Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm Part 16

He came to the gate in the hedge.

"Jud, if Miss Polly comes home and doesn't find any children, just tell her they're with me and that we'll be home by six. I'm going up in the mountain."

"All right," said Jud.

"How do you go up in the mountain?" inquired Meg curiously, as they turned into the road.

She was sitting on the front seat with Peter, Twaddles was between them, and Dot was in her lap. Bobby stood up in the wagon behind them and looked over their shoulders.

"I guess I mean up on the mountain," Peter corrected himself. "We've got kind of a habit round here of saying 'in the mountain.' Ever been up there?"

The four little Blossoms had never been there--indeed they did not know there was a mountain near by.

"Well, I suppose it's more of a hill," admitted Peter. "But it's the best mountain we have. Queer people live up there. They don't see much of anybody, and some of 'em's as timid as deer. The children, now, run when they see a stranger coming."

"What are we going to get?" asked Bobby. He had been long enough on the farm to know that when one harnessed up a horse and wagon there was usually something to be fetched or carried.

"I'm going up to see if I can't get a woman to come down next week and help Mrs. Peter do some cleaning," explained Peter. "Help's scarce in the town, and some of the mountain-folk like to earn a little money in the summer. Miss Polly taking the buggy, I had to get along with the market wagon. 'Sides, the thought came to me that I might meet some one who wanted a ride."

Meg saw Peter's eyes twinkling and she guessed that he had meant to ask them to go with him all the time.

Terry was going up a steep road now, narrow as well as steep, and the untrimmed trees lashed against the curtained sides of the wagon as it pa.s.sed.

"Here's Mrs. Cook's house," said Peter at last.

The children saw a little unpainted house standing in a clearing of half-chopped tree-stumps. A line of was.h.i.+ng was strung between the two posts that supported a narrow roof over the door. Skins of animals were tacked on the sides of the house, and a large hound dog chained to a tree watched them closely.

"Can we get out and see the dog?" asked Meg, as Peter tied Terry to a convenient tree.

"I don't know as I'd touch the dog," said Peter. "Better keep away from him. He's a night hunter, and may be cross. There's Mrs. Cook's little girl--go and make friends with her If you want to."

Peter went up to the house door and knocked, and Meg walked over to a little girl seated on a tree stump.

The child was barefooted and wore a ragged dress, but her skin was a beautiful clear brown and her eyes were as blue as Meg's. She had lovely long brown hair, too.

"h.e.l.lo!" said Meg.

Apparently the little girl had not heard her coming, for she jumped when Meg spoke and turned swiftly. Then she shrieked loudly and dashed for the house. Peter came out at once.

"Guess you frightened her," he said. "And Christopher Columbus, I don't wonder. You look like a band of Indians let loose."

"My! we forgot these clothes," said Bobby. "Meg didn't mean to frighten her. Look at Twaddles--she scared him pretty near stiff yelling like that."

Mrs. Cook came out to the wagon presently, to tell Peter that she would come the next week. She was a little thin, brown-faced woman, and she was even shyer than Dot, who usually shrank out of sight when there were any strangers around.

"These Miss Polly's 'lations?" asked Mrs. Cook, twisting her ap.r.o.n nervously.

CHAPTER XIII

LINDA IS UNHAPPY

"Every one of 'em," announced Peter. "These, ma'am, are the four little Blossoms!"

"We didn't mean to scare your little girl," said Meg bravely. "I guess she thought we were Indians. These are just play clothes."

"Emma Louise scares easy," said Mrs. Cook. "All my children do."

"How many have you?" asked Twaddles, meaning to be polite.

"Nine," replied Mrs. Cook serenely. "Four boys and five girls."

"We have to be going, if we get back in time for supper," hinted Peter, gathering up the reins. "I'll tell the Missus you'll walk down Tuesday morning, then, and I'll drive you home at night."

"Wait a minute," begged Dot, as Peter was about to turn Terry. It was the first word she had spoken since they had reached the Cook house.

"Give these to the little girl."

It was the chain of gay-colored beads Dot wore around her neck with the Indian dress, and Mrs. Cook's face wrinkled into a smile of delight.

"Emma Louise will love 'em," she declared brightly. "I'm much obliged."

Dot was too shy to say anything, but she blushed and smiled and inwardly wished that Peter would drive on. Soon they were going down the mountain again.

"Aunt Polly's at home!" shouted Dot, as they turned into the drive and she saw a white figure rocking in the porch swing.

Aunt Polly was very glad to see them, and she had not been worried because Jud had told her where the children had gone. The milking was done, she said, and everything fed, so if they would get washed and dressed right away for supper, Linda would put it on the table while they were upstairs.

"Linda looked as if she'd been crying," said Meg, slipping off the Indian dress and pulling on a clean white pique. "Her eyes were all red."

"Maybe she was bad and her mother scolded her," said Dot.

At the supper table Aunt Polly listened to the story of the afternoon's drive, and heard about Mrs. Cook and the queer little house, but all the time she seemed to be thinking of something else.

And there was certainly something seriously wrong with Linda. She scarcely ate any supper, and her eyes were red, as Meg said. Twaddles was sure she had the toothache. When he went out into the kitchen after supper he found her crying over the dishes, and she was cross to him and told him to get out of her kitchen.

"I guess Linda has the measles," reported the astonished Twaddles to the rest of the family, who were on the front porch.

"Yes, I guess she's sick," remarked Bobby. "She didn't want any cold chicken."

"Was she bad, Aunt Polly?" questioned Dot "Did her mother punish her?"

"Well, Linda and I had decided not to bother you with our troubles,"

said Aunt Polly, "but I see we can't hide a thing from your sharp eyes. I have bad news to tell you. While you were away with Peter this afternoon, and while Linda and I were in town, a miserable chicken thief got into the chicken yard and stole ever so many chickens. We don't know yet how many. And they took nearly every one of Linda's ducks. She has the ducks for her own, you know, and she uses the money for her school clothes. So that's why she's crying."

The four little Blossoms sat and stared at Aunt Polly. They had completely forgotten the chickens and ducks and the one lame turkey shut into the tent till this minute.

"Aunt Polly!" gasped Meg, in a very little voice. "Aunt Polly--please, we were just playing, and--and----" Meg could not go on.