A Sweet Little Maid Part 23

"We are going to start early to-morrow afternoon, if it is pleasant. We will take supper with us. We are going up the river to the island, and have our meal there."

"Fine! fine! Oh, Florence, you have never been to the island, and it is just lovely there. I think you are very good to let us go, mamma, after our running away in a boat."

"Who ever heard of any one's running away in a boat?" laughed Mrs.

Dallas. "Now be good children, and keep out of the way, for Sylvy and I have a lot to do."

"We'll be good as possible, mamma, but just one more question: are you going to take Bubbles?"

"I hadn't thought of it."

"Oh, do, please; she'd be a lot of help, and she'd simply jump out of her skin if she thought she would be allowed to go."

"Then we'd better let her stay in her skin. She would be very uncomfortable without it, even in this warm weather."

"Please, mamma."

Mrs. Dallas considered for a moment, and then said: "Well, yes, upon the whole, I think it would be rather a good plan, but she must not neglect her work to-day. If she gets through all that she has to do by the time we start she may go, but not otherwise. She will have extra work to-day, because Sylvy is more than usually busy."

"May we help her a little bit? We could clean the knives, and sh.e.l.l the peas."

"I think that would be very kind if you did."

"And may we tell her?"

"If you like."

The two little girls ran off to where Bubbles was was.h.i.+ng out dish towels by the kitchen door. "Bubbles! Bubbles! You are going on a picnic," cried Dimple.

Bubbles dropped the dish towel she was dousing up and down in the water.

"Me, Miss Dimple? Me? Who say so?"

"Mamma. There is to be a picnic to-morrow, and you are to go along with us. Aren't you glad?"

"Hm! Hm! I reckon I is. All dem cakes an' pies an' good eatin's, an' I gwine have some fo' dey gits mashed up an' soft, an' I gwine wait on de ladies and gent'mans. Ain't dat fine?" She gave a twist to her towel and shook it out with a snap. Then she was overtaken by a sudden fear. "Yuh ain't a-foolin' me, is yuh?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't be so mean as to fool you about such a thing. But mamma says you mustn't dawdle to-day. So hurry up and get those towels done. Sylvy is going to be awfully busy, so you'll have to help her, but we're going to clean the knives for you, and sh.e.l.l the peas. Bring them down to the little house; we're going down there. We might set the table, too, Florence."

"Thanky, ma'am, Miss Dimple. Thanky, Miss Flo'ence." Bubbles' face was beaming, and her slim, black legs went scudding into the house with more than their usual agility.

"I shouldn't wonder if Rock were to come over, Florence," said Dimple; "then he can help us to sh.e.l.l the peas, so we can have some time to play. Rock will want to talk over the picnic, and he will want to see how the garden is coming on. I think the pumpkin vine is coming up. I can't tell whether it is that or a weed, but Rock will know."

"Rock always thinks of such nice plays; I hope he will come," returned Florence; and, indeed, they had hardly established themselves on the porch of the little house before the boy's cheery whistle was heard, and the three children, after faithfully fulfilling the promise to Bubbles to relieve her of some of her tasks, determined to invent a new play.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Rock. "We'll dig a cave over here, and we'll pretend a company of bandits live in it, and they will capture one of your dolls. Then we will go to the rescue."

"Who'll be the bandits?"

"Why, let me see. We'll take sticks of wood; little branches with two p.r.o.ngs, like this; they make the legs, you see; and then we'll stick on something round for the heads, turnips or onions or something like that."

"There aren't any turnips this time of year," returned Dimple, "and onions smell so strong. We can get potatoes, though, and they have eyes, so I should think they would make very good heads."

Rock laughed. "So they will."

"I'll go and see if mamma will let me have--how many?"

"Oh, half a dozen or so."

Dimple started for the house; then suddenly remembered that she had promised not to bother her mother, and she stood still for a moment. But the idea of the bandits was too alluring, and so she proceeded to the house, putting her head timidly in at the dining-room door, where her mother was still busy.

"Mamma," she said, "are potatoes very expensive?"

"No, not very. What a funny question. Did you come all the way in here to ask that?"

"No, mamma, not exactly; but do they cost too much for you to give us half a dozen for our bandits?"

"For your bandits! What do you mean?"

"Why, we are going to have a lovely play--Rock made it up--and we can't have any bandits unless we have heads for them, and I said potatoes would do, because they have eyes. May we have half a dozen?"

Mrs. Dallas smiled. "Yes, but you must not ask Sylvy or Bubbles to get them for you."

"I'll get them if you will tell me where they are."

"They are down in the cellar. Please, Dimple, don't bother me again. Try to play without coming up after things all the time."

"Yes, mamma," Dimple replied, very meekly. "I wouldn't have come this time if it had been for anything but the bandits."

Mrs. Dallas let her go, and then called her back, for she had seen a little wistful look in the child's face when her mother spoke shortly.

"Come, kiss me, dear," she said. "I want you to know that you are quite welcome to the potatoes. They will make very inexpensive and harmless playthings, and I hope your bandits will turn out just as you want them to."

Dimple gave her a grateful hug.

"You may stop in the kitchen and get a turnover apiece for you three children. Tell Sylvy I said you might."

"Oh, mamma, how dear you are," and the happy little face disappeared.

The six potato-headed bandits proved most venturesome creatures, and kept their captive safe from her would-be rescuers, till she was redeemed by the payment of a hundred pieces of gold, represented by b.u.t.tercup petals, and the morning pa.s.sed so quickly that the children could scarcely believe it, when Bubbles came--as they had told her to do--to tell them it was time to set the dinner-table.

"Shall I fill up the cave?" Rock asked.

"Oh no, we might want to use it again," Dimple decided. "That was such a lovely, exciting play, Rock."

"Then we'd better cover up the cave. Some one might step in it, and get hurt."

After hunting around, an old battered tin pan was found, which was laid over the entrance, but, alas! it was not proof against Bubbles'

unfairy-like tread, for she stepped on it that very evening, and down she went, but, as luck had it, she did nothing worse than scratch her toes upon the very rough body of the bandit chief; although, be it confessed, he fared worse by the encounter than she did, for he had both legs broken beyond hope of saving. The next morning he was carefully carried away to a hospital and devotedly nursed by one of Dimple's dolls; but he never recovered, though he lingered for several days. His funeral was quite a magnificent affair, and he was buried with proper ceremonies under the very tree upon which he originally grew.