Brenda's Ward Part 21

"I won't, I promise you I won't."

Martine looked keenly at her friend, wondering if she really feared that she would be so thoughtless.

"I suppose I was rather mean last summer," she reflected, "and it's natural, perhaps, for Priscilla to lack confidence in me."

When they were ready to start Martine was somewhat disappointed that they could not go to Plymouth by boat.

"A train seems so prosaic," she said; "and now when I am going to historic ground, I should like to be able to jump ash.o.r.e--just as the Pilgrims did."

"I didn't suppose you'd take so much interest. Last summer--"

"Now, Prissie! After all my efforts this winter, surely you might admit that I have improved. Why, now, I've wholly forgotten that we ever had a French and English question to dispute over. Before we reach Plymouth I'll be as good a Puritan as you."

Mrs. Tilworth and Lucian saw the two girls safely on board their train.

But from Boston to Plymouth Priscilla and Martine travelled alone. They had so much to talk of that the journey seemed short enough, and Martine was surprised when the conductor called Plymouth.

Hardly had Priscilla's foot touched the platform, when a whirlwind of heads and arms seemed to engulf her.

"Say, I'm going to ride up in the carriage--"

"No, I am!"

"What did Aunt Sarah send us?"

"Oh, Priscilla, I'm so glad you're home. The yellow cat has four of the cunningest kittens!"

"Yes, and we've had to muzzle Carlo, because a mad dog from Kingston ran through town the other day."

"There, there," and Priscilla disentangled herself from the arms of the children. "Martine, these are my little brothers and sister. There are only three of them--though they sound like a regiment. Children, this is my great friend, Martine Stratford."

The children looked up brightly, and held out their hands.

"We are very glad to see you," said Marcus, the elder boy.

"We hope you'll stay a long time," added George, the second.

Little Lucy was too shy to speak to the newcomer, but she held up her head, as if expecting the kiss that Martine promptly bestowed on her.

The resemblance between the three children was very striking, and they all looked like Priscilla, with their calm, blue eyes and blonde hair.

"Say, Priscilla," exclaimed Marcus, recovering from the awful moment of being introduced to a stranger. "Say, now, I _can_ ride up with you, can't I?"

"It's my turn," interposed George. "'Tisn't fair for you to ride every time."

"Lucy can come with us," replied Priscilla. "There's no room for you boys."

"Let them all come with us," cried Martine. "We won't mind being crowded."

"Of course, I don't mind," responded Priscilla. "I was thinking of you."

The carriage into which the children climbed was an old-fas.h.i.+oned carryall, the driver an elderly man, who addressed Priscilla without formality.

"What did Aunt Sarah send me?" persisted George, as they drove along.

"But, my dear, it isn't long since you had your Christmas presents,"

protested Priscilla.

"You never come home without bringing something."

"Wait and see," said Priscilla, squeezing Lucy. "It seems as if I hadn't seen a child for a year."

"You were here Christmas; you didn't go away until New Year's," said the literal Marcus.

"I mean that I haven't had a chance to talk to a child, not to mention squeezing one," responded the smiling Priscilla.

"Aren't there any little girls in Boston?" asked Lucy, timidly. "Haven't your friends any sisters and brothers?"

"Martine hasn't, and she's my best friend."

"Oh, how too bad!"

"That I'm Priscilla's best friend?"

"No; that you haven't brothers and sisters."

"I have a big brother, but he's in college."

"Oh!"

"Here we are! There's mother at the door."

In her delight, Priscilla was almost ready to jump from the carriage before it had fully stopped. Again Martine stared at her friend. Could this be the cool, unemotional Priscilla? The greetings of mother and daughter could have been no warmer had they been separated for years instead of months.

"There, there, Priscilla, Martine will think we have forgotten her--I should know you, my dear--" and Mrs. Danforth held out both hands to Martine, "from Priscilla's enthusiastic descriptions of you. I can see you are just what she said you were."

From that moment when Mrs. Danforth kissed her lightly on the forehead, Martine felt perfectly at home.

As Martine had approached the Danforth house, she had noticed that the house was a large, square wooden structure, painted brown. The paint, indeed, was faded in spots, and the general aspect was rather dingy.

Once inside the house, Martine, without meaning to be critical, was slightly impressed by the general air of shabbiness. The carpets were dull from the trampling of many little feet, the furniture was simple, the pictures old-fas.h.i.+oned, and the gilt frames somewhat tarnished. But there were books everywhere, in the open bookshelves in hall and sitting-room. Open fires were blazing in large fireplaces.

When Priscilla led her to her own room there was the same air of homelikeness, from the easy-chair drawn up before the fire to the large bowls of mayflowers on mantelpiece and dressing-table.

After supper, when all gathered around her, Lucy on her knee, the boys hanging over her chair, to hear what she had to tell about Chicago--for this was their special request--Martine felt as if she had known the Danforths all her life.

As to Priscilla--Martine now really understood why Eunice Airton and Priscilla had been so much to each other. Far apart though Plymouth and Annapolis were, the Danforth household had an atmosphere very similar to that of the Airton family. It was true that Eunice had no younger brothers or sister, nor was Mrs. Danforth quite as old-fas.h.i.+oned as Mrs.

Airton in manner and speech.