Algernon suffered more serious consequences from his wetting than the others did from theirs. His cold the next day prevented him from even attempting to go to the library. He wrote a note to Bertha, asking her to take his place, and then, groaning over his inability to get to the telephone, coaxed Elsmere to his side and sewed the note and the key to his blouse.

“You cross your heart and hope to die you’ll go straight to Bertha’s and give her the key?”

“Cross my heart. Hope die. And you’ll give me six candies and a rocking-horse, and a ’lectric light and a house for my pigeons, and–”

“I’ll give you something nice when you’ve done the errand, not before. Now hurry. The library can’t open till you get there. Think of it! All those people who want books waiting for you!” Coughing, Algernon fell back upon his hated pillows, and watched his messenger set out, more in hope than in confidence.

It was Fate that prevented Elsmere’s fulfilling 177 the trust, or rather, realizing the hope, for though he did go straight to Bertha’s house, he did not find her there. The maid who opened the door proved uncommunicative on the subject of Bertha’s whereabouts, and Elsmere sauntered away, undecided what to do next. Ten feet from the gate, he stumbled upon a cat. At once a beautiful thought came to him. His own cat-pussy had gone away, tired of abuse and starvation irregularly combined with affection in the form of embraces and sugar, and Elsmere’s heart had grieved for her. Here was another, and he could find out by actual experiment whether the velvet birds in the library would deceive her. Clutching the spitting, clawing creature to his bosom, he trotted off to the library.

The door, of course, was locked. At first this fact discouraged Elsmere. Then he suddenly remembered that he alone possessed means of entrance. Putting the cat down on the pavement and stepping firmly on her tail to retain her, he fitted the key and triumphantly turned it in the lock.

Once inside, he carried kitty to the closet where the birds at present hung, but his experiment was unsatisfactory, for she dug into his cheek with a fury which rendered it necessary to abandon the attempt. When the outraged animal had fled down the street, Elsmere looked about for fresh interests. He was in a mood to recognize opportunities, and the unprotected condition of Algernon’s 178 desk was suggestive. Never was a librarian more hostile to little prying fingers than A. Swinburne of the Winsted City Library. Elsmere felt a certain constraint, even alone with opportunity.

The door opened and a very small person came in and walked over to the desk.

“What you want?” asked Elsmere gravely.

“Want a book.”

“All right.” Elsmere walked to the shelves, took down a large volume of Sheridan’s Memoirs, and handed it to the child. Plainly much impressed by the size of her booty, she wrapped her arms about it and walked out, with admiring glances at Elsmere over her shoulder. Elsmere was pleased. That was easy. He climbed into Algernon’s chair. There were plenty of things to amuse one. Rubber stamps hold infinite possibilities of entertainment. So do colored cards arranged in trays. Elsmere shifted them all about, and stamped the date on everything in sight.

Then came more Public, Mrs. Kittredge’s maid this time, returning a book and not wishing more. In fact, she laid down the book and departed with such would-be inconspicuous swiftness that if Elsmere had been more experienced, he would have known at once that the book was overdue.

Then there was a lull. Even forbidden pleasure palls in time, if no one comes to remonstrate, and Elsmere was beginning to consider going home, 179 when three boys, strolling that way, pressed their noses against the window-pane. Then they wandered in.

“What’s the kid doin’ in the liberrian’s chair?” asked one. Elsmere maintained a dignified silence, stamping the date rapidly and inkily on a pile of fresh catalog cards.

“Say, kid, where’s the liberrian?”

“I’m liberrian.”

“O, come off. Where’s the real one? The feller that knows it all, and walks like a seesaw.”

“That’s Algy,” said Elsmere, with fraternal recognition. “Algy’s sick. I’m liberrian.”

His questioner looked at him keenly.

“I say, kids, let’s us be liberrians. You put the little feller out.”

The obedient henchmen put the howling Elsmere down from his seat, and exalted their chief.

“I’m it,” said that worthy. “You pick out books you want, and I’ll fix ’em up.”

The others, nothing loath, picked out certain extra-illustrated volumes which Algernon did not allow to circulate, and presented them at the desk, where they helped the presiding official to “fix ’em up” according to methods suggested by intuition combined with a little observation.

“Say, now it’s my turn,” said one of the subordinates. “You git down and let me. Does that chair screw ’round?”

180It did, and in the ensuing scuffle, it not only screwed around but the top fell off, carrying three boys and an assortment of inks with it.

At the same moment, Max and Archie entered to while away an idle half-hour with the daily paper.

The big boys were prompt, but the little boys were prompter. The back door swung on its hinges and Max and Archie, puffing, ejaculating and wrathful, gave over attempts at capture for efforts at repair, Max going off to hunt up Algernon, while Archie gathered up scattered cards and mopped up the ink with dust-cloths.

Seeking Algernon, Max ran across Mrs. Osgood making calls. Hearing his tale, she went back with him to the scene of disaster, and her capable fingers soon brought about some appearance of order, though the intricacies of card systems were beyond her.

“I’d like to know who the rascals are that did it,” she said with emphasis; “and I can’t see how they got in. Where do you suppose Algernon is?”

“He caught cold yesterday,” Archie told her, “but it doesn’t seem possible that he would send down anybody who would go off and leave the place open. I saw the little Weed boy, but I didn’t know the other two. They lit out like lightning, and I didn’t care to chase them all up Main Street. I was going to the Smiths’ to have a cup of tea!” 181 Archie looked ruefully at his soiled garments and dark blue hands. “I wonder if we couldn’t get Bertha to come in here. She knows the ins and outs of all these fancy arrangements.”

“Berfa isn’t to home,” remarked a clear sweet voice from the closet. “Fat’s why I had to be liberrian!”

Max threw open the door. Elsmere, on the wood-box, was contentedly jiggling the velvet birds, which had been the first cause of all the excitement.

At the sight of Max’s angry face, he jumped up. “I got to go,” he said hastily. “I’m awful busy. Must find my cat-pussy. I losted her when she scratched me.”

“Sensible cat,” growled Archie, taking Elsmere by the collar. “I wish she had losted you. Here, Mrs. Osgood, this seems to be the key to the mystery. At least it’s the key to something.” He lifted the key dangling from Elsmere’s blouse.

“Algy sewed it on me,” explained the child.

Mrs. Osgood sighed. “So Algernon is sick, and he sent you after Bertha, and she wasn’t at home. I see. Max, you and Archie needn’t wait. I’ll take the responsibility of closing the library for to-day, and I’d like a private talk with this young gentleman, if you are willing.”

Elsmere’s eyes brightened.

“Will you pank me?” he asked hopefully. “Dr. 182 Helen pank me when I eat pills. So!” In his effort to illustrate, he bent so nearly double that he fell over on his nose, and set it bleeding. Max and Archie caught up their hats and fled, leaving Mrs. Osgood to act upon inspiration.

Half an hour later, having by strenuous effort regained something of their former freshness of appearance, the two boys dropped in upon the group on the Three Gables lawn. They stopped a minute to take in the details of the pretty picture. Under a great apple tree, Catherine had set her tea-table with its pretty accessories. In comfortable chairs about it, sat the Boat Club girls, embroidering soft colored things or simply “visiting.” Frieda was telling a story, and the others were listening attentively as she stumbled a little now and then in her desire to express herself rapidly.

“And he was there in the water, all the above part of him, and I held his waist. I pulled greatly and in he came lickety split, and what do you think he said? ‘I big fish, Frieda. Pull me in and fy me.’”

“That was Elsmere, I’ll wager,” cried Max, approaching with Archie and giving Catherine his hand. “I’m glad you were talking about him, Miss Frieda, for we’re full of the subject. He never said the expected thing in his life. Drowning and spanking are what he needs; the only trouble is that he likes nothing better. But he’s beaten his record 183 to-day,” and while Archie dropped upon a rug near Hotspur, and incidentally near Bess, who was prettier than ever, and working on an Andover pillow, Max received a cup of tea from Catherine’s hands and told his story of the afternoon’s episode to a deeply interested audience.

“Poor Algernon!” sighed Polly. “That will make him so much extra work, and he must have his patience tried by that dreadful baby all the time.”

“Does no one punish Elsmere except the neighbors?” asked Frieda, whose opinion of the lawlessness of American children was being strengthened daily by Elsmere’s performances. Winifred answered, laughing.

“His mother made up her mind to, once. She told me about it. She told him she would not be his mother that day for he had been so bad she was ashamed to own him. Some one had told her that was a sure way to crush a child. But Elsmere was only interested. He called her ‘Mamma’ and ‘Mummy dear’ to catch her napping, but she wouldn’t answer. By and by a caller came in, and Elsmere walked up to her and pointed at his mother and said: ‘This isn’t my mother. She is just Mrs. Swinburne, but I love her!’ And Mrs. Swinburne picked him up and kissed him and cried, and I don’t believe she ever tried again to make him mind.”

184“I’m glad Perdita and Peter are such a biddable sort,” said Polly. “I don’t know what we’d do with two little imps around. They are quite good, almost always. Perdita is mischievous, but Peter keeps her straight. He seems to feel the whole burden of her. If she starts to do anything naughty, he says: ‘Perdita, you mustn’t,’ and Perdita doesn’t.”

“It’s lucky Perdita hasn’t Elsmere for a brother,” suggested Dot. “There’d be no living in Winsted if she had, for even Peter can’t keep a wicked look out of her eye at times.”

“Room for a tired man in your party, children?” Dr. Harlow joined the group. Max vacated the long chair he was occupying, and every one welcomed the doctor with a word or smile. They all loved him, and nothing pleased them better than to have him spend an hour with them. To-day, he was plainly tired, and while Catherine prepared tea for him, Frieda whispered to Hannah.

“I wonder if he would,” said Hannah. “Winifred, will you sing, if I bring out my fiddle?”

“Frieda was telling a story and the others were listening attentively.”–Page 184.