Inez Haynes Gillmore

“ When they emerged from the bath house, a patch of eelgrass, not far off, made a brilliant green spot in the midst of the golden sand. As the Big Six started towards the fish weir, the Little Six were splashing about in the warm shallows near shore.
“Oh what fun this is!” Rosie said. “I love salt-water bathing more than fresh water—I don’t know why. But somehow I always feel so much gayer.” ”

“ Rosie said in a meditative tone, “with a farmhouse in the country, the ocean with an island in it in front of it; a forest with deer in back of it; and a pond—Maida can you think of anything else that we could possibly have?”
“Well there might be a volcano on the island,” Maida suggested, “a grotto somewhere like the Blue Grotto of Capri; and then of course we have no glaciers, geysers, hot springs, deserts or bogs—”
“Oh you goose!” Rosie interrupted. “You know we couldn’t have any of those things.”
“We might have a cave,” Arthur said. “Are there any caves around here, Maida?” ”

“ Finally as she and Arthur plunged deeper and deeper into the forest, she got only broken blurred calls. At length these too died away. The silence of the immeasurable, immemorial forest closed about her and Arthur. The oncoming dusk seemed to be pouring like a great, gradual-growing flood upon them.
“There isn’t any chance of our losing Betsy forever, Arthur?” Maida asked once in a hushed voice.
“Not a chance,” Arthur answered. “If we don’t find her, your father will. In five minutes he can get enough men together to beat these woods. And by midnight they can cover every spot of them.” ”

“ Maida replied, “and always have some one near the telephone if anybody calls up. And remember, if the baby doesn’t seem all right, telephone for the doctor at once. Get the hospital on the telephone at nine o’clock and ask how Mrs. Dore is this morning.” Then mounting her machine in a flash, Maida was off like a bird.
“Who would ever have thought,” Rosie said looking after her, “that the Maida Westabrook who first came to Primrose Court—so pale and thin and lame—would ever grow into such a strong girl? Do you remember, Laura?” ”

“ There a great rectangle surrounded by cypresses was a garden—all roses. The bushes were already in rich bloom, great creamy white ones and great pinky white ones. Others were deep pink, golden yellow, a rich dark crimson.
“This is the rose garden,” Maida explained. “Beyond,” she led the way into still another cypress-guarded square, “is the old-fashioned garden. There are nasturtiums here and phlox and pansies and peonies and lots of other things I can’t remember, and in the fall there’ll be dahlias and asters.”
Rosie shook herself with joy. “I shall love working in this garden,” she declared. ”

“ For one astounded instant nobody could speak.
“Oh Maida!” at last Rosie breathed. The two girls threw themselves upon her; Arthur rose and then suddenly sat down again but Dicky kept quite still his eyes full of stars. “I knew you’d have some plan, Maida,” he said. Harold, unexpectedly, turned a somersault.
“I know I’m dreaming,” Laura almost whispered.
The horn stopped. A great gray car turned into Primrose Court. A man, middle-aged, tall, massive and with a pronounced stoop to his shoulders, stepped out. He turned a head, big and shaggy as a buffalo, in the direction of Maida’s Little Shop. ”

“ As Rosie disappeared with her sleeping burden, Laura appeared at the stairs carrying a tray.
“Hop back into bed, Maida Westabrook,” she said serenely. “You’re going to have your breakfast in bed this morning—like a princess.” ”

“ The prospect of catching such big game was too tempting for the males of the party. And so while the girls dashed madly about, trying to get out of their reach, screaming with excitement and holding on to each other for protection, but really enjoying the situation very much—the boys chased the turtle from corner to corner, until finally Arthur managed to lasso a leathery paw and tie it captive to a weir post. How he did this, he himself found it hard to say, because the water was lashed to a miniature fury by the flounderings of both the turtle and its captors. ”

“ Bathing was almost the best fun they had—especially for Dicky.
Dicky soon rejected the water wings. He was swimming now—not of course as fast or as well as the others—but swimming with that fresh joy which only the amateur knows. The others were perfecting strokes of various kinds and practising fancy diving of various sorts. Arthur was of course the best and strongest performer among them. Maida would never be more than a fair swimmer nor Harold; but Rosie had soon out-distanced Laura, was beginning to work into Arthur’s class. ”

“ Maida meekly hopped back as ordered and Laura placed the tray on the bed in front of her. On it, the peel so divided that it looked like a great golden-petaled flower, was an orange; a dish of oatmeal; an egg in an egg cup; two pieces of toast; a small pitcher of milk; sugar. Around the plate was wreathed nasturtiums, flowers and leaves.
“Oh how good it looks!” Maida said; and then after a few moments of enthusiastic eating, “Oh, how good it tastes! How dainty you’ve made this tray, Laura! I’m sure you’re going to be the best housekeeper among us. You like housekeeping, don’t you?” ”

“ Could it be some little baby animal crying for its mother—a fawn like Betsy’s or—and here Maida’s hair rose on her head again—a baby bear? Her common sense immediately rejected this theory. There were no bears in the woods. And if it were a baby deer, she would be ashamed of being afraid of a baby deer when Betsy showed no fear. For another interval she stood still fighting her cowardice. ”

“ And now with each sunrise, the fun at the Little House seemed to double itself.
“I never saw such a place as this,” Rosie wailed once. “There aren’t hours enough to do all the things you want to do every day; and not days enough to do all you want to do every week.”
There was some justice in Rosie’s complaint. The day’s program of swimming, tennis, croquet, bicycling, reading and games had been broken into by the coming of the berry season. Blueberries and blackberries were thick in the vicinity and the children enjoyed enormously eating the fruit they had gathered. ”

“ Rosie was certainly handsome. Tall, active, proud-looking; great black eyes lighted by stars; a mass of black hair breaking into high waves and half curls; cheeks as smooth as satin and stained a deep crimson—ivory-white, jet-black, coral-crimson—that was Rosie. Maida had always called her Rose-Red.
“But the greatest change has come in Dicky and me,” Maida ended. “We have both lost our lameness. You don’t limp, Dicky, and I don’t. Let’s race to the gate and back.”
[Pg 25]
Dicky was on his feet in a minute. Arthur called, “One to make ready, two for a show—” At the word, “Go” they were off. ”

“ Now her voice was sharp and high with excitement.
The children rushed pell-mell in the direction of the voice. Rosie had gone farther than they thought. Indeed she had disappeared entirely. She had to keep calling to guide them. When they came to her at last, she was standing with her back against a tree, the look on her face very mystified, holding in her arms—
“A doll!” Maida exclaimed. “Who could have dropped it? Nobody ever comes here but us.”
It was a cheap little doll of the rag-baby order perfectly new, perfectly clean and dry.
“How did you come to find it?” Laura enquired. ”

“ Late in the afternoon, they sprinkled the flower beds and hosed the lawn for Mrs. Lathrop. Then as this made further sitting on the grass impossible, they retired to the tiny Dore yard with its amusing little flower bed and its one patch of grass. There was just about room for their group there. They sat down. Again they asked Maida about her travels. But now Maida was distinctly absent-minded. Suddenly in the midst of a description of Pompeii, there sounded a long, faint far-away call of an automobile horn. It broke, like a fire-rocket, into a flurry of star notes ”

“ Maida announced at breakfast a week later, “we’ve had all the vacation we’re going to get—at least all that the Big Six get. To-morrow begins our work. Father said we could plan it ourselves how it was to be done and unless our plans were bad ones, we could keep right on with them. Now I propose that, right after breakfast, you boys go to the barn and make a program of your work. We girls will stay here and make a program for ourselves. You remember what it is you’re expected to do?” ”

“ Mr. Westabrook advised them, rising, “try not to let yourselves get careless again.” He shook hands all around; and kissed his daughter. “Fair warning,” he said, “I don’t know when I’m coming again, but it won’t be when you expect me.”
It was a very subdued and a very tired little trio of girls who went up-stairs and attended to their rooms. It was an even more subdued—though a less tired—trio of boys who put the barn in order and then trailing the turtle at the end of his rope, walked down to the Magic Mirror, and tied him to a tree, and deposited him in the water there for the night. ”

“ She kept straight on and Arthur kept straight on. The moon dipped behind clouds and dove out of them; flashed her great blaze on the earth and shadowed it again. On and on they went, the stalker and the stalked. They were approaching the Moraine. Big stones began to lift out of the underbrush on either side. Some were like great tables, flat and smooth; comfortable and comforting. Others were perturbing—like huge monsters that had thrust themselves out of the earth, were resting on their front paws or their haunches even. ”

“ Rosie declared. “I’m so mad I don’t know what I wouldn’t do.”
“I don’t believe they’re worth taking any notice of,” Laura decided contemptuously, “gypsies like that. Why don’t you tell their aunt, Maida?”
[Pg 90]
“I’d like to,” Maida answered, “but I guess I won’t. I like Aunt Save too much.”
“Anyway,” Harold pointed out, “it isn’t anything that concerns them. It’s all between us children.”
“No, I wouldn’t want any grown people to get mixed up in this at all,” Arthur said. “I wouldn’t say anything about it to Granny Flynn or Mrs. Dore. It’ll only worry them and nobody’s the worse for it. ”

“ Rosie took up with Laura’s plan immediately. “We can get up early; cook the eggs and make the sandwiches. There’ll be enough cake left over. And don’t let’s—oh listen, everybody! Remember not to forget the salt. People always forget the salt on picnics.”
“It’s ice cream day to-morrow,” Harold said sadly. “We’ll miss it if we are not home to freeze it.”
“No, if you boys will get up early and make it, we can take it along in the freezer with us,” Rosie suggested daringly.
“Sure!” Arthur was highly enthusiastic. “I don’t care how early I have to get up to make ice cream. ”

“ When the second bell rang, the boys came in from the barn and the twelve children, Granny Flynn at one end of the table and Mrs. Dore at the other, sat down to a breakfast of fruit, oatmeal, eggs, and all the milk they wanted.
After breakfast, Maida said, “Now, first, I want to show the six little children where’s the nicest place for them to play. Do the rest of you want to come?”
The rest did want to come. Perhaps Laura voiced their sentiments when she said, “That’s a great idea, Maida. Get the little children interested, so they won’t be forever tagging us.” ”

“ For an instant, the adults moved anxiously. Then suddenly as though the word of alarm had been whispered into every velvety ear—dash! Flash! There came a series of white gleams as all their short tails went up. And then the glade was as empty as though there were no deer within a hundred miles.
Arthur went on. And now, as though he hoped for still another reward of his patience, he moved with even greater care. But for a long time, nothing happened. In the meantime clouds came up. Occasionally they covered the moon. ”

“ The noise grew louder and louder. A rough trail suddenly appeared. They raced over it as fast as their burdens would permit. The sound was now a lovely musical splash. They came out on an open space, surrounded by pines and thickly carpeted with pine needles. [Pg 146] At one side a great rock thrust out of the earth. Close beside it ran a tiny brook and just beyond the lee of the rock, the brook fell into a waterfall not more than a foot high. The children went wild with delight.
“Do you mean to tell me, Maida Westabrook, that you never knew this was here?” Rosie demanded. ”

“ Finally Maida asked them if they had any baskets ready for sale.
“A few,” Mrs. Savory said looking pleased. “Oh Silva, bring the baskets out! Maida you have never seen Silva and Tyma, have you? They’re my sister’s children. My sister died last summer and now they’re living with us.”
A voice answered, “In a moment.” It was a child’s voice and yet it had a curious grown-up accent as of an unusual decision of character. The doors of one of the tents parted and a girl’s head appeared in the opening. The children stared at her. For an instant nobody spoke. ”

“ Rosie exclaimed, “I love flowers!”
“We are to keep the house decorated with flowers. And once every week, we are to do the housekeeping for the entire day—that’s Floribel’s and Zeke’s day off. That day, we have to plan the meals; do the marketing; cook the food; wash and wipe the dishes.”
“Gee, I’m glad I’m not a girl,” Harold said jubilantly.
“Oh your turn comes now,” Maida declared. “You boys have got to weed and water the vegetable garden; gather vegetables whenever they are needed; run errands; take care of the tennis court.”
“For my part,” Laura declared, “I wish we did all the cooking. ”

“ The sun struck into the open door and shot over the shining sides of half-a-dozen brilliantly colored canoes lying face-downwards on the floor; glittered in the bright-work of half-a-dozen bicycles, drawn up in a line.
The front door of the house opened as the automobile came in sight and a colored man and woman, young and smiling, came out to meet them. The automobile seemed to explode children, who started over the lawn of the house. ”

“ Laura interrupted, “although Maida and Rosie do it so easily. I think they’re just as hard as a composition. If you can write a letter, you ought to be able to write a composition, and if you can write a composition, you ought to be able to write a letter.”
“And then,” Arthur went on with the argument, “geography is so dull in school. You never learn about the places you’d like to know about—like Gibraltar and the Desert of Sahara and the North Pole and the jungles of Africa and the Great Wall of China, and the Mammoth Cave and the Grand Cañon. ”