

"Does your arm hurt you, Alexia?" asked Phronsie, looking over her dolls up to Alexia's face.

"Um—maybe," said Alexia, nursing her arm hanging in the sling; "it's a bad, horrid old thing, and I'd like to thump it."

"Oh, don't, Alexia," begged Phronsie, "that will make it worse. Please don't, Alexia, do anything to it." Then she got up, and went over with her armful of dolls to the sofa, and laid them down carefully in a row. "I'll fix your hair to-morrow, children," she said; "now I'm going away for a little bit of a minute," and came back. "Let's go down to the piazza," she said, holding out her hand.

"You blessed child, you!" exclaimed Alexia, seizing her with the well hand, "did you suppose I'd be such a selfish old pig as to drag you off from those children of yours?"

"You are not a selfish old pig, Alexia, and I like you very much," said Phronsie gravely, trying not to hit the arm in the sling, while Alexia flew up to her feet and whirled around the room with her. "And, oh, I'm so afraid you'll make it sick," she panted. "Do stop."

"I just can't, Phronsie," said Alexia; "I shall die if I don't do something! Oh, this horrid old arm!" and she came to a sudden standstill, Phronsie struggling away to a safe distance.

"Papa Fisher would not like it, Alexia," she said in great disapproval, her hair blown about her face, and her cheeks quite pink.

"Oh dear me!" Alexia, resting the sling in the other palm, and trying not to scream with the pain, burst out, "It's so tiresome to be always thinking that some one won't like things one does. Phronsie, there's no use in my trying to be good, because, you see, I never could be. I just love to do bad things."

"Oh no, Alexia," said Phronsie greatly shocked, "you don't love to do bad things. Please say you don't;" and before Alexia could say another word, the tears poured down the round cheeks, wetting Phronsie's pinafore. And although she clasped her hands and tried to stop them, it was no use.

"There now, you see," cried Alexia, quite gone in remorse. "Oh, what shall I do? I must go and get Mrs. Fisher," and she rushed out of the room.

Phronsie ran unsteadily after her, to call, "Oh Alexia!" in such distress that the flying feet turned, and up she came again.

"What is it, Pet?" she cried. "Oh dear me! What shall I do? I must tell your mother."

"I will stop," said Phronsie, struggling hard with her tears, "if you only won't tell Mamsie," and she wiped her cheeks hard with her pinafore. "There, see, Alexia," and tried to smile.

"Well, now, come back." Alexia seized her hand, and dragged her up the stairs. "Now I'm just going to stay up here with you, if you'll let me, Phronsie, and try not to do bad things. I do so want to be good like Polly. You can't think how I want to," she cried in a gust, as she threw herself down on the floor again.

"Oh Alexia, you never could be good like Polly," said Phronsie, standing quite still in astonishment.

"Of course not," said Alexia with a little laugh, "but I mean—oh, you know what I mean, Phronsie. I want to be good so that Polly will say she likes it. Well, come on now, get your horrible old—I mean, your dolls, and—"

"I wish very much you wouldn't call them dolls, Alexia," said Phronsie, not offering to sit down; "they are my children, and I don't think they like to be called anything else."

"Well, they sha'n't hear it, then," declared Alexia decidedly, "so get some of them, and brush their hair, just as you were doing when I came in, and I'm going to read aloud to you out of one of your books, Phronsie."

"Oh—oh!" Phronsie clapped her hands in glee. Next to Polly's stories, which of course she couldn't have now as Polly was at school, Phronsie dearly loved to be read to. But she suddenly grew very sober again.

"Are you sure you will like it, Alexia?" she asked, coming up to peer into Alexia's face.

"Yes, yes, Pet, to be sure I will," cried Alexia, seizing her to half smother her with kisses. "Why, Phronsie, it will make me very happy indeed."

"Well, if it will really make you happy, Alexia," said Phronsie, smoothing down her pinafore in great satisfaction, "I will get my children." And she ran over to the sofa, and came back with an armful.

"Now what book?" asked Alexia, forgetting whether her arm ached or not, and flying to her feet. "I'm going down to your bookshelf to get it."

"Oh Alexia," cried Phronsie in great excitement, "will you—could you get 'The Little Yellow Duck'?"

As this was the book Phronsie invariably chose when asked what she wanted read, Alexia laughed and spun off, perfectly astonished to find that the world was not all as blue as an indigo bag. And when she came back two steps at a time up the stairs, Phronsie was smiling away, and humming softly to herself, while the hair-brushing was going on.

"She had a blue ribbon on yesterday—Almira did," said Phronsie, reflecting. "Now, wouldn't you put on a pink one to-day, Alexia?"

"I surely should," decided Alexia—"that pretty pale pink one that Polly gave you last, Phronsie."

"I am so very glad you said that one," said Phronsie, running over on happy feet for her ribbon-basket, "because I do love that ribbon very much, Alexia."

"Well, now then," said Alexia, as Phronsie began to tie up the pink bow laboriously, "we must hurry and begin, or we never shall see what happened to this 'Little Yellow Duck.'"

"Oh, do hurry, Alexia," begged Phronsie, as if she hadn't heard the story on an average of half a dozen times a week. So Alexia propped herself up against the wall, and began, and presently it was so still that all any one could hear was the turning of the leaves and the ticking of the little French clock on the mantel.

"Well, dear me, how funny!" and Polly rushed in; then burst into a merry laugh.

"Polly Pepper—you home!" Alexia tossed "The Little Yellow Duck" half across the room, flew to her feet again, and spun Polly round and round with her well hand.

"Yes," said Polly, "I am, and I've been searching for you two all over this house."

"Take me, Polly, do." Phronsie laid down Almira carefully on the carpet, and hurried over to Polly.

"I guess I will. Now then, all together!" and the three spun off until out of breath.

"Oh dear me!" Polly stopped suddenly. "I never thought of your arm, Alexia. Oh, do you suppose we've hurt it?" It was so very dreadful to think of, that all the color deserted her cheek.

"Nonsense, no!" declared Alexia, "that spin put new life into me, Polly."

"Well, I don't know," said Polly critically; "at any rate, we mustn't do it any more. And we must tell Papa-Doctor about it as soon as he gets home."

"Oh, what good is it to worry him?" cried Alexia carelessly. "Well, Polly, tell all the news about school," as they hurried downstairs to get ready for luncheon.

"We must tell Papa-Doctor everything about it, Alexia," said Polly in her most decided fashion, putting her arm carefully around Alexia's waist; and with Phronsie hanging to the other hand, down they went, Polly retailing the last bit of school news fresh that day.

"And, oh, Alexia, Miss Salisbury said we are not to have the picnic until you get quite well; she said so in the big schoolroom, before us all."

"Did she, Polly?" cried Alexia, immensely gratified.

"Yes, she did." Polly stood on her tiptoes at the imminent danger of going on her nose, and pulling the other's down, to get a kiss on the long sallow cheek. "She said it very distinctly, Alexia, and all the girls talked about it afterward."

"Well, she's a dear old thing," exclaimed Alexia, with remorseful little pangs at the memory of certain episodes at the 'Salisbury School,' "and I shall try—oh, Polly, I'll try so hard to be nice and please her."

Polly gave her two or three little pats on her back.

"And don't you think," cried Polly, flying off to brush her hair, and calling back through the open door, "that the boys are going to have their club meet with ours. Just think of that!"

"Oh Polly!" Alexia came flying in, brush in hand. "You don't really mean it!"

"I do. Jasper just told me so. Well, hurry, Alexia, else we'll be late," warned Polly, brushing away vigorously. "Yes, Phronsie,"—for Phronsie had gone off for Jane to put on a clean apron,—"we're ready now—that is, almost."

"When—when?" Polly could hear Alexia frantically asking, as she rushed back into her room, which was next to Polly's own.

"Oh, just as soon as you are able," called Polly. "Now don't ask any more questions, Alexia," she begged merrily. "Yes, Mamsie, we're coming!"

* * * * *

That afternoon, Percy and Joel were rushing back to school from an errand down to the village, and hurrying along with an awful feeling that the half-past-five bell in the big tower on the playground would strike in a minute.

"Hold on," called Percy, considerably in the rear; "how you get over the ground, Joe!"

"And you're such a snail," observed Joel pleasantly. Nevertheless he paused.

"What's that?" pricking up his ears.

"I don't hear anything." Percy came up panting.

"Of course not, when you're puffing like a grampus."

"What's a grampus?" asked Percy irritably.

"I don't know," said Joel honestly.

"Well, I wouldn't say words I didn't know what they meant," said Percy in a patronizing tone, and trying not to realize that he was very hot.

"Well, do keep still, will you!" roared Joel. "There, there it is again." He stooped down, and peered within a hedge. "Something's crying in here."

"You'll get your eyes scratched out, most likely, by an old, cross cat," suggested Percy.

Joel, who cared very little for that or any warning, was now on his knees. "Oh whickets!" he exclaimed, dragging out a small yellow dog, who, instead of struggling, wormed himself all up against his rescuer, whining pitifully.

"He's hurt," declared Joel, tossing back his stubby locks, and patting the dog, who stopped whining, and licked him all over, as much of his face and hands as he could reach.

"Oh, that dirty thing—faugh! How can you, Joel Pepper!" cried Percy in distress.

But Joel didn't even hear him, being occupied in setting the dog on the ground to try his paces.

"No, he's not hurt, after all, I guess," he decided, "but look at his ribs,—he's half starved."

"I don't want to look at them," said Percy, turning his back, "and you ought to let him alone; that bell will ring in half a second, Joel Pepper!"

"True enough!" cried Joel. "Come on, Perky," this being the school name of the older Whitney, and he picked up the dog, and shot off.

"What are you going to do with that dog?" yelled Percy after him. But as well talk to the wind, as Joel arrived hot and breathless at the big door long before him.

Luckily for him, none of the boys were about; and Joel, cramming the dog well under his jacket, plunged up the stairs, and down the hall to his room.

"Joe!" roared two or three voices; but he turned a deaf ear, and got in safely; slammed to the door, and then drew a long breath.

"Whew! Almost caught that time," was all he had the wind to say. "Well, now, it's good Dave isn't in, 'cause I can tell him slowly, and get him used to it." All this time he was drawing out his dog from its place of refuge, and putting it first on the bed, then on the floor, to study it better.

It certainly was as far removed from being even a good-looking dog as possible. Having never in its life had the good fortune to hear its pedigree spoken of, it was simply an ill-favored cur that looked as if it had exchanged the back yard of a tenement house for the greater dangers of the open street. Its yellow neck was marked where a cruel cord had almost worn into the flesh, and every one of its ribs stuck out as Joel had said, till they insisted on being counted by a strict observer.

Joel threw his arms around the beast. "Oh dear!" he groaned, "you're starved to death. What have I got to give you?" He wrinkled his forehead in great distress. "Oh goody!" He snatched the dog up, and bore him to the closet, then pulled down a box from the shelf above. "Mamsie's cake—how prime!" And not stopping to cut a piece, he broke off a goodly wedge. "Now then, get in with you," and he thrust him deep into one corner, cramming the cake up to his nose. "Stay there on my side, and don't get over on Dave's shoes. Whee!"

The dog, in seizing the cake, had taken Joel's thumb as well.

"Let go there," cried Joel; "well, you can't swallow my thumb," as the cake disappeared in one lump; and he gave a sigh for the plums with which Mamsie always liberally supplied the school cakes, now disappearing so fast, as much as for the nip he had received.

The dog turned his black, beady eyes sharply for more cake. When he saw that it wasn't coming, he licked Joel's thumb; and in his cramped quarters on top of a heap of shoes and various other things not exactly classified, he tried hard to wag his stump of a tail.

"Whickets! there goes that bell! Now see here, don't you dare to stir for your life! You've got to stay in this closet till to-morrow—then I'll see what to do for you. Lie down, I tell you."

There was a small scuffle; and then the dog, realizing here was a master, curled himself on top of some tennis shoes, and looked as if he held his breath.

"All right," said Joel, with an approving pat. "Now don't you yip, even if Dave opens this door." Then he shut it carefully, and rushed off down to the long dining-room to the crowd of boys.

Joel ate his supper as rapidly as possible, lost to the chatter going on around him. He imagined, in his feverishness, that he heard faint "yaps" every now and then; and he almost expected to see everybody lay down knife and fork.

"What's the matter with you?" He was aroused by seeing the boy next to him lean forward to peer into his face. And in a minute he was conscious that on the other side he was just as much of an object of attention. He buried his face in his glass of milk; but when he took it out, they were staring still the same.

"Ugh! stop your looking at me," growled Joel.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" asked the other boy.

"Get away—nothing," said Joel crossly, and bestowing as much of a kick as he dared on the other boy's shin.

"Ow! There is too."

"You're awfully funny," said the first boy, "you haven't spoken a word since you sat down."

"Well, I ain't going to talk, if I don't want to," declared Joel. "Do stop, Fletcher; everybody's looking."

But Fletcher wouldn't stop, and Joel had the satisfaction of seeing the whole table, with the under-teacher, Mr. Harrow, at the head, making him, between their mouthfuls, the centre of observation. The only alleviation of this misery was that Percy was at another table, and with his back to him.

David looked across in a worried way. "Are you sick, Joe?" he asked.

"No." Joel laughed, and began to eat busily. When he saw that, David gave a sigh of relief.

Mr. Harrow was telling something just then that seemed of more than common interest, and the boys, hearing Joel laugh once more, turned off to listen. "Yes," said the under-teacher, "it was a dog that was—"

"Ugh!" cried Joel. "Oh, beg pardon," and his face grew dreadfully red, as he tried to get as small as possible on his chair.

"It's a dog I used to own, Joel," said Mr. Harrow, smiling at him. "And I taught him tricks, several quite remarkable ones."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Joel, taking a big bite of his biscuit; and for the next quarter of an hour he was safe, as the funny stories lasted till back went the chairs, and the evening meal was over.

To say that Joel's life was an easy one till bedtime, would be very far from the truth. Strange to say, David did not go to the closet once. To be sure, there was a narrow escape that made Joel's heart leap to his mouth.

"Let's have Mamsie's cake, Joe, to-night," said David in an aside to him. The room was full of boys; it was just before study hour, and how to tell David of the dog, was racking Joe's powers of mind.

"Ugh!—no, not to-night, Dave." He was so very decided that although David was puzzled at his manner, he gave it up without a question. And then came study hour when all the boys must be down in "Long Hall," and Joel lingered behind the others. "I'll be down in a minute." He flew over to the closet, broke off another generous wedge of Mamsie's cake, stifling a second sigh as he thought of the plums. "You haven't eaten my half yet," he said as the dog swallowed it whole without winking. "Keep still now." He slammed to the door again, and was off, his books under his arm.

And after the two boys went up to bed, David was too tired and sleepy to talk, and hopped into his bed so quickly that long before Joel was undressed he was off to dreamland.

"That's good,—now I haven't got to tell him till morning." Joel went over to the other bed in the corner, and listened to the regular breathing, then tiptoed softly off to the closet, first putting out the light. "I know what I'm going to do." He got down on all-fours, and put his hand out softly over the pile of shoes, till he felt the dog's mangy back. "I'm going to take you in my bed; you'll smother in here. Now, sir!" The dog was ready enough to be quiet, only occupied in licking Joel's hands. So Joel jumped into his bed, carrying his charge, and huddled down under the clothes.

After being quite sure that he was really to remain in this paradise, the dog began to turn around and around to find exactly the best position in which to settle down for the night. This took him so long, interrupted as the process was with so many lickings of Joel's brown face, that it looked as if neither would get very much sleep that night; Joel, not averse to this lengthy operation, hugging his dog and patting him, to his complete demoralization just as he was about to quiet down.

At last even Joel was tired, and his eyes drooped. "Now go to sleep"—with a final pat—"I'm going to call you Sinbad." Joel, having always been mightily taken with Sinbad the Sailor, felt that no other name could be quite good enough for his new treasure. And Sinbad, realizing that a call to repose had actually been given, curled up, in as round a ball as he could, under Joel's chin, and both were soon sound asleep.

It was near the middle of the night. Joel had been dreaming of his old menagerie and circus he had once in the little brown house, in which there were not only trained dogs who could do the most wonderful things,—strange to say, now they were all of them yellow, and had stumpy tails,—but animals and reptiles of the most delightful variety, never seen in any other show on earth; when a noise, that at once suggested a boy screaming "Ow!" struck upon his ear, and brought him bolt upright in his bed. He pawed wildly around, but Sinbad was nowhere to be found.



XI THE UNITED CLUBS

The whole dormitory was in an uproar. "Ow! help—help!" Mr. Harrow, having gone out after dinner, had retired late, and was now sound asleep, so another instructor scaled the stairs, getting there long before Mrs. Fox, the matron, could put in an appearance.

In the babel, it was somewhat difficult to locate the boy who had screamed out. At last, "In there, Farnham's room," cried several voices at once.

"Nightmare, I suppose," said the instructor to himself, dashing in.

But it was a real thing he soon saw, as a knot of boys huddled around the bed, where the terrified occupant still sat, drawing up his knees to his chin, and screaming all sorts of things, in which "wild beast" and "cold nose" was all that could be distinguished.



"Stop this noise!" commanded the instructor, who had none of Mr. Harrow's pleasant but decided ways for quelling an incipient riot. So they bawled on, the boy in bed yelling that he wouldn't be left alone.

Just then something skimmed out from the corner; the boys flew to one side, showing a tendency to find the door. Even the instructor jumped. Then he bethought himself to light the gas, which brought out the fact that there certainly was an animal in the room, as they could hear it now under the bed.

"Boys, be quiet. Mrs. Fox's cat has got up here, probably," said the instructor. But the boy in the bed protested that it wasn't a cat that had waked him up by thrusting a cold nose in his face, and jumping on top of him. And he huddled worse than ever now that it was under him; yet afraid to step out on the floor.

Even the instructor did not offer to look under the bed, when Joel Pepper rushed in, his black eyes gleaming. "Oh, it's my dog!" he cried.

"It's Joe Pepper's dog!" cried the whole roomful, nearly tumbling over each other.

"And when did you begin to keep a dog, Joel Pepper?" hurled the instructor at him, too angry for anything, that he hadn't impressed the boys with his courage.

But Joel was occupied in ramming his body under the bed as far as possible. "Here, Sinbad," and he presently emerged with a very red face, and Sinbad safely in his arms, who seemed perfectly delighted to get into his old refuge again. David had now joined the group, as much aghast as every other spectator.

"Do you hear me, Joel Pepper?" thundered the instructor again. "When did you get that dog?" This brought Joel to.

"Oh, I haven't had him long, sir," he said, and trembling for Sinbad, as he felt in every fibre of his being that the beast's fate was sealed, unless he could win over the irritated teacher. "He's a poor dog I—I found, sir," wishing he could think of the right words, and knowing that every word he uttered only made matters worse.

"David," cried the instructor, catching Davie's eye, down by the door, "do you know anything about this dog?"

"No, sir," said David, all in a tremble, and wishing he could say something to help Joel out.

"Well, now, you wait a minute." The instructor, feeling that here was a chance to impress the boys with his executive ability, looked about over the table where Farnham's schoolbooks were thrown. "Got a bit of string? No—oh, yes." He pounced on a piece, and came over to Joel and the dog.

"What are you going to do, sir?" Joel hung to Sinbad with a tighter grip than ever.

"Never mind; it's not for you to question me," said the instructor, with great authority.

But Joel edged away. Visions of being expelled from Dr. Marks' school swam before his eyes, and he turned very white.

David plunged through the crowd of boys, absolutely still with the excitement. "Oh Joel," he begged hoarsely, "let Mr. Parr do as he wants to. Mamsie would say so."

Joel turned at that. "Don't hurt him," he begged. "Don't, please, Mr. Parr."

"I shall not hurt him," said Mr. Parr, putting the cord about the dog's neck, and holding the other end, after it was knotted fast. "I am going to tie him in the area till morning. Here you, sir," as Sinbad showed lively intentions toward his captor's legs, with a backward glance at his late master.

"Oh, if you'll let me keep him in my room, Mr. Parr," cried Joel, tumbling over to the instructor, who was executing a series of remarkable steps as he dragged Sinbad off, "I'll—I'll be just as good—just till the morning, sir. Oh, please, Mr. Parr—I'll study, and get my lessons better, I truly will," cried poor Joel, unable to promise anything more difficult of performance.

"You'll have to study better anyway, Joel Pepper," said Mr. Parr grimly, as he and Sinbad disappeared down the stairway. "Every boy get back to his room," was the parting command.

No need to tell Joel. He dashed through the ranks, and flung himself into his bed, dragged up the clothes well over his stubby head, and cried as if his heart would break.

"Joel—Joel—oh, Joey!" begged David hoarsely, and running to precipitate himself by his side. But Joel only burrowed deeper and sobbed on.

And Davie, trying to keep awake, to give possible comfort, at last tumbled asleep, when Joel with a flood of fresh sorrow rolled over as near to the wall as he could get, and tried to hold in his sobs.

As soon as he dared the next morning, Joel hopped over David still asleep, and out of bed; jumped into his clothes, and ran softly downstairs. There in the area was Sinbad, who had evidently concluded to make the best of it, and accept the situation, for he was curled up in as small a compass as possible, and was even attempting a little sleep.

"I won't let him see me," said Joel to himself, "but as soon as Dr. Marks is up"—and he glanced over at the master's house for any sign of things beginning to move for the day—"and dressed, why, I'll go and ask him—" what, he didn't dare to say, for Joel hadn't been able, with all his thinking, to devise any plan whereby Sinbad could be saved.

"But perhaps Dr. Marks will know," he kept thinking; and after a while the shades were drawn up at the red brick house across the yard, the housemaid came out to brush off the steps, and various other indications showed that the master was beginning to think of the new day and its duties.

Joel plunged across the yard. It was awful, he knew, to intrude at the master's house before breakfast. But by that time—oh, dreadful!—Sinbad would probably be beyond the help of any rescuing hand, for Mr. Parr would, without a doubt, deliver him to the garbage man to be hauled off. And Joel, with no thought of consequences to himself, plunged recklessly on.

"Is Dr. Marks up?" he demanded of the housemaid, who only stared at him, and went on with her work of sweeping off the steps. "Is Dr. Marks up?" cried Joel, his black eyes flashing, and going halfway up.

"Yes; but what of it?" cried the housemaid airily, leaning on her broom a minute.

"Oh, I must see him," cried Joel, bounding into the hall. It was such a cry of distress that it penetrated far within the house.

"Oh my! you outrageous boy!" exclaimed the housemaid, shaking her broom at him. "You come right out."

Meantime a voice said, "What is it?" And there was Dr. Marks in dressing gown and slippers looking over the railing at the head of the stairs.

"Oh Dr. Marks, Dr. Marks!" Joel, not giving himself time to think, dashed over the stairs, to look up into the face under the iron-gray hair.

The master could scarcely conceal his amazement, but he made a brave effort at self-control.

"Why, Pepper!" he exclaimed, and there was a good deal of displeasure in face and manner; so much so that Joel's knees knocked smartly together, and everything swam before his eyes.

"Well, what did you want to see me for, Pepper?" Dr. Marks was inquiring, so Joel blurted out, "A dog, sir."

"A dog?" repeated Dr. Marks, and now he showed his amazement and displeasure as well. "And is this what you have interrupted me to say, at this unseasonable hour, Joel Pepper?"

"Oh!" cried Joel, and then he broke right down, and went flat on the stairs, crying as if his heart would break. And Mrs. Marks threw on her pretty blue wrapper in a dreadful tremor, and rushed out with restoratives; and the housemaid who shook her broom at Joel, ran on remorseful feet for a glass of water, and the master's whole house was in a ferment. But Dr. Marks waved them all aside. "The boy needs nothing," he said. "Come, Joel." He took his hand, all grimy and streaked, and looked at his poor, swollen eyelids and nose, over which the tears were still falling, and in a minute he had him in his own private study, with the door shut.

When he emerged a quarter-hour after, Joel was actually smiling. He had hold of the master's hand, and clutched in his other fist was a note, somewhat changed in appearance from its immaculate condition when delivered by Dr. Marks to the bearer.

"Yes, sir," Joel was saying, "I'll do it all just as you say, sir." And he ran like lightning across the yard.

The note put into the instructor's hand, made him change countenance more than once in the course of its reading. It simply said, for it was very short, that the dog was to be delivered to Joel Pepper, who was to bring it to the master's house; and although there wasn't a line or even a word to show any disapproval of his course, Mr. Parr felt, as he set about obeying it, as if somehow he had made a little mistake somewhere.

All Joel thought of, however, was to get possession of Sinbad. And when once he had the cord in his hand, he untied it with trembling fingers, Sinbad, in his transport, hampering the operation dreadfully by bobbing his head about in his violent efforts to lick Joel's face and hands, for he had about given up in despair the idea of ever seeing him again.

"He's glad to go, isn't he, Joel?" observed the instructor, to break the ice, and make conversation.

But no such effort was necessary, for Joel looked up brightly. "Isn't he, sir? Now say good-bye." At last the string was loose, and dangling to the hook in the area wall, and Joel held the dog up, and stuck out his paw.

"Good-bye," said Mr. Parr, laughing as he took it, and quite relieved to find that relations were not strained after all, as Joel, hugging his dog, sped hastily across the yard again to the master's house.

Dr. Marks never told how very ugly he found the dog, but, summoning the man who kept his garden and lawn in order, he consigned Sinbad to his care, with another note.

"Now, Joel," he said, "you know this payment comes every week out of your allowance for this dog's keeping, eh? It is clearly understood, Joel?"

"Oh, yes, sir—yes!" shouted Joel.

"Perhaps we'll be able to find a good home for him. Well, good-bye, Sinbad," said the master, as Sinbad, with the gardener's hand over his eyes, so that he could not see Joel, was marched off, Dr. Marks from the veranda charging that the note be delivered and read before leaving the dog.

"Oh, I'm going to take him home at vacation," announced Joel decidedly.

"Indeed! Well, now, perhaps your grandfather won't care for him; you must not count too much upon it, my boy." All the control in the world could not keep the master from smiling now.

"Oh, I guess he will." Joel was in no wise disturbed by the doubt.

"Well, run along to breakfast with you, Pepper," cried Dr. Marks good-humoredly, "and the next time you come over to see me, don't bring any more dogs."

So Joel, in high good spirits, and thinking how he would soon run down to the little old cobbler's where the master had sent the dog, chased off across the yard once more, and slipped in to breakfast with a terrible appetite, and a manner as if nothing especial had happened the preceding night.

And all the boys rubbed their eyes, particularly as Joel and Mr. Parr seemed to be on the best of terms. And once when something was said about a dog by Mr. Harrow, who hadn't heard anything of the midnight tumult in the dormitory, and was for continuing the account of his trained pet, the other under-teacher and Joel Pepper indulged in smiles and nods perfectly mystifying to all the other people at the table, David included.

David, when he woke up, which was quite late, to find Joel gone, had been terribly frightened. But chancing to look out of the window, he saw him racing across the yard, and watching closely, he discovered that he had something in his arms, and that he turned in to the master's house.

"I can't do anything now," said Davie to himself in the greatest distress; yet somehow when he came to think of it, it seemed to be with a great deal of hope since Dr. Marks was to be appealed to. And when breakfast-time came, and with it Joel so blithe and hungry, David fell to on his own breakfast with a fine appetite.

* * * * *

All the boys of the club, not one to be reported absent, presented themselves at Mr. King's on club night. And all the members of the "Salisbury School Club" came promptly together, with one new member, Cathie Harrison, who, at Polly's suggestion, had been voted in at the last meeting.

Alexia still had her arm in a sling; and indeed she was quite willing it should remain so, for she was in constant terror that her aunt, who had been persuaded to leave her, would insist on the return home. So Alexia begged off at every mention of the subject, as Grandpapa King and Mother Fisher were very glad to have the visit lengthened. She was as gay as ever, and to-night was quite in her element; it had been so long since she had had a good time.

"Oh, Jasper," she cried, "can we all get into your den?"

"I think so," said Jasper, who had already settled all that with Polly, counting every member as coming, in order to make no mistake, "we're to have the business-meeting in there, Alexia; and after that, father has invited us in to the drawing-room."

"What richness!" exclaimed Alexia, sinking into one of the library chairs to pull out her skirts and play with her rings. "Oh, Jasper King, I shouldn't think you'd ever in all this world get used to living in this perfectly exquisite house."

"Well, I've always lived here, Alexia," said Jasper with a laugh, "so I suppose that is the reason I'm not overwhelmed now. Oh, here comes Clare. All right, old fellow, glad you've come. Now I'll call the meeting to order." For Clare was the secretary.

And the rest of the boys and girls assembling, the business-meeting was soon begun in the "den," Jasper who was the president of the boys' club, flourishing his gavel in great style.

"Now we've come together," announced the president after the regular business was disposed of, "to get up a plan by which we can accomplish something more than merely to have a good time."

"Nonsense!" interrupted Clare, "we want a good time."

"For shame!" Jasper pounded his gavel to restore order. "And to begin with, it is as well to announce at once that all unruly members will be put out," with a stern glance at the secretary.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Clare, huddling down into his big chair.

"Go along, Prex," said Pickering, coming over from the other side of the room, "I'll sit on that old secretary if he makes any more trouble."

"Get away!" laughed Clare; "that's worse than being put out."

"Oh, I'll sit on you first, and then I'll carry out the pieces afterward. Sail on, Prexy, they all want the plan."

"Well"—the president cleared his throat—"hem! And in order to do good work, why we had to ask the girls' club to come to this meeting, and—"

"Not necessarily," put in Clare.

Pickering pounced for him, but instead of sitting on him, his long figure doubled up in the big chair, while the secretary slipped neatly out.

"Ha, ha! did you ever get left?" giggled Clare, at a safe distance.

"Many a time, my dear child," said Pickering coolly, leaning back restfully, "but never in such a good seat. Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Proceed, Prexy."

"Good for you, Pickering," cried Alexia, while the laugh went around.

"Order!" cried Jasper, pounding away. "Now that our troublesome secretary is quieted, I will proceed to say that as we want the plan to succeed, we invited the Salisbury Club this evening."

"Thank you, Mr. President," the girls clapped vigorously.

"So now after I tell you of the object, I want you to express your minds about the various plans that will be laid before you." Then Jasper told the story of Jim, the brakeman; and how Grandpapa and Polly and he had gone to the poor home, thanks to the little clerk; and how the three boys who were waiting for education and the girl who was crazy to take music-lessons, to say nothing of the two mites of children toddling around, made the poor widow almost frantic as she thought of their support; until some of the girls were sniffling and hunting for their handkerchiefs, and the boys considerately turned away and wouldn't look at them.

"Now you tell the rest, Polly," cried Jasper, quite tired out.

"Oh, no, you tell," said Polly, who dearly loved to hear Jasper talk.

"Do, Polly," and he pushed the hair off from his forehead. So, as she saw he really wanted her to, Polly began with shining eyes, and glowing cheeks, to finish the story.

And she told how Grandpapa had ordered provisions and coal for the poor widow enough for many months to come; and how—oh, wasn't that perfectly splendid in dear Grandpapa?—he had promised that the little girl (Arethusa was her name) should take music-lessons from one of the teachers in the city. And Polly clasped her hands and sighed, quite unable to do more.

"And what do you want us to do?" cried the secretary forgetting all about losing his seat, to crowd up to the table. "Say, if that family has got all that richness, what do you want the club to do?"

"Oh," said Polly turning her shining eyes on him, "there are ever and ever so many things the boys and that girl will need, and Grandpapa says that they'll think a great deal more of help, if some young people take hold of it. And so I'm sure I should," she added.

"It strikes me that I should, too," declared Pickering, all his laziness gone. And getting his long figure out of the chair, he cried, "I move, Mr. President, that we,"—here he waved his hands in a sweeping gesture,—"the Salisbury Club and our club, unite in a plan to do something for that family."

"I second the motion," the secretary cried out, much to everybody's surprise, for Polly was all ready to do it if no one else offered to. So the vote was carried unanimously amid the greatest enthusiasm.

"Now what shall we do?" cried the president, jumping to his feet. "Let us strike while the iron is hot. What shall we do to raise money?"

"You said you had plans," cried one of the girls.

"Yes—tell on," cried several boys.

"Well, one is, that we have a play," began Jasper.

"Oh—oh!"

Old Mr. King, over his evening paper off in the library, laid it down, and smiled at the merry din that reached him even at such a distance.

"And another," cried the president, doing his best to make himself heard.

"Oh, we don't want another," cried Clare, in which the united clubs joined.

"Don't you want to hear any other plans?" shouted the president.

"No, no—the play! Put it to vote, do, Jasper—I mean, Mr. President," cried Alexia.

So the vote was taken, and everybody said, "Aye," and as there wasn't a single "No," why the "ayes" had it of course. And after that they talked so long over the general plan, that old Mr. King at last had to send a very special invitation to come out to the dining-room. And there was Mother Fisher and Mrs. Whitney and the little doctor and a most splendid collation! And then off to the big drawing-room to top off with a dance, with one or two musicians tucked up by the grand piano, and Grandpapa smiling in great satisfaction upon them all.



XII SOME EVERY-DAY FUN

"It can't rain," cried Polly Pepper, "and it isn't going to. Don't think it, girls."

"But it looks just like it," said Alexia obstinately, and wrinkling up her brows; "see those awful, horrid clouds, girls." She pointed tragically up to the sky.

"Don't look at them," advised Polly. "Come on, girls. I challenge you to a race as far as the wicket gate."

Away she dashed, with a bevy at her heels. Alexia, not to be left behind staring at the sky, went racing after.

"Wait," she screamed. The racers, however, spent no time attending to laggards, but ran on.

Polly dashed ahead, and touched the green wicket gate. "Oh, Polly got there first!" Almost immediately came another girl's fingers on it.

"No—I don't think so," panted Polly. "Philena got there just about as soon."

"No, you were first," said the girl who plunged up next; "I saw it distinctly."

"Well, it was so near that we ought to have another race to decide it," declared Polly, with a little laugh, pushing back the damp rings of hair from her forehead. "Girls, isn't it lovely that we have this splendid place where we can run, and nobody see us?"

"Yes," said Alexia, throwing herself down on the grass; which example was immediately followed by all the other girls. "I just love this avenue down to the wicket gate, Polly Pepper."

"So do I," chimed in the others.

"Oh dear me! I'm just toasted and fried," declared Alexia. "I never was so hot in all my life."

"You shouldn' have run so, Alexia," said Polly reproachfully, patting the arm still in its sling. "Oh, how could you!"

"Well, did you suppose I was going to see you all sprinting off and having such fun, and not try it too? No, indeed; that's asking too much, Polly."

Then she threw herself at full length on the grass, and gazed at her meditatively.

"Well, we mustn't have the second race, Philena," said Polly; "because if Alexia runs again, it surely will hurt her."

"Ow!" exclaimed Alexia, flouncing up so suddenly that she nearly overthrew Amy Garrett, who was sitting next, and who violently protested against such treatment, "now I won't keep you back, Polly. Oh dear me! it can't hurt me a single bit. I'm all ready to take off this horrible old thing, you know I am, only Dr. Fisher thought—"

"He thought it would be safer to keep it on till after the picnic," Polly was guilty of interrupting. "You know he said so, Alexia. No, we won't run again, girls," Polly brought up quite decidedly.

"Polly, you shall; I won't run—I really won't; I'll shut my eyes," and Alexia squinted up her pale eyes till her face was drawn up in a knot. "I'll turn my back, I'll do anything if you'll only race; please try it again, Polly."

So Polly, seeing that Alexia really wished it, dropped a kiss on each of the closed eyes. "Put your hand over them, and untwist your face from that funny knot," she laughed. "Come on, girls," and the race began.

Alexia twisted and wriggled, as the pattering feet and quick breath of the girls when they neared her resting place, plunged her in dreadful distress not to look. "Oh dear—um! if I could just see once; um—um! I know Polly will win; oh dear! She must."

But she didn't. It was Cathie Harrison, the new girl; that is, new to them, as they hadn't drawn her into their set, but a few weeks. She was a tall, thin girl, who got over the ground amazingly, to touch the green wicket gate certainly three seconds before Polly Pepper came flying up.

"You did that just splendidly, Cathie," cried Polly breathlessly. "Oh dear me, that was a race!"

"Goodness me!" cried Alexia, her eyes flying open, "my face never'll get out of that knot in all this world. My! I feel as if my jaws were all tied up. Well, Polly, this time you beat for sure," she added confidently, as the girls came running up to throw themselves on the grass again.

"But I didn't," said Polly merrily. "Oh dear! I am so hot."

"Yes, you did," declared Alexia stubbornly.

"Why, Alexia Rhys! I didn't beat, any such a thing," corrected Polly—"not a single bit of it."

"Well, who did, then?" demanded Alexia, quite angry to have Polly defeated.

"Why, Cathie did," said Polly, smiling over at her.

"What, that old—" then Alexia pulled herself up; but it was too late.

A dull red mounted to Cathie's sallow cheek, that hadn't changed color during all the two races. She drew a long breath, then got up slowly to her feet.

"I'm going to play bean-bags," announced Polly briskly. "Come on, girls. See who'll get to the house first."

"I'm going home," said Cathie, hurrying up to wedge herself into the group, and speaking to Polly. "Good-bye."

"No," said Polly, "we're going to play bean-bags. Come on, Cathie." She tried to draw Cathie's hand within her arm, but the girl pulled herself away. "I must go home—" and she started off.

"Cathie—Cathie, wait," but again Cathie beat her on a swift run down the avenue.

Alexia stuffed her fingers, regardless of arm in the sling, or anything, into her mouth, and rolled over in dreadful distress, face downward on the grass. The other girls stood in a frightened little knot, just where they were, without moving, as Polly came slowly back down the avenue. She was quite white now. "Oh dear!" groaned Philena, "look at Polly!"

Alexia heard it, and stuffed her fingers worse than ever into her mouth to keep herself from screaming outright, and wriggled dreadfully. But no one paid any attention to her. She knew that Polly had joined the girls now; she could hear them talking, and Polly was saying, in a sad little voice, "Yes, I'm afraid she won't ever come with us again."

"She must, she shall!" howled Alexia, rolling over, and sitting up straight. "Oh Polly, she shall!" and she wrung her long hands as well as she could for the arm in the sling.

"Oh, no, I am afraid not, Alexia," and her head drooped; no one would have thought for a moment that it was Polly Pepper speaking.

And then Amy Garrett said the very worst thing possible: "And just think of that picnic!" And after that remark, the whole knot of girls was plunged into the depths of gloom.

Jasper, running down the avenue with Pickering Dodge at his heels, found them so, and was transfixed with astonishment. "Well, I declare!" He burst into a merry laugh.

"You look like a lot of wax figures," said Pickering pleasantly; "just about as interesting." Then they saw Polly Pepper's face.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Jasper, starting forward.

Polly tried to speak cheerfully, but the lump in her throat wouldn't let her say a word.

"If you boys must know," said Alexia, flouncing up to her feet, "I've been bad and perfectly horrid to that Harrison girl; and I've upset everything; and—and—do go right straight away, both of you, and not stand there staring. I don't think it's very polite."

"Oh Polly," cried Jasper, gaining her side, "can't we help?" He was dreadfully distressed. "Do let us."

Polly shook her head. "No, Jasper, there isn't anything you can do," she said brokenly.

Pickering thrust his hands in his pockets, and whistled softly. "Girls always get into such rows," he observed.

"Well, I guess we don't get into worse ones than you boys do, nor half as bad," cried Alexia crossly, perfectly wild to quarrel with somebody. "And, besides, this isn't the other girls' fault. It's all my fight from beginning to end."

"Then you ought to be perfectly ashamed of yourself, Alexia," declared Pickering, not intending to mince matters in the slightest.

"Well, I am," said Alexia, "just as ashamed as I can be. Oh dear me! I wish I could cry. But I'm too bad to cry. Polly Pepper, I'm going to run after that horrible Harrison girl. Oh misery! I wish she never had come to the Salisbury School." Alexia made a mad rush down the avenue.

"Don't, Alexia, you'll hurt your arm," warned Polly.

"I don't care—I hope I shall," cried Alexia recklessly.

"It's no use to try to stop her," said Jasper, "so let us go up to the house, Polly."

So they started dismally enough, the girls, all except Polly, going over in sorry fashion how Cathie Harrison would probably make a fuss about the little affair—she was doubtless on her way to Miss Salisbury's now—and then perhaps there wouldn't be any picnic at all on the morrow. At this, Philena stopped short. "Girls, that would be too dreadful," she gasped, "for anything!"

"Well, it would be just like her," said Silvia Horne, "and I wish we never had taken her into our set. She's an old moping thing, and can't bear a word."

"I wish so too," declared Amy Garrett positively; "she doesn't belong with us; and she's always going to make trouble. And I hope she won't go to the picnic anyway, if we do have it, so there."

"I don't think that is the way to mend the matter, Amy," said Jasper gravely.

"Hoh, hoh!" exclaimed Pickering, "how you girls can go on so, I don't see; talking forever about one thing, instead of just settling it with a few fisticuffs. That would be comfortable now."

The girls, one and all, turned a cold shoulder to him after this speech.

"Well, we sha'n't get the picnic now, I know," said Philena tragically; "and think of all our nice things ready. Dear me! our cook made me the sweetest chocolate cakes, because we were going to start so early in the morning. Now we'll have them for dinner, and eat them up ourselves. We might as well."

"You better not," advised Pickering. "Take my advice; you'll get your picnic all right; then where would you be with your cakes all eaten up?"

"You don't know Miss Salisbury," said Sally Moore gloomily; "nothing would make her so mad as to have us get up a fuss with a new scholar. She was so pleased when Polly Pepper invited that Harrison girl to come to our bee for that poor family down South."

"And now, just think how we've initiated her into our club!" said Lucy Bennett, with a sigh. "Oh my goodness—look!"

She pointed off down the avenue. All the girls whirled around to stare. There were Alexia and Cathie, coming toward them arm in arm.

"Jasper"—Polly turned to him with shining eyes—"see!" Then she broke away from them all, and rushed to meet the two girls.

"There isn't anybody going to say a word," announced Alexia, as the three girls came up to the group, Polly Pepper in the middle, "because, as I told you, it was all my fight, anyway. So, Pickering, you needn't get ready to be disagreeable," she flashed over at him saucily.

"I shall say just what I think," declared Pickering flatly.

"No doubt," said Alexia sweetly, "but it won't make a bit of difference. Well, now, Polly, what shall we do? Do start us on something."

"We came, Pick and I," announced Jasper, "to ask you girls to have a game of bean-bags. There's just time before dinner—on the south lawn, Polly."

"Oh, good—good!" cried the girls, clapping their hands. "Come on, Cathie," said Philena awkwardly, determined to break the ice at once.

"Yes, Cathie, come on," said Amy and Silvia, trying to be very nice.

Cathie just got her mouth ready to say, "No, I thank you," primly, thought better of it, and before she quite realized it herself, there she was, hurrying by a short cut across the grass to the south lawn.

"I'm going to stay with Alexia," said Polly, when they all reached there, and Jasper flew over to pull out the bean-bags from their box under the piazza. "Come on, Alexia, let's you and I sit in the hammock and watch it."

"Oh Polly, come and play," begged Jasper, pausing with his arms full. "Here, Pick, you lazy dog. Help with these bags."

"Can't," said Polly, shaking her head. So Alexia and she curled up in one of the hammocks.

"I'm just dying to tell you all about it, Polly Pepper," said Alexia, pulling Polly's cheek down to her own.

"Yes," said Polly happily, "and I can't wait to hear it; and besides, you can't play bean-bags, Alexia, with that arm. Well, do go on," and Polly was in quite a twitter for the story to begin.

"You see," said Alexia, "I knew something desperate had got to be done, Polly, for she was crying all over her best silk waist."

"Oh dear me!" exclaimed Polly, aghast.

"Yes; she had sat down on the kitchen step."

"The kitchen step," repeated Polly faintly.

"Yes. I suppose she got beyond caring whether the cook saw or not, she was feeling so very badly. Well, there she was, and she didn't hear me, so I just rushed up, or rather down upon her, and then I screamed 'Ow!' And she jumped up, and said, 'Oh, have you hurt your arm?' And I held on to it hard, and made up an awful face, oh, as bad as I could, and doubled up; and the cook came to the door, and said could she get me anything, and she was going to call Mrs. Fisher. That would have been terrible." Alexia broke off short, and drew a long breath at her remembrance of the fright this suggestion had given her. "And Cathie fell right on my neck with, 'Oh, do forgive me,' and I said 'twas my fault, and she said, no, she oughtn't to have got mad, and I said she must hold her tongue."

"Oh Alexia!" cried Polly reprovingly.

"I had to," said Alexia serenely, "or we should have gotten into another fight. And she said she would, and I just took hold of her arm, and dragged her down here. And I'm tired to death," finished Alexia plaintively.

"Alexia," exclaimed Polly, cuddling up the long figure in a way to give perfect satisfaction, "we must make Cathie Harrison have the best time that she ever had, at the picnic to-morrow."

"I suppose so," said Alexia resignedly. "Well, but don't let's think of it now, for I've got you, Polly, and I want to rest."



XIII THE PICNIC

The four barges were to leave the "Salisbury School" at precisely half-past eight o'clock the next morning. Miss Salisbury was always very particular about being prompt, so woe be to any girl who might be late! There was great scurrying, therefore, to and fro in the homes of the day scholars. And the girls hurried off with maids behind carrying their baskets; or, as the case might be, big family carriages filled with groups of girls collected among those of a set; or in little pony carriages. All this made the thoroughfares adjacent to the "Salisbury School" extremely busy places indeed.

Mother Fisher sent Polly's basket over to the school, at an early hour, Polly preferring to walk, several of the girls having called for her. So they all, with Jasper, who was going as far as the corner with them, set out amidst a chatter of merry nonsense.

"Oh girls, I am so glad we are going to the Glen!" exclaimed Polly, for about the fiftieth time.

"So am I," cried all the others in a chorus.

"Why, you haven't ever been to any other place for your picnic, have you, Polly?" cried Jasper, with a laugh.

"No," said Polly, "we never have. But suppose Miss Salisbury had decided to try some other spot this year; oh, just suppose it, Jasper!" and her rosy color died down on her cheek. "It would have been just too dreadful for anything."

"We couldn't have had our picnic in any other place," declared Rose Harding; "it wouldn't be the same unless it was at the Glen."

"Dear old Glen!" cried Polly impulsively. "Jasper, it's too bad you boys can't all come to our picnics."

"I know it. It would be no end jolly if we only could," said Jasper regretfully, to whom it was a great grief that the picnic couldn't take in the two schools.

"Yes," said Polly, with a sigh, "it would, Jasper. But Miss Salisbury never will in all this world let the boys' school join."

"No, I suppose not," said Jasper, stifling his longing; "well, you must tell me about it to-night, the same as always, Polly."

"Yes, I will, Jasper," promised Polly. So he turned the corner, to go to his school. But presently he heard rapid footsteps back of him. "Oh Jasper," cried Polly, flushed and panting, as he whirled about, "tell Phronsie I won't forget the little fern-roots. Be sure, Jasper."

"All right; I will," said Jasper. "Dear me! do hurry back, Polly. You'll be late."

"Oh no, there are oceans of time," said Polly, with a little laugh. "I've the tin case in my picnic basket, Jasper, so they will keep all fresh and nice."

"Yes; do hurry back," begged Jasper. So Polly, with a merry nod, raced off to the corner where the girls were drawn up in a knot, impatiently waiting for her.