She had never known Joe Rolfe to study like this. "Is it because he is guilty?" thought the little teacher watching him from under her eyebrows. She walked along toward him so softly that he did not hear her footsteps.

"Joseph!" she exclaimed, suddenly. Her voice startled him; he looked up in surprise.

"I'm glad to see you studying, Joseph."

Did he blush? His face was of a brownish red hue at any time, being much tanned; she could not be quite sure of the blush. But why did he look so sober? Children generally smile when they are praised.

She had been to Bab and Lucy and said, "How still you are, darlings!" and they had seemed delighted.

Next she tried Chicken Little. He certainly jumped when she spoke his name close to his ear, "Henry." Now why should he jump and seem so confused unless he knew he had done something wrong? She forgot that he was a very timid boy.

"Henry, what is the matter with you?" she asked, frowning severely.

She had never frowned on him before, for she liked the little fellow, and was trying her best to "make a man of him."

"What is the matter, Henry?"

By this time he was scared nearly out of his wits, and stole a side glance at her to see if she had a switch in her hand.

"Don't whip me," he pleaded in a trembling voice. "Don't whip me, teacher; and I'll give you f-i-v-e thousand dollars!"

As he offered this modest sum to save himself from her wrath, the little teacher nearly laughed aloud, Henry did not know it, however; her face was hidden behind a book.

"What made you think, you silly boy, that I was going to punish you?" she asked as soon as she could find her voice. "Have you done something wicked?"

She spoke in a low tone for his ear alone, but he writhed under it as if it had been a blow.

"I—don'—know."

"He is the thief," thought Kyzie. "Oh, Henry, if you've done something wrong you must know it. Tell me what it was."

"I—can't!"

She put her lips nearer his ear. "Was it you and Joseph Rolfe together? Perhaps you both did something wicked?"

"I—don'—know."

"Was it last Friday?"

"I—don'—know!"

"Will you tell me after school?"

Henry was unable to answer. Worn out with contending emotions he put his head down on the seat and cried.

This did not seem like innocence. Joseph Rolfe was looking on from across the aisle, as if he wished very much to know what she and Henry were talking about.

"I'll make them tell me the whole story, the wicked boys," thought Kyzie, indignantly. "But I can't hurry about it; I must be very careful. I think I'll wait till to-morrow."

So she calmed herself and called out her classes. Katharine was a "golden girl," and had a strong sense of justice. She would say nothing yet to her father, for the boys might possibly be innocent; still she went home that afternoon feeling that she had almost made a discovery.

"Good evening, Grandmother Graymouse," said Uncle James, as they were all seated on the veranda after dinner, "do I understand that you are hunting for a watch?"

"I'm hunting for it, oh, yes," replied Kyzie, trying not to look too triumphant; "but I haven't found it yet. Just wait till to-morrow, Uncle James."

"I don't believe we'll wait another minute!" declared Mr. Sanford, looking around with a roguish smile. "I see the Dunlee people are all here, Jimmum, Lucy, and all. Attention, my friends! The thief has been found!"

"What thief?" asked Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Dunlee.

"Why, the thief! The one we're looking for! The one that stole the watch!"

"Do you really mean it?" asked the ladies again. "Did he bring it back?"

"Come and see," said Uncle James, leading the way upstairs.

"Of course it's Joe Rolfe," thought Kyzie. "I suppose he was frightened by what I said to Henry Small."

"Is the thief in your room, Uncle James?" said Jimmy. "Why didn't you put him in jail?"

"Ah, Jimmum, do you think all thieves ought to go to jail? I once knew a little boy who stole a chimney right off a house; yet I never heard a word said about putting him in jail!

"But here we are at the chamber door. Stand behind me, all of you, in single file."



X

THE THIEF FOUND

"I don't know so much as I thought I did," said Kyzie to herself. "Joe Rolfe wouldn't be in this room."

For Uncle James was knocking at the door of Number Five.

"Walk right in," said Mrs. McQuilken, coming to meet her guests. She had her knitting in one hand. "Come in, all of you. Why, Mr. Templeton, are you here too? You wouldn't have taken me into your house if you'd known I was a thief; now would you, Mr. Templeton?"

And laughing, she put her right hand in her apron pocket and drew out a gold watch and chain.

"If this belongs to anybody present, let him step up and claim his property."

Mr. Dunlee came forward in amazement, while Jimmy gave a little squeal of delight.

"This is mine, thank you, madam," said Mr. Dunlee, looking at the watch closely. It seemed very much battered.

"Dreadfully smashed up, isn't it, sir? I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Mr. Dunlee shook it, and held it to his ear.

"Oh, it won't go," said Mrs. McQuilken. "The inside seems worse off, if anything, than the outside. 'Twill have to have new works."

"Very likely. But it is so precious to me, madam, that even in this condition I'm glad to get it back again. Pray, where has it been?"

"Right here in this room. Didn't you understand me to confess to stealing it? Why, you're shaking your head as if you doubted my word."

They were all laughing now, and the old lady's eyes twinkled with fun.

"Well, if I didn't steal it myself, one of my family did, so it amounts to the same thing. Come out here, you unprincipled girl, and beg the gentleman's pardon," she added, kneeling and dragging forth from under the bed a beautiful bird.

It was her own magpie, chattering and scolding.

"Now tell the gentleman who stole his watch? Speak up loud and clear!"

The bird flapped her wings, and cawed out very crossly:—

"Mag! Mag! Mag!"

"Hear her! Hear that!" cried her mistress. "So you did steal it, Mag—I'm glad to hear you tell the truth for once in your life."

"Did she take the watch? Did she really and truly?" cried the children in chorus.

"To be sure she did, the bad girl. She has done such things before, and I have always found her out; but this time she was too sly for me. She went and put it in my mending-basket; and who would have thought of looking for it there?"

Mag tipped her head to one side saucily, and kept muttering to herself.

"Well, I happened to go to the basket this afternoon and take up a pair of stockings to mend. They felt amazingly heavy. There was a hard wad in them, and I wondered what it could be. I put in my hand and pulled out the watch. Yes, 'twas tucked right into the stockings."

"I wonder we didn't any of us mistrust her at the time of it," said Mr. Templeton; "those magpies are dreadful thieves."

"Well, I suppose you thought 'twas my business to take care of her, and it was. I'm ashamed of myself," said Mrs. McQuilken. "I was looking out of the window when the boys shied over that roof, but my mind wasn't on jewelry then. All I thought of was to run and call for help."

Yes, and it was her screams which had aroused the whole neighborhood.

"And at that very time my Mag was roaming at large. No doubt she saw the watch the moment it fell; and to use your expression, Mr. Templeton, she jumped at it like a dolphin at a silver spoon."

The landlord laughed. "But the mystery is," said he, "how she got back to the house without being seen. She must have been pretty spry."

"O Mag, Mag, to think I never once thought to look after you!" exclaimed Mrs. McQuilken, penitently.

The bird was scolding all the while, and running about with short, jerky movements, trying her best to get out of the room; but the door was closed.

"Pretty thing," said Edith. "What a shame she should be a thief!"

"She is pretty, now isn't she?" returned her mistress, fondly. "My husband brought her from China. You don't often see a Chinese magpie, with blue plumage,—cobalt blue."

"She's a perfect oddity," said Mrs. Hale. "See those two centre tail-feathers, so very long, barred with black and tipped with white."

"Yes," said Mr. Dunlee, "and the red bill and red legs. She's a brilliant creature, Mrs. McQuilken."

"Well, you'll try to forgive her, won't you, sir? I mean to bring her up as well as I know how; but what are you going to do with a girl that can't sense the ten commandments?"

"What indeed!" laughed Mr. Dunlee.

"You see she's naturally light-fingered. Yes, you are, Mag, you needn't deny it. Those red claws of yours are just pickers and stealers."

Here Edith called attention to Mag's nest on the wall, and they all admired it; and Mrs. McQuilken said the canary liked to have Mag near him at night, he was apt to be lonesome.

"I wish you'd come in the daytime," said she. "Come any and all of you, and hear him sing. He does sing so sweetly, poor blind thing; it's as good as a sermon to hear him."

On leaving Mrs. McQuilken the children went to Aunt Vi's room and Jimmy kept repeating joyously:—

"We've found the watch, we've found the watch!"

"Yes," said Aunt Vi; "but what a wreck it is! Your papa will have to spend a deal of money in repairing it."

"Too bad!" said Lucy, "I 'spect 'twould cost him cheaper to buy a new one."

"'Twouldn't cost him so much; that's what you mean," corrected Jimmy. "But I'm going to pay for mending it anyway."

"How can you?" asked Kyzie. "All you have is just your tin box with silver in it."

"Well, but don't I keep having presents? And can't I ask folks to stop giving me toys and books and give me money? And they'll do it every time."

"But that would be begging."

Jimmy's face fell. Yes, on the whole it did seem like begging. He had not thought of that.

"Why can't it ever snow in this country?" he exclaimed suddenly. "Then I could shovel it. That's the way boys make money 'back East'"

Then after a pause he burst forth again, "Or, I might pick berries—if there were any berries!"

"It's not so very easy for little boys to earn money; is it, dear?" said Aunt Vi, putting her arm around her young nephew and drawing him toward her. "But when they've done wrong—you still think you did wrong, don't you, Jimmy?"

"He knows he did," broke in Lucy. "My papa lent me the watch."

"She wasn't talking to you," remonstrated Jimmy. "Yes, auntie, I did wrong; but Lucy needn't twit me of it! I won't be characteristic any more as long as I live."

Aunt Vi smiled and patted his head lovingly.

"No, dear, I think you'll be more thoughtful in future. But now let us try to think what can be done to pay for the watch."

"I'll let him have some of the money I get for teaching. I always meant to," said Kyzie.

"Very kind of you," returned Aunt Vi; "but we'll not take it if we can help it, will we, Jimmy? I've been thinking it over for some days, children; and a little plan has occurred to me. Would you like to know what it is?"

They all looked interested. If Aunt Vi had a plan, it was sure to be worth hearing.

"It is this: mightn't we get up some entertainments,—good ones that would be worth paying for?"

"And sell the tickets? Oh, auntie, that's just the thing! That's capital!" cried Edith and Kyzie. "You'd do it beautifully."

"I'm not so sure of that, girls. But we might join together and act a little play that I've been writing; that is, we might try. What have you to say, Jimmy? Could you help?"

"I don't know. I can't speak pieces worth a cent," replied the boy, writhing and shuffling his feet. "Look here!" he said, brightening. "Don't you want some nails driven? I can do that first rate."

Aunt Vi laughed and said nails might be needed in putting up a staging, and she was sure that he could use a hammer better than she could.

Jimmy-boy, much gratified, struck an attitude, and pounding his left palm with his thumb, repeated the rhyme:—

"Drive the nail straight, boys, Hit it on the head; Work with your might, boys, Ere the day has fled."

"There, he can speak, I knew he could speak!" cried Lucy, in admiration.

It was settled that they were all to meet Wednesday morning, and their mother with them, to talk over the matter.

"That's great," said Jimmy.

The watch was found and the world looked bright once more. True, he was deeply in debt; but with such a grand helper as Aunt Vi he was sure the debt would very soon be paid.



XI

BEGGING PARDON

Next morning Jimmy walked to school with "the little two," whistling as he went. Lucy had tortured her hair into a "cue," and

"The happy wind upon her played, Blowing the ringlet from the braid."

"I've got the snarling-est, flying-est hair," scolded she. "I never'll braid it again as long as I live; so there!"

"Good!" cried Jimmy. "It has looked like fury ever since we came up here."

Here Nate overtook the children. He had not been very social since the accident, but seemed now to want to talk.

"How do you do, Jimmy?" he said: and Jimmy responded, "How d'ye do yourself?"

The little girls ran on in advance, and Jimmy would have joined them, but Nate said:—-

"Hold on! What's your hurry?"

Jimmy turned then and saw that Nate was scowling and twisting his watch-chain.

"I've got something to say to you—I mean papa wants me to say something."

"Oh ho!"

"I don't see any need of it, but papa says I must."

Jimmy waited, curious to hear what was coming.

"Papa says I jollied you the other day."

"What's that?"

"Why, fooled you."

"So you did, Nate Pollard, and 'twas awful mean."



"It wasn't either. What made you climb that ridge-pole? You needn't have done it just because I did. But papa says I've got to—to—ask your pardon."

"H'm! I should think you'd better! Tore my clothes to pieces. Smashed a gold watch."

"You hadn't any business taking that watch."

There was a pause.

"Look here, Jimmy Dunlee, why don't you speak?"

"Haven't anything to say."

"Can't you say, 'I forgive you'?"

"Of course I can't. You never asked me."

"Well, I ask you now. James S. Dunlee, will—you—forgive me?"

"H'm! I suppose I'll have to," replied Jimmy, firing a pebble at nothing in particular. "I forgive you all right because we've found the watch. If we hadn't found it, I wouldn't! But don't you 'jolly' me again, Nate Pollard, or you'll catch it!"

This did not sound very forgiving; but neither had Nate's remark sounded very penitent. Nate smiled good-naturedly and seemed satisfied. The fact was, he and Jimmy were both of them trying, after the manner of boys, to hide their real feelings. Nate knew that his conduct had been very shabby and contemptible, and he was ashamed of it, but did not like to say so. Jimmy, for his part, was glad to make up, but did not wish to seem too glad.

Then they each tried to think of something else to say. They were fully agreed that they had talked long enough about their foolish quarrel and would never allude to it again.

"Glad that watch has come," said Nate.

"So am I. It has come, but it won't go," said Jimmy. And they laughed as if this were a great joke.

Next Jimmy inquired about "the colonel," and Nate asked: "What colonel? Oh, you mean the mining engineer. He'll be here next week with his men."

By this time the boys were feeling so friendly that Jimmy asked Nate to go with him before school next morning to see the knitting-woman's pets and hear the blind canary sing.

"Do you suppose the magpie will be there?" returned Nate. "I want to catch her some time and wring her old neck."

"Wish you would," said Jimmy. "Hello, there's Chicken Little crying again. He's more of a baby than our Eddo."

Henry was crying now because Dave Blake had called him a coward. So very, very unjust! He stood near the schoolhouse door, wiping his eyes on his checked apron and saying:—

"I'll go tell the teacher, Dave Blake!"

"Well, go along and tell her then. Fie, for shame!"

Henry, a feeble, petted child, was always falling into trouble and always threatening to tell the teacher. Kyzie considered him very tiresome; but to-day when he came to her with his tale of woe, she listened patiently, because she had done him a wrong and wished to atone for it. She had "really and truly" suspected this simple child of a crime! He would not take so much as a pin without leave; neither would Joseph Rolfe. Yet in her heart she had been accusing these innocent children of stealing her father's watch!

"Miserable me!" thought Kyzie. "I must be very good to both of them now, to make up for my dreadful injustice!"

She went to Joe and sweetly offered to lend him her knife to whittle his lead pencil. He looked surprised. He did not know she had ever wronged him in her heart.

She wiped Henry's eyes on her own pocket handkerchief.

"Poor little cry-baby!" thought she. "I told my mother I would try to make a man of him, and now I mean to begin."

She walked part of the way home with him that afternoon. He considered it a great honor. She looked like a little girl, but her wish to help the child made her feel quite grown-up and very wise.

"Henry," said she, "how nice you look when you are not crying. Why, now you're smiling, and you look like a darling!"

He laughed.

"There! laugh again. I want to tell you something, Henry. You'd be a great deal happier if you didn't cry so much; do you know it?"

"Well, Miss Dunlee,"—Kyzie liked extremely to be called Miss Dunlee,—"well, Miss Dunlee, you see, the boys keep a-plaguing me. And when they plague me I have to cry."

"Oh, fie, don't you do it! If I were a little black-eyed boy about your age I'd laugh, and I'd say to those boys: 'You needn't try to plague me; you just can't do it. The more you try, the more I'll laugh.'"

Henry's eyes opened wide in surprise, and he laughed before he knew it.

"There! that's the way, Henry. If you do that they'll stop right off. There's no fun in plaguing a little boy that laughs."

Henry laughed again and threw back his shoulders. Why, this was something new. This wasn't the way his mamma talked to him. She always said, "Mamma's boy is sick and mustn't be plagued."

"Another thing," went on the little girl, pleased to see that her words had had some effect; "whatever else you may do, Henry, don't 'run and tell,' Do you suppose George Washington ever crept along to his teacher, rubbing his eyes this way on his jacket sleeve, and said 'Miss Dunlee—ah, the boys have been a-making fun of me—ah! They called me names, they did!'"

Henry dropped his chin into his neck.

"Never mind! You're a good little boy, after all. You wouldn't steal anything, would you, Henry?"

This sudden question was naturally rather startling. He had no answer ready.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't! But sometimes little birds steal. Did you hear that a magpie stole a watch the other day?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Well, here's some candy for you, Henry."

The boy held out his hand eagerly, though looking rather bewildered. Was the candy given because George Washington didn't "run and tell"? Or because magpies steal watches?

"Now, good night, Henry, and don't forget what: I've been saying to you."

Henry walked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, but enjoying the candy nevertheless. If his pretty teacher didn't want him to tell tales, he wouldn't do it any more. He would act just like George Washington; and then how would the big boys feel?

He did not forget his resolve. Next morning when Dave Blake ran out his tongue at him and Joe Rolfe said, "Got any chickens to sell?" he laughed with all his might, just to see how it would seem. Both the boys stared; they didn't understand it. "Hello, Chicken Little, what's the matter with you?"

Henry could see the eyes of his young teacher twinkling from between the slats of the window-blinds, and he spoke up with a courage quite unheard-of:—

"Nothing's the matter with me!"

"Hear that chicken," cried Joe Rolfe. "He's beginning to crow!"

Henry felt the tears starting; but as Miss Katharine at that moment opened the blind far enough to shake her finger at him privately he thought better of it, and faltered out:—

"See here, boys, I like to be called Chicken Little first rate! Say it again. Say it fi-ive thousand times if you want to!"

"Oh, you're too willing," said Joe. "We'll try it some other time when you get over being so willing!"

The bell rang; it sounded to Henry like a peal of joy. He walked in in triumph, and as he passed by the little teacher she patted him on the head. She did not need to wipe his eyes with her handkerchief, there were no tears to be seen. He was not a brave boy yet by any means, but he had made a beginning; yes, that very morning he had made a beginning.

"Don't you tease Henry Small any more, I don't like it at all," said Katharine to Joseph Rolfe.

And then she slipped a paper of choice candy into Joe's hand, charging him "not to eat it in school, now remember." It was a queer thing to do; but then this was a queer school; and besides Kyzie had her own reasons for thinking she ought to be very kind to Joe.

"How silly I was to suspect those little boys! I'm afraid I never shall have much judgment. Still, on the whole, I believe I'm doing pretty well," thought she, looking proudly at Henry Small's bright face, and remembering too how Mr. Pollard had told her that very morning that his son Nate was learning more arithmetic at her little school than he had ever learned in the city schools. "Oh, I'm so glad," mused the little teacher.

Mrs. Dunlee thought Kyzie did not get time enough for play. And just now the little girl was unusually busy. They were talking at home of the new entertainment to be given for Jimmy-boy's benefit, and she was to act a part in it as well as Edith. It was "Jimmy's play," but Jimmy was not to appear in it at all. Kyzie and Edith together were to print the tickets with a pen. The white pasteboard had been cut into strips for this purpose; but as it was not decided yet whether the play would be enacted on the tailings or in the schoolhouse, the young printers had got no farther than to print these words very neatly at the bottom of the tickets:

"ADMIT THE BEARER."



XII

"THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM'S EARTHQUAKE"

There were only ten days in which to prepare for the play called "Granny's Quilting." The children met Wednesday morning in Aunt Vi's room, all but Bab, who was off riding. So unfortunate, Lucy thought; for how could any plans be made without Bab?

The play was very old-fashioned, requiring four people, all clad in the style of one hundred and fifty years ago. Uncle James would wear a gray wig and "small clothes" and personate "Grandsir Whalen"; Kyzie Dunlee, Grandsir's old wife, in white cap, "short gown," and petticoat, was to be "Granny Whalen" of course.

A grandson and granddaughter were needed for this aged couple. Edith would make a lovely granddaughter and pretend to spin flax. Who would play the grandson and shell the corn? Jimmy thought Nate Pollard was just the one, he was "so good at speaking pieces." They decided to ask Nate at once, and have that matter settled.

Aunt Vi showed a collection of articles which "the knitting-woman" had kindly offered for their use; a three-legged light stand, two fiddle-backed chairs, and a very old hour-glass.

"I should call it a pair of glasses," said Edith, as they watched the sand drip slowly from one glass into the other.

Aunt Vi said it took exactly an hour for it to drain out, and our forefathers used to tell the time of day by hour-glasses before clocks were invented.

"What are forefathers?" Lucy asked Edith.

"Oh, Adam and Eve and all those old people," was the careless reply.

"And didn't they have any clocks?"

"Of course not. What do you suppose?"

There was a knock at the door. Nate had come to find Jimmy and go with him to see the blind canary.

"We were just talking about you," said Aunt Vi. "Are you willing to be Katharine's grandson in the play?"

Nate replied laughing that he would do whatever was wanted of him, and he could send home and get some knee-buckles and a cocked hat.

Aunt Vi said "Capital!" and gave Jimmy a look which said, "Everything seems to be going on famously for our new play."

Jimmy led the way to Mrs. McQuilken's room, his face wreathed with smiles.

"Ah, good morning; how do you all do?" said the lady, meeting the children with courteous smiles. "I see you've brought your kitten, Edith."

"Yes, ma'am; will you please look at her wounds again?"

"They are pretty well healed, dear. I've never felt much concerned about Zee's wounds. She makes believe half of her sufferings for the sake of being petted."

"Does she, though? I'm so glad."

"Yes; that 'prize tail' will soon be waving as proudly as ever. But I suppose you all came to see the canary. Mag, you naughty girl," she added, turning to the magpie, "hide under the bed. They didn't come to see you. Here, Job, you are the one that's wanted."

Little Job, the canary, was standing on the rug. He came forward now to greet his visitors, putting out a foot to feel his way, like a blind man with a cane. Then he began to sing joyously.

"Don't you call that good music?" asked his mistress, knitting as she spoke. "He came from Germany; there's where you get the best singers. Some canaries won't sing before company and some won't sing alone; they are fussy,—I call it pernickitty. Why, I had one with a voice like a flute; but I happened to buy some new wall-paper, and she didn't like the looks of it, and after that she never would sing a note."

"Are you in earnest?" asked Kyzie.

"Yes, it's a fact. But Job never was pernickitty, bless his little heart!"

She brought a tiny bell and let him take it in his claws.

"Now, I'll go out of the room, and you all keep still and see if he'll ring to call me back."

She went, closing the door after her. No one spoke. Job moved his head from side to side, and, apparently making up his little mind that he was all alone, he shook the bell peal after peal. Presently his mistress appeared. "Did you think mamma had gone and left you, Job darling? Mamma can't stay away from her baby."

The cooing tone pleased the little creature, and he sang again even more sweetly than before.

"Let me show you another of his tricks. You see this little gun? Well, when he fires it off that will be the end of poor Job!"

The gun was about two inches long and as large around as a lead pencil. Inside was a tiny spring; and when Job's claw touched the spring the gun went off with a loud report. Job fell over at once as if shot and lay perfectly still and stiff on the rug. Lucy screamed out:—-

"Oh, I'm so sorry he is dead!"

But next moment he roused himself and sat up and shook his feathers as if he relished the joke.

The children had a delightful half hour with the captain's widow and her pets; only Lucy could not be satisfied because Bab was away.

"Too bad you went off riding yesterday," said she as they sat next morning playing with their dolls. "You never saw that blind canary that shoots himself, and comes to life and rings a bell."

"But can't I see him sometime, Auntie Lucy?"

"You can, oh, yes, and I'll go with you. But, Bab, you ought to have heard our talk about the play! Kyzie is going to be as much as a hundred years old, and I guess Uncle James will be a hundred and fifty. And they've got a pair of old glasses with sand inside—the same kind that Adam and Eve used to have."

"Why-ee! Did Adam and Eve wear glasses? 'Tisn't in their pictures; I never saw 'em with glasses on!"

"No, no, I don't mean glasses wear! I said glasses with sand inside; that's what Uncle James has got. Runs out every hour. Sits on the table."

"Oh, I know what you mean, auntie! You mean an hour-glass! Grandpa Hale has one and I've seen lots of 'em in France."

Lucy felt humbled. Though pretending to be Bab's aunt, she often found that her little niece knew more than she knew herself!

"Seems queer about Adam and Eve," said she, hastening to change the subject; "who do you s'pose took care of 'em when they were little babies?"

"Why, Auntie Lucy, there wasn't ever any babiness about Adam and Eve! Don't you remember, they stayed just exactly as they were made!"

"Yes, so they did. I forgot."

Lucy had made another mistake. This was not like a "truly auntie"; still it did not matter so very much, for Bab never laughed at her and they loved each other "dearilee."

"You know a great many things, don't you, Bab? And I keep forgetting 'em."

"Oh, I know all about the world and the garden of Eden; that's easy enough," replied the wise niece.

And then they went back to their dolls.

Half an hour later Kyzie Dunlee was standing in the schoolhouse door with a group of children about her when Nate Pollard appeared. As he looked at her he remembered "Jimmy's play," and the parts they were both to take in it; and the thought of little Kyzie as his poor old grandmother seemed so funny to Nate that he began to laugh and called out, "Good morning, grandmother!"

He meant no harm; but Kyzie thought him very disrespectful to accost her in that way before the children, and she tossed her head without answering him.

Nate was angry. How polite he had always been to her, never telling her what a queer school she kept! And now that he had consented to be her grandson in Jimmy's play, just to please her and the rest of the family, it did seem as if she needn't put on airs in this way!

"Ahem!" said he; "did you hear about that dreadful earthquake in San Diego?"

There had been a very slight one, but he was trying to tease her.

"No, oh, no!" she replied, throwing up both hands. "When was it?"

"Last night. I'm afraid of 'em myself, and if we get one here to-day you needn't be surprised to see me cut and run right out of the schoolhouse."

The children looked at him in alarm. Kyzie could not allow this.

"Oh, you wouldn't do that!" said she, with another toss of the head. "Before I'd run away from an earthquake! Besides, what good would it do?"

By afternoon the news had spread about among the children that there was to be a terrible earthquake that day. They huddled together like frightened lambs. The little teacher, wishing to reassure them, planted herself against the wall, and made what Edith would have called a "little preach."

She pointed out of the window to the clear sky and said she "could not see the least sign of an earthquake." But even if one should come they need not be afraid, for their heavenly Father would take care of them.

"And you mustn't think for a moment of running away! No, children, be quiet! Look at me, I am quiet. I wouldn't run away if there were fifty earthquakes!"

Strange to say, she had hardly spoken these words when the house began to shake! They all knew too well what it meant, that frightful rocking and rumbling; the ground was opening under their feet!

Kyzie, though she may have feared it vaguely all along, was taken entirely by surprise, and did—what do you think? As quick as a flash, without waiting for a second thought, she turned and jumped out of the window!

Next moment, remembering the children, she screamed for them to follow her, and they poured out of the house, some by the window, some by the door, all shrieking like mad.

It was a wild scene,—the frantic teacher, the terrified children,—and Kyzie will never cease to blush every time she recalls it. For there was no earthquake after all! It was only the new "colonel" and his men blasting a rock in the mine!

Of course this escapade of the young teacher amused the people of Castle Cliff immensely. They called it "the little schoolma'am's earthquake"; and the little schoolma'am heard of it and almost wished it had been a real earthquake and had swallowed her up.

"Oh, Papa Dunlee! Oh, Mamma Dunlee!" she cried, her cheeks crimson, her eyelids swollen from weeping. "I keep finding out that I'm not half so much of a girl as I thought I was! What does make me do such ridiculous things?"

"You are only very young, you dear child," replied her parents.

They pitied her sincerely and did their best to console her. But they were wise people, and perhaps they knew that their eldest daughter needed to be humbled just a little. It was hard, very hard, yet sometimes it is the hard things which do us most good.

"O mamma, don't ask me to go down to dinner. I can't, I can't!"

"No indeed, darling, your dinner shall be sent up to you. What would you like?"

"No matter what, mamma—I don't care for eating. I can't ever hold up my head any more. And as for going into that school again, I never, never, never will do it."

"I think you will, my daughter," said Mr. Dunlee, quietly. "I think you'll go back and live this down and 'twill soon be all forgotten."

"O papa, do you really, really think 'twill ever be forgotten? Do you think so, mamma? A silly, disgraceful, foolish, outrageous, abominable,—there, I can't find words bad enough!"

As her parents were leaving the room she revived a little and added:—

"Remember, mamma, just soup and chicken and celery. But a full saucer of ice-cream. I hope 'twill be vanilla."



XIII

NATE'S CAVE

The little teacher went back to her school the very next day. It was a hard thing, but she knew her parents desired it. Her proud head was lowered; she could not meet the eyes of the children, who seemed to be trying their best not to laugh. At last she spoke:—

"I got frightened yesterday. I was not very brave; now was I? Hark! The people in the mine are blasting rocks again, but we won't run away, will we?"

They laughed, and she tried to laugh, too. Then she called the classes into the floor; and no more did she ever say to the scholars about the earthquake. She helped Nate in his arithmetic, and he treated her like a queen. He was coming to Aunt Vi's room that evening to show his knee-buckles and cocked hat and find out just what he was to do on the stage.

Kyzie wanted to see the cocked hat and felt interested in her own white cap which Mrs. McQuilken was making. It was a good thing for Katharine that she had "Jimmy's play" to think of just now. It helped her through that long forenoon. After this the forenoons did not drag; school went on as usual, and Kyzie was glad she had had the courage to go back and "live down" her foolish behavior.

When they met in Aunt Vi's room that evening it was decided not to have "Jimmy's play" on the tailings, for that was a place free to all. People would not buy tickets for an entertainment out of doors.

"My tent is the thing," said Uncle James, and so they all thought It was a large white one, and the children agreed to decorate it with evergreens. It would hold all the people who were likely to come and many more.

During the week Uncle James set up the tent not far from the hotel and in one corner of it built a staging. He did not mind taking trouble for his beloved namesake, James Sanford Dunlee. The stage was made to look like a room in an old-fashioned house. It had a make-believe door and window and a make-believe fireplace with andirons and wood and shovel and tongs. There was a rag rug on the floor, and on the three-legged stand stood the hour-glass with candles in iron candlesticks. The fiddle-backed chairs were there and two hard "easy-chairs" and an old wooden "settle." Lucy and Bab said it looked "like somebody's house," and they wanted to go and live in it.

On the Saturday afternoon appointed the play had been well learned by the four actors. Everything being ready, this cosy little sitting-room was now shut off from view by a calico curtain which was stretched across the stage by long strings run through brass rings.

The play would begin at half-past two. Jimmy was dressed neatly in his very best clothes. He had a roll of paper and a pencil in one of his pockets and during the play he meant to add up the number of people present and find out how much money had been taken.

"But Jimmy-boy, it won't be very much," said Edith. "This is an empty town, and so queer too. Something may happen at the last minute that will spoil the whole thing."

She was right. Something did happen which no one could have foreseen. For an "empty" town Castle Cliff was famous for events.

As Jimmy left the hotel just after luncheon he overtook Nate Pollard and Joe Rolfe standing near a big sand bank, talking together earnestly.

"Come on, Jimmum," said Nate; "we've got a spade for you. We're going to dig a cave in the side of this bank."

"What's the use of a cave?"

"Why, for one thing, we can run into it in time of an earthquake."

"That's so," said Jimmy. "Or we could stay in and be cave-dwellers."

But as he took up the spade he chanced to look down at his new clothes. He had spoiled one nice suit already and had promised his mother he would be more careful of this one.

"Wait till I put on my old clothes, will you?"

Nate laughed and snapped his fingers. "We're in a hurry. I've got to be in the tent in half an hour. Go along, you little dude! We'll dig the cave without you."

The laugh cut Jimmy to the heart. And he had been learning to like Nate so well. A dude? Not he! Besides, what harm would dry sand do? It's "clean dirt."

Then all in a minute he thought of that wild journey on the roof. It had made a deeper impression upon him than any other event of his life.

"Poh! Am I going to dig dirt in my best clothes just because Nate Pollard laughs at me? I don't 'take stumps' any more; there's no sense in it, so there!"

And off he started, afraid to linger lest he should fall into temptation. Jimmy might be heedless, no doubt he often was; but when he really stopped to think, he always respected his mother's wishes and always kept his word to her.

This was the trait in Jimmy which marked him off as a highly bred little fellow. For let me tell you, boys, respect for your elders is the first point of high breeding all the world over.

Jimmy sauntered on slowly toward the door of the tent. There were a great many benches inside, but it was not time yet for the audience to arrive. Uncle James and Katharine and Edith were on the stage, and Aunt Vi was adding a few touches to Edith's dress.

"O dear," said Grandmamma Graymouse, "I hope I shan't forget my part. Tell me, Uncle James, do I look old enough?"

"You look too old to be alive," he answered; "fifty years older than I do, certainly! Mrs. Mehitable Whalen, are you my wife or my very great grandmamma?"

"But where's Nate Pollard?" Aunt Vi asked. "I told him to come early to rehearse."

"He said he'd be here in half an hour," said Jimmy. "He's off playing."

"I hope I shall not have to punish my young grandson," said Uncle James, solemnly, as he began to peel a sycamore switch.

Uncle James's name was now "Ichabod Whalen," and he and "Mehitable Whalen," his wife, were such droll objects in their old-fashioned clothes that they could not look at each other without laughing.

Their absent grandson, "Ezekiel Whalen" (or Nate Pollard), was a fine specimen of a boy of ancient times, and Aunt Vi had been much pleased with the way in which he acted his part. But where was he? Aunt Vi and the grandparents grew impatient. It was now half-past two; people were flocking into the tent; but the curtain could not rise, for nothing was yet to be seen of young Master "Ezekiel Whalen" and his small clothes and his cocked hat. The house was pretty well filled; really there were far more people than had been expected, Jimmy, with pencil and paper in hand, was figuring up the grown people and children, and multiplying these numbers by twenty-five and by fifteen. When he found that the sum amounted to nearly nine dollars he almost whistled for joy.

But all this while the audience was waiting. People looked around in surprise; the Dunlee family grew more and more anxious. Aunt Lucy pinched Bab and Bab pinched Aunt Lucy.

Suddenly there were loud voices at the entrance of the tent. The tent curtain was pushed aside violently, and Mr. Templeton and Mr. Rolfe rushed in exclaiming:—

"Two boys lost! All hands to the rescue!"

The people were on their feet in a moment and there was a grand rush for the outside. The panic, so it was said afterward, was about equal to "the little schoolma'am's earthquake."



XIV

JIMMY'S GOOD LUCK

"It's the Pollard and Rolfe boys," explained Mr. Templeton.

"Ho! I know where they are!" cried Jimmy, "They're all right. They're only digging a cave in the side of a sand-bank."

"Show us where! Run as fast as you can!" exclaimed Mr. Rolfe and Mr. Pollard. Mr. Pollard had been hunting for the last half-hour. He knew Nate was deeply interested in "Jimmy's play" and would not have kept away from the tent unless something unusual had happened.

Jimmy ran, followed by several men who could not possibly keep up with him. But when they all reached the sand-bank, where were the "cave-dwellers"? They had burrowed in the sand till completely out of sight!

"Hello! Where are you"? screamed Jimmy.

There was no answer. In enlarging the cave they had loosened the very dry earth, and thus caused the roof over their heads to fall in upon them, actually burying them as far as their arm-pits! They tried to scream, but their muffled voices could not be heard. The "cave" looked like a great pile of sand and nothing more. Nobody would have dreamed that there was any one inside it if it had not been for Jimmy's story.

"Courage, boys, we're after you, we'll soon have you out!" said the men cheerily; though how could they tell whether the boys heard or not? Indeed, how did they know the boys were still alive?

Two men went for shovels. The other men, not waiting for them to come back thrust their arms into the bank and scooped out the sand with their hands. The sand was loose and they worked very fast. Before the shovels arrived a moan was heard. At any rate one of the boys was alive. And before long they had unearthed both the young prisoners and dragged them out of the cave.

Not a minute too soon, Joe gasped for breath and looked wildly about; but Nate lay perfectly still; it could hardly be seen at first that he breathed. His father and mother, the doctor and plenty of other people were ready and eager to help; but it was some time before he showed signs of life. When at last he opened his eyes the joy of his parents was something touching to witness.

Jimmy, who had been standing about with the other children, watching and waiting, caught his mother by the sleeve and whispered:—

"I should have been in there too, mamma, if it hadn't been for you!"

"What do you mean, my son? In that cave? I never knew the boys were trying to make a cave. I did not forbid your digging in the sand, did I?"

"No, mamma; but I knew you wouldn't want me to do it in these clothes—after all my actions! And I had promised to be more careful."

Mrs. Dunlee smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

"How glad I am that my little boy respected his mother's wishes," said she, stooping to kiss his earnest face.

She dared not think what might have happened if he had disregarded her wishes!

It was a time of rejoicing. Mr. Templeton ordered out the brass band and the Hindoo tam tam. The horse Thistleblow seemed to think he must be wanted too, and came and danced in circles before the groups of happy people.

"I could believe I was in some foreign country," said Mrs. McQuilken, smiling under her East Indian puggaree, as she had not been seen to smile before, and dropping a kiss on the cheek of her favorite Edith.

After dinner the Dunlees met in Aunt Vi's room, and Aunt Vi observed that Mrs. Dunlee kept Jimmy close by her side, looking at him in the way mothers look at good little sons, her eyes shining with happy love and pride.

They were talking over "Jimmy's play," which had not been played. The money must all be given back to the people who had sat and looked so long at that calico curtain.

"We'll try 'Granny's Quilting' again next Saturday," said Aunt Vi.

They did try it again. There were no caves to dig this time, and young Master "Ezekiel Whalen" was on the stage promptly at half-past one, eager to show his grandparents that he was a boy to be relied upon after all. The play was a remarkable success. All the "summer boarders and campers" came to it, and everybody said:—

"Oh, do give us some more entertainments, Mrs. Sanford! Let us have one every Saturday."

Aunt Vi, being the kindest soul in the world, promised to do what she could. She gave the play of the "Pied Piper of Hamelin," with children for rats; and Eddo was dressed as a mouse, and squealed so perfectly that Edith's cat could hardly be restrained from rushing headlong upon the stage.

Later there were tableaux. Edith wore red, white, and blue and was the Goddess of Liberty. Jimmy was a cowboy with cartridge-belt and pistols. Lucy and Barbara were Night and Morning, with stars on their heads. Mr. Sanford was Uncle Jonathan. Mr. Hale was an Indian chief.

Jimmy's debts were more than paid, and a happier boy was not to be found in the state of California.

After this there were plenty of free entertainments on the tailings. At one of these, when the audience was watching a flight of rockets, Katharine heard two women not far away talking together. One of them asked:—

"Where's that little Dunlee girl, the one that keeps the play-school?"

"Over there in the corner," replied the other, "She hasn't any hat on. She's sitting beside the girl with a cat in her lap."

"Oh, is that the one? So young as that? Well, she's a good girl, yes, she is. I guess she is a good girl," said the first speaker heartily. "My little Henry thinks there's nothing like her. He never learned much of anything till he went to that play-school. He never behaved so well as he does now, never gave me so little trouble at home. She's a good girl."

A world of comfort fell on Kyzie. Young as she was and full of faults, she had really done a wee bit of good.

"And they didn't say a word about my jumping out of the window," thought she, with deep satisfaction. "Wait till I grow up, just wait till I grow up, and as true as I live I'll be something and do something in this world!"

She did not say this aloud, you may be sure; but there was a look on her face of high resolve.

Uncle James had often said to Aunt Vi:—

"Our Katharine is very much in earnest. I know you agree with me that "little Prudy's" eldest daughter is a golden girl!"

The "play-school" closed a few days later, and it was Henry Small who received the medal for good spelling. He wasn't so much of a cry-baby nowadays and the boys had stopped calling him "Chicken Little."

The Dunlee party went home the last week in August, declaring they had had delightful times at Castle Cliff.

"Only I never went down that mine in a bucket," said Lucy. "How could I when the men were blowing up rocks just like an earthquake?"

"And I wanted to wait till they found that vein," said Jimmy.

A few days before they left, Uncle James went hunting and shot a deer. I wish there were space to tell of the barbecue to which all the neighbors were invited a little later.

As it is, my young readers are not likely to hear any more of the adventures of the "bonnie Dunlees," either at home or abroad.

But during their stay in the mountains that summer Lucy begged Aunt Vi to write some stories, with the little friends, Bab and Lucy, for the heroines.

"Some 'once-upon-a-time stories,' Auntie Vi. Make believe we two girls go all about among the fairies, just as Alice did in Wonderland; only there are two of us together, and we shall have a better time!"

"Oh, fie! How could I take real live little girls into the kingdom of the elves and gnomes and pixies? I shouldn't know how!"

But she was so obliging as to try. The week before they left for home she had completed a book of "once-upon-a-time stories," which she read aloud to all the children as they clustered around her in the "air-castle." She called it "Lucy in Fairyland," though she meant Bab just as much as Lucy. If the little public would like to see this book it may be offered them by and by; together with the comments which were made upon each story by the whole Dunlee family,—Jimmy, wee Lucy, and all.

THE END