Harper's Round Table, July 9, 1895 Part 7

"By all means," said her brother, who was always on the side of the Franklins, "and, Edith, you'll play with me, won't you, in mixed doubles?"

"Oh, I don't play well enough!" exclaimed Edith. "Thank you ever so much, Dennis, but you had better ask some one else. I don't think I'll play."

Every one objected to this, but it was finally settled that Edith should act as one of the hostesses for the important occasion, which was greatly to her satisfaction. She rather enjoyed moving slowly and gracefully about, pouring tea and lemonade, and handing it to the poor, heated players, who were obliged to work so hard for their fun.

They were startled by the sound of the clock on the church across the road. It struck six, and Edith rose in haste.

"I must go," she said. "I had no idea it was so late! Those children have probably gotten into all kinds of mischief while I've been away, and papa will not be home until late, so I am not to wait in the village for him."

The others looked after her as she drove away.

"Isn't she the sweetest, dearest girl?" cried Gertrude. "And won't it be hard for her if her father marries again, as every one says he is going to do? But, after all, it may be a good thing, for then Edith wouldn't have to do so much for the children. I wonder if she knows about it?

She hasn't breathed a word of it, even to me."

Janet and w.i.l.l.y, the inseparable but ever-fighting pair, came in at the side door, not very long after Edith went to the village. They found the house empty and the coast clear, and their active brains immediately set to work to solve the question of what mischief they could do.

They wandered into the big silent kitchen. The servants were upstairs, and beyond the buzzing of a fly on the window-pane and the singing of the kettle on the range perfect quiet reigned.

"Let's go down and see the inkerbaker," suggested w.i.l.l.y.

"All right," returned Janet, affably, and down they pattered as fast as their st.u.r.dy little legs could carry them.

They peered in through the gla.s.s front at the eggs, which lay so peacefully within.

"It must be turrible stupid in there," said Janet, pityingly. "Shouldn't you think those chickens would be tired of waiting to come out?"

"Yes. We might crack a lot and help 'em out."

"Oh, no. Jack says they won't be ready for two days. But I'll tell you what we might do. We might see whether it's hot enough for 'em in there.

I guess Jack's forgotten all about 'em. I don't believe he's been near 'em to-day, nor Martha, either."

"How d'yer find out whever it's hot enough?"

"I don't know. Guess you open the door, and put your hand in and feel."

For Janet had never been taught the significance of the thermometer inside, and knew nothing of the proper means of ventilating the machine.

No sooner said than done. One of the doors was promptly opened, and two fat hands were thrust into the chamber.

"My goodies, it's hot there!" cried Janet. "We ought to cool it off.

Let's leave the door open and turn down the lamp, and open the cellar window."

Mounted on an old barrel, Janet, at the risk of her life, struggled in vain with the window. She chose one that was never used, and it refused to respond to her efforts. Then she descended, and returned to the incubator.

"Can't do it," she said. "But I'll tell you what we'll do."

"What?" asked the ever-ready w.i.l.l.y.

"Pour some ice water over 'em. That'll cool 'em nicely."

They travelled up the cellar stairs to the "cooler," which stood in the hall.

"Wish we had a pitcher," said Janet. "You take the tum'ler, and I'll get a dipper."

It required several journeys to and fro to sufficiently cool the eggs, according to their way of thinking, but at last it was accomplished, with much dripping of water and splas.h.i.+ng of clean clothes.

The water-cooler was left empty, and the incubator was in a state of dampness alarming to behold.

"There; I guess it's cool enough now!" said Janet, when the last trip had been taken.

Alas, the mercury, which should have remained at 103, had dropped quietly down to 70.

"I'd like to see what's in those eggs," said w.i.l.l.y, meditatively. "D'yer s'pose they're chickies yet?"

"I guess so. I'd like to see, too. I'll tell you what, w.i.l.l.y? Let's take one, and carry it off and see."

"All right. I'll be the one to take it. What'll Jack say?"

"He won't mind. Just one egg, and he has such a lot. And we've been helping him lots this afternoon, cooling 'em off so nicely. But I'll be the one to take it."

"No, me!"

"Let's both do it," said Janet, for once anxious to avoid a quarrel. "I speak for that big one over there," and she abstracted one from the "thermometer row," the row that was most important and precious in the eyes of the owner of the machine.

"And I'll take dis one. It's awful heavy, and I guess de dear little chicken'll he glad to get out and have some nice fresh air."

"Let's go down behind the carriage-house and look at 'em."

They fastened the door of the incubator, and departed with their treasures.

Half an hour later, Jack, having finished his work, came whistling into the house. He would go down and have a look at the machine, and then walk up the river-bank to meet Cynthia, whom he had seen as she paddled off early in the afternoon.

His first glance at the thermometer gave him a shock--75 it registered.

What had happened? He looked at the lamp which heated the chambers, and found that it had been turned down very low. What could Martha have been thinking of, when he told her it was so important to keep up the temperature this last day or so? The day after to-morrow he expected the hatching to begin, and he had closed the door of the incubator that morning. It was not to be opened again until the chicks were out.

Jack was on tiptoe with excitement. If they came out well, what a triumph it would be! If they failed, what would his father say?

He looked again, and a most unexpected sight met his eyes. Water was dripping from the trays, and the fine gravel beneath had become mud.

And there was a vacant s.p.a.ce in the tray. An egg had gone--and it was from the third row, the row which he had been so careful about, which contained the best eggs.

And, yes, surely there was another hole. Another egg gone! What could have happened?

He ran up stairs three steps at a time, shouting for Martha.

"What have you been doing, Martha?" he cried. "Two eggs are gone, and the thermometer way below 80, and all that water!"

"Sure, Mr. Jack, I haven't been there at all! You were at home yourself to-day, and I never go near the place of a Sat.u.r.day."