PRIVATE PROPERTY

The broad Hudson shimmered gaily in the sunshine of late summer, tiny rippling splashes of white dotted its surface and some of the joy of the day was reflected in the faces of the three girls who sat on the hillside far above the river bank, each intent on her own thoughts.

For a long time no one had spoken. Bet Baxter was watching a seagull rising, wheeling, soaring and settling again on the water, her blue eyes glowing as she followed the long sweeping lines of its flight and the tilt of its wings.

Joy Evans watched the gull with a different feeling. The thrill of its motion set every nerve in her body tingling with a desire to dance and skip or shout or laugh, while the quiet Shirley Williams did not see it at this moment; she was gazing into the finder of her camera as she pointed it toward the distant view of the Palisades.

The girls were often to be found here under the big elm tree. It was their favorite spot in all that wide expanse of lawn and woodland that made up the Merriweather Estate, the home of Colonel Baxter. And here it was that they always brought their picnic feast, and today the basket reposed near by filled with surprises that Auntie Gibbs, the Baxter housekeeper loved to prepare for Bet and her friends.

These girls had the run of the grounds, for Uncle Nat, the old gardener was as indulgent with this motherless girl as her easy-going father. What Bet wanted, she usually got, for no one could quite resist the charm of her smile, least of all her two chums, Shirley Williams and Joy Evans.

They made a lovely picture as they sat there with the sunlight pouring down upon them. Bet’s golden hair was rumpled by the wind but then Bet’s hair was mostly rumpled for one reason or another. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright just because she was happy and enjoyed life.

Shirley’s head was bent over her camera. She was the serious one of the group. Shirley could enter into the good times as well as the others, but her smile came less quickly. And there were days, like the present, when her face would wrinkle with a frown as she tried to work out some problem in photography. Picture-taking was her hobby, and when the other girls skipped and danced about, Shirley would often trudge along burdened with a camera and tripod.

Joy was all sunshine. It was just as impossible for her to keep still as it would be for a dancing sunbeam to become motionless. Now, as she watched the gull, she suddenly jumped to her feet, and poising on tiptoe, swayed her slender body in rhythm with the flight of the gull.

Abruptly, a rustling sound, the breaking of a twig, disturbed the quiet and Bet sat erect with a gasp of surprise. She caught Joy by the arm. “S-sh! Keep quiet!”

For a tall girl, slightly older than the three, had appeared on top of the stone wall that enclosed the estate and with a quick jump had straddled it. Whipping off her cap she twirled it around her head. “Whoopee!” she shouted, and her curly black locks bobbed in the breeze. Then beating her cap against the wall at her side she cried: “Go it Powder! Let’s race! Faster! Faster! Good old pony!”

Bet and her friends might have laughed at this strange sight if the play had continued a moment longer, but in the next second the girl had thrown herself flat on the wall and had burst into tears.

Bet reached her first, “What’s the matter, dear?” she called. “Are you hurt? Let us help you!”

But the stranger had disappeared on the other side of the wall, or partly disappeared, for her heavy skirt had caught on a barbed wire that ran along the fence and held her suspended, head down.

With a spring Bet was on the wall. Letting herself drop to the other side, she caught the stranger’s head in her arms and eased the fall, as the dress ripped and gave way.

The young girl’s tears had vanished by the time she was once more in a standing position. Her face was red with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry. I’m terribly ashamed. I didn’t know anyone was around here. I thought I was miles in the country.” She hesitated a second then added: “Did you see my exciting horseback ride?”

“Yes, we saw it!” laughed Bet, but it was such a hearty, friendly laugh that the stranger could not be hurt by it. In fact she had to laugh herself and was warmly drawn toward the girls as they pressed about her, brushing the dust off her dress, rescuing her cap, and even pinning the torn skirt.

Then the newcomer started to explain things, hesitated and grew confused, but Bet exclaimed: “Who are you and where did you come from? I thought I knew everybody in Lynnwood.”

“I only came yesterday. I’m from Arizona and my name is Kit Patten.”

“Oh, you’re the girl Mrs. Stacey phoned me about. I told her I would be over to see you when you came. But this is a much better way of getting acquainted, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t know how far away this place was from Arizona or I don’t believe I would ever have had the courage to come. I’m just plain homesick!” and another burst of tears threatened to overflow.

“You won’t have a chance to be lonesome here,” exclaimed Bet impulsively. “Will she, girls?”

“I should say not!” chirruped Joy. “But did you say you came from Arizona? Oh I’d just love to live in Arizona, and I don’t blame you one bit for being lonesome. Arizona must be simply grand. I think cowboys are swell! I saw one in the movies the other night, and oh, he was handsome. Are all cowboys handsome?”

“Well no, not exactly!” laughed Kit. “ That is, I don’t think so, I don’t believe I ever saw a real handsome cowboy.”

“You should go to the movies then. The one I saw the other day had the loveliest voice. Oh, I’d love to go to Arizona.”

“And do people go around shooting all the time?” asked Bet. “Do tell us about it.”

“Of course they don’t shoot all the time. But there’s nothing a cowboy likes better than to hear the noise of a gun, I do believe.”

“And are you a cowgirl?” asked Joy. “I’d love to be a cowgirl and swing a rope around my head. Kit, won’t you teach me how to throw a rope?”

Kit laughed in some confusion. The tears were not very far away. As she looked around her she said suddenly, “Well perhaps in time I’ll get used to this.”

“Used to what?” asked Bet puzzled.

“The houses and stores and no place big enough to stretch in! It’s horrible!”

The girls looked at each other in surprise. They did not know what she was trying to say. Evidently Lynnwood did not please her. Indignation was not far away from Bet, who thought her home town was the best place in all the world.

Feeling that some explanation was necessary, Kit said: “I thought I’d choke down there with all those houses around, then I came up here where I could breathe, and I bumped into that “Private Property” sign and, oh, I’ll never get used to it. Never! I want to go home.”

Bet’s arm was around her. “Don’t you mind, honey! You have us, and we’ll make up to you for a lot of things, ponies and everything.”

“Aw come on, cheer up!” sang Joy Evans. “It isn’t so bad here as you may think. As long as Bet and Shirley and I are around and take you under our wings, you’ll never miss what you left behind, because I’ll tell you right now, we’re a lively bunch.”

“Oh I know,” agreed Kit. “It’s just because I’m disappointed in the place. Mrs. Stacey, who is a girlhood friend of mother’s, wrote that she had a lovely big yard for me to play in. And it is the biggest yard on that street, but after the desert and the mountains that go on for miles and miles, why this is just nothing at all, and I feel as if I were a wild bronco put out on a hobble.”

At which everybody laughed heartily and the ice was forever broken.

“Come over on the other side of the wall,” invited Bet, and seeing the girl hesitate with a glance at the sign she added: “Oh don’t mind that sign. That’s only for tramps. This is my home, I’m Bet Baxter and these are my two chums, Shirley Williams and Joy Evans.”

Kit hesitated once more. “Were you having a picnic or something? Perhaps I’m not wanted.”

“It’s a picnic and you are wanted,” cried Bet. “We all want her, don’t we girls? All right, give her the welcome!”

Instantly the girls raised a chorus:

“Do we want her!
Do we want her!
Yes, we do, do, do!”

This cheering call echoed through the woods and it filled the heart of the little mountain girl with happiness.

It seemed to be Kit’s unlucky day, for as she climbed down the wall her skirt caught once more on the wire and completed its destruction.

“Now that dress is done for! What a clumsy colt I am! You’d think I’d never been broken to saddle!” exclaimed Kit as her brown eyes snapped. “Don’t I look a sight?”

The three girls were fascinated by the stranger. She walked with long swinging strides that she had learned in climbing hills from babyhood. Even the way she expressed herself was different from the girls in the village.

“What a pity you’ve spoiled your dress,” said Bet. “I’ll have that wire taken off immediately!” she exclaimed in indignation. “That’s for tramps too, but I’ve told Dad more than once that the wire must go. Now I’ll just have to insist.”

It was Kit’s turn to stare in amazement, for Bet’s face was stern and reproving as she spoke of her father, much as if he were a small boy who had to be punished.

“Now where I come from, fathers say what’s what, and not daughters,” laughed Kit. Dad Patten was a pleasant man, quiet and given to few words, but he was the one who ruled, and no one else gave orders.

“Bet is a lucky girl, Kit. She’s an only child and I’ll tell you a secret, she’s frightfully spoiled. She does just as she pleases all the time.” This was from Shirley, who had scarcely spoken before. She was not less friendly than the others but found it harder to express herself freely.

“Don’t believe her, Kit,” laughed Bet Baxter. “There are lots of things I’m not allowed to do. Dad is one of the best and most understanding Dads but I always do exactly as he tells me.”

“That’s the joke,” laughed Shirley. “Her father never tells her to do anything!”