A Colony of Girls Part 16

Gladys' head drooped, and she gave Farr a shy glance from out of the corners of her eyes.

"Was I vewy heavy?" she asked, in such a plaintive little voice that he had hard work to keep his face straight as he hastened to rea.s.sure her.

"Is not this a sylvan retreat, and are you not glad you came?" Jean queried, looking over her shoulder at him as she led the way into the summerhouse.

"Glad!" he echoed. "Glad does not begin to express it."

"Wait until you see how sleepy and stupid I am before you make such a rash a.s.sertion. Evidently you are in no way disheartened," she added, as Farr, looking somewhat incredulous, took his place beside her on the low seat.

"Not one whit," he replied softly. "It would be a very novel experience for me to find you stupid."

Jean turned a quizzical glance upon him.

"What an extravagant compliment. Where did you learn such gallantry?"

"When first I saw you," he returned, and although he spoke lightly there was an undercurrent of earnestness in his tone.

Gladys, who had been chasing a b.u.t.terfly around and around the summerhouse, now stopped at the doorway and peeped in. She lingered a moment, tilting her head, first on one side and then on the other, and smiling encouragingly on the twain. Then, as neither Jean nor Farr took any notice of her, she twisted about and scampered off toward the playground. Larry and Willie hailed her with delight, and anyone watching the three little heads so close together would have known that there was mischief brewing.

"I know some splendid fun," Willie was saying in a cautiously lowered voice. "I read lots about it in a book. It's all about flyin' machines an' human birds. Let's go over to the orchard, an' I'll tell you how to play it."

"Me, too, Willie, please," piped Gladys.

"Oh, yes. You can come along, 'cause you're just the person we might want," and Willie's air of importance was most impressive.

"I guess Jean won't mind," said Larry.

Willie was far too excited to vouchsafe a reply, and the children scurried along toward the orchard. Their route lay past the summerhouse, and when they were opposite it some pin-p.r.i.c.k of conscience made them pause and look within. Jean and Farr were deeply absorbed in conversation, and it was quite apparent, even to their childish minds, that their sister would never notice their absence. Of one accord they broke into a run, and did not subside into a more demure pace until the shrubbery hid them from view.

"You see," said Willie, when he had recovered his breath, "it is the greatest fun to play birds. All we've got to do is to use our arms right, an' then we can fly good enough. It said so in the book," he ended with a wise little nod of his head.

Gladys' eyes grew big with wonder.

"Can I fly, too?" she pleaded.

"Course you can. You're just the most princ.i.p.al."

Gladys beamed upon him, and her face wore a proud smile. To have Willie call her "the most princ.i.p.al" was a very deep and far-reaching compliment.

Willie heaved a sigh of relief when, after scrambling over the stone wall, they were at last within the orchard.

"Now, n.o.body can find us. We've all got to learn to fly. See, Larry, you just flop your arms so. They've got to be our wings."

"Don't guess I'se got any wings," sighed Gladys, "'cause they don't f'y me a bit."

Willie and Larry were racing around the orchard, swinging their arms in the air until they looked like animated wind-mills. Gladys trotted after them, striving to imitate their motions until her little legs and arms grew very weary. Then she stopped and stood watching them disconsolately.

"I don't fink you games any fun at all," she exclaimed, in an aggrieved tone, as the boys ran up to her puffing and panting from their exertions. "You don't f'y a bit like birdies, any more nor I do."

Willie eyed her with great scorn.

"Oh, you're only a baby. Course you can't do anything."

"You said I was most princ.i.p.al," Gladys reminded him, with quivering lips.

"Oh, I say," Larry broke in, "I'll tell you what we'll do, Will. We'll play she's a baby bird, an' then we'll teach her to fly. We must put her up in a tree, an' then pretend to shove her out of the nest, just the way the mamma bird does."

Gladys' face brightened, and she smiled sunnily.

"P'r'aps," objected tender-hearted Willie, "she might tumble herself an' break her wings."

Larry scouted the idea.

"You're a regular m.u.f.f, Will. Gladys ain't afraid; are you, Gladys?"

"Course I aren't," cried Gladys stoutly.

After an exciting and somewhat heated discussion, the boys finally arrived at a satisfactory decision as to the best way of getting Gladys up into a tree, and, in the midst of much chaffing and some wrangling, a rustic bench was drawn to the foot of a gnarled old apple tree, and the difficult task was begun. "Oh, dear!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Willie, very red and very warm, "She's a terrible heavy bird."

They were in a perilous position, and Gladys' burst of laughter nearly brought them all to the ground.

"Guess I eated too many worms," she said.

When at last she was safely perched on a projecting branch, Willie clambered down and drew away the bench, and Larry, sitting astride another branch, a.s.sumed the role of master of ceremonies.

"Now, little bird," he said authoritatively, "I ain't goin' to bring you any more worms to eat, an' you just got to learn to fly yourself.

You must flap your wings like this, an' when I count three you must fly away."

Gladys' first attempt to follow these instructions nearly upset her, but she regained her balance and gripping tight hold of an overhanging limb turned a troubled face toward her brother.

"I guess my wings is gwowed w'ong."

"Cause there ain't any feathers on 'em, I s'pose," giggled Larry.

This sally proved too much for Gladys, and flinging back her head she burst into a merry peal of laughter. In her sudden movement her little hands lost their hold on the limb, and plunging forward she fell heavily to the ground. One sharp cry and then the child lay still and silent, her little white face upturned.

"Oh!" gasped Willie, "p'r'aps she's broke her wings."

Larry slipped quickly down from the tree, and leaned anxiously over his little sister's prostrate form.

"Get up, Gladys," he pleaded, and then, as the child did not stir, he began to cry piteously.

For an instant Willie stood irresolute, his hands tightly clinched, his ruddy face grown pale with fear.

"I'm going to find Jean," he said, and turned and started on a run toward the shrubbery.

Larry caught hold of him and clung to him in an agony of fear.