DICK AND ALICE GO ON ALONE

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

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

“It wasn’t anything really wrong,” argued Chicken Little.

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

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

“She isn’t going to,” said Chicken Little with decision. “I shall tell Father instead.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Mrs. Morton and Marian looked up anxiously.

“You don’t think ?” Marian hesitated. She did not wish to burden Katy and Gertie with family worries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neither would I,” Chicken Little replied with a sigh. “I’m sick of the sight of ’em!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Katy continued her way without glancing ’round.

“It’s something you’ll like.”

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

“Come here and I’ll tell you. I’m not going to yell it.”

Katy considered and finally returned reluctantly.

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

Katy’s face lighted. “All right, let’s. Gertie won’t care.”

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

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

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

“Oo muttant I ain’t said it, and oo pillín’ ve fowers.”

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

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

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

Dick surveyed the remainder of the reception committee critically.

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

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

Katy and Jane also exchanged glances.

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

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

“Heart-felt sounds better, Dick,” interrupted Alice, laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dear wife,” Frank replied, “I love you, but I don’t love to have you round when I’m fishing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if he isn’t at home?” said Chicken Little.

“He’s got to be,” laughed Marian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Big missee and little missee have most,” he assured them.

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

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

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

“They’ll never beat that!” Alice’s eyes were dancing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dick came to first and hazarded a guess. “The ladies God bless ’em they’ve been to town and bought out a market.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess he isn’t interested in anything unless he sees a dollar close by,” Ernest replied.

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

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

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

“And I,” Marian echoed.

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

“I couldn’t think of leaving our guests,” Frank stopped smoking long enough to say.

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

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

And they stayed until train time.

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

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

“I think it’s because a train always seems so oh, jolly and exciting,” ventured Katy.

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

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

“Home?” Katy and Jane asked together.

“No, supper!”