When Quon Wo decided that the ducklings were old enough, they were allowed to swim. But Polly never let them go to the pond alone. She went with them, and stood on dry land, watching their graceful motions. She seemed to feel ashamed not to swim herself; but she knew there was something the matter with her feet, so she never tried to learn.

“I don’t want Judy to catch any of those ducklings,” said Jimmy; “Judy’s horrid sometimes.”

“Will Punch catch any, do you think?” asked Mr. Sanford.

“Punch!” cried Jimmy indignantly. “Punch isn’t horrid; he’s good.”

“He’s a nice shepherd dog,” said Mr. Sanford, patting the animal’s head. “But he’s young yet. Let me see, how long have you had Punch?”

“Don’t you remember, Mr. Sanford? I should think you’d remember. ’Twas that time I had the toothache, and Aunt Vi made some walnut creams. It ached and ached. Mamma said I must go to the dentist. I didn’t like to; I was afraid. But Aunt Vi said, ‘Now you go with me, Jimmy, and I’ll write and tell Mr. Sanford.’ ’Twas when you were gone. Where were you gone, Mr. Sanford?”

“I was at Los Angeles.”

“Well, so I went to the dentist with Auntie. She said I was brave. Boys don’t cry, you know; not much. The thing the dentist pulled with was as sharp as the head of a pin,—no, the point of a pin. But when the tooth came out it never ached any more after that.

“And then Aunt Vi wrote to you; don’t you know? And you said you’d send me a present in a bag, and it would come that day to the post-office, and we must go right off and get it. I never guessed what it was; nobody could guess.

“How I laughed! how papa laughed! It was a great, strong bag. There, turn your head round, Punch! He had a blue ribbon round his neck then. Who would have thought he came in that bag? But he did. Didn’t you, Punch?

“He wasn’t half as big then as he is now. He never died at all. No, Punch, you breathed all the time just the same. And when we took you out of the bag you were as alive as could be, and wanted some bread and milk.”

Punch wagged his tail at this story as if he remembered it all.

“That was last March, if I’m not mistaken,” said Mr. Sanford. “And Punch was then six months old. That would make him a year old now.

“Well, he’s not very handsome, but he is a knowing dog. I think you did a good thing when you had that tooth out, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s head rose a little higher.

“Well, and I told mamma I was willing to go to the dentist again, for it didn’t hurt much. But mamma said I needn’t go again; ’twas no use to pull out my teeth when they didn’t ache. And, besides, I don’t want any more dogs, you know. What do I want of more dogs when I have Punch?

“Punch, come here! When you lick my hand so, and tickle me, I have to laugh. But he doesn’t look as if he came in a bag, does he, Mr. Sanford?”

Punch pricked up his ears, and began to bark. His big friend Toby across the way, Mrs. Porter’s dog, was barking, and little Punch never let Toby make more noise than he did if he could help it. Toby had espied a wagon coming up the hill. Very soon Punch saw it too through the trees, and then he knew what he had been barking about.

Dear, merry Mrs. Chick was in the wagon. She had come to town to buy her a dress, she said. And where was her little Lucy?

Lucy soon appeared on her tricycle, to the great delight of Mrs. Chick.

“I like to see the ducklings swim,” she said; “but it isn’t half so pretty a sight as my little girl dancing along on that fizzy-me-jig wheel with all sails flying.”

Mrs. Chick wanted to take two of the children home with her to stay all night, and Edith and Jimmy were only too glad to be allowed to go.

“This time I may churn butter, mayn’t I, Mrs. Chick?” said Jimmy. “You always said I might churn butter some time in that pretty green churn.”

“So you shall, if you get up early enough, my boy; so you shall,” said the good-natured woman cheerily. “The cream will be all ready in the morning by five o’clock. Do you like to get up at five o’clock?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do, if you’ll call me, Mrs. Chick.”

Mrs. Chick lived several miles away, on a ranch or farm. If her ranch had been all paid for she would have been a rich woman. She had lemon-trees, and a little lemon-house to dry the lemons in; she had orange and fig and olive trees, and so many different kinds of roses that she couldn’t remember all their names to save her life. The palm-trees had trunks that looked like enormous pine-apples. One queer tree with rough bark was called a “monkey-tree.” Mrs. Chick said she didn’t know why, unless it was because a monkey couldn’t climb it!

“No,” said Edy; “the needles and thorns on it would prick and scratch him awfully. I’d like to see the captain’s monkey try to climb it. How he would cry!”

The young Dunlees never failed to have a good time at Mrs. Chick’s. She lived alone, and had a funny way of talking to herself, and asking,—

“Do you hear what I say, Biddy Chick?”

Her first name was Bridget.

Then, too, she kept numerous pet animals, which she caressed and talked to almost like children. Somebody had just given her three bits of motherless tortoise-shell kittens; and it was interesting to see her feed them. She had a bottle of milk with a quill in it; and, taking one kitty on her lap at a time, she said, “Now, my pretty baby,” and put the quill in its mouth. When the “pretty baby” had sucked all the milk that it ought to have, she put it down and took up another baby.

The beautiful little creatures were just beginning to see; and what they thought of their large, fat mother and the bottle with a quill in it I cannot say. But they always ate heartily, and afterwards rolled themselves up in little balls close together on a cushion, and went to sleep in the sun, looking perfectly happy.

There was another pet, a playful young kid with a brass collar on his neck, who trotted about on his little black feet, following his mistress everywhere, even into the parlor. He, too, had been brought up on a bottle, and his name was Trot.

Mrs. Chick had two cows, a horse, and many hens and turkeys. She sometimes took the turkeys with her when she went visiting. Then there was a two years’ old baby over the way, who was always dancing in and out, and making a good deal of trouble; so Mrs. Chick was seldom lonely.

The children kept thinking what a lovely time they were having; but after tea they both felt tired, and at seven o’clock Mrs. Chick sent Jimmy to bed. The chamber was unfinished, and had no paper or plaster, and in some places the ceiling was so low that even little Jimmy could hardly stand upright. There was a live-oak tree close to the window, and he had seen a bird’s nest in the branches of the tree.

“I’ll hear the birds singing before I wake up,” thought Jimmy drowsily. “And I’ll go straight to sleep, for I’m going to churn that butter in the morning.”

But Jimmy did not go straight to sleep, nor did he waken early; and I will tell you why.

After he had gone up-stairs Mrs. Chick lighted a lamp and sat down in the kitchen to mend stockings, while Edith sat near her, looking over a picture-book. Presently Mrs. Chick said,—

“Dear me! I forgot to bring down that maple-sirup. I meant to have it for the waffles in the morning. But no matter now; I won’t stop to go after it.”

“Is it up-stairs?” asked Edith, who thought that it would be quite too bad to eat waffles without sirup.

“Yes; up-stairs in the closet in the northeast room. I keep it there because it’s a cool place. I used to keep it in the pantry, but the Morse baby always found out where to look for it. She climbs everywhere.”

“I think that Morse baby is more trouble than the kid,” said Edith. “But can’t I go up and get the sirup, Mrs. Chick? I’d like to so much.”

Mrs. Chick considered. She was tired, and did not wish to go herself; but could Edy be trusted with a lamp?

“Just hand down that candle from the mantel-piece, Edy. There,” said she, after lighting it, “that’s safe enough! The pitcher is right on the closet floor, under the lowest shelf, behind a box. Will you be very sure not to carry the candle into the closet?”

“Oh, no, indeed! Oh, yes, indeed, I mean! And I’ll be, oh, so careful!”

“Well, if you’ll remember to set the candle down by the chamber door, I think there’ll be no danger.”

“Yes, Mrs. Chick, I will,” said Edith, and danced away joyfully. It was almost an unheard-of thing for her to be trusted with a light, and she enjoyed it. She held the candle aloft, and peered rather cautiously about the unfinished room next door to Jimmy’s. The whole house was so queer, she thought, and Mrs. Chick put things in such droll places.

“If mamma knew I had this candle she’d be nervous. She talks to me about lamps and things as if I was a baby; but I guess she’ll find out I know as much as Kyzie. Kyzie singed her hair once. Father thinks I can’t take care. I mind all that’s said to me; I mind beautifully.

“Now, I wouldn’t forget what Mrs. Chick told me about this candle, not for anything! She told me to set it down by the closet door!”

Ah, Edith, a mistake already! She told you the chamber door!

“I remember a great deal better than Gertie Mercer. She can’t remember eight times nine to save her life. Let’s see, the pitcher’s on the closet floor behind a box.”

She opened the closet door, the candle still in her hand. What a delicious odor of apricots and peaches! Did Mrs. Chick keep her fruit here too? Such a funny woman!

Edith set her candle down by the closet door, and knelt just in front of it, the bottom of the candlestick almost touching the skirt of her frock! But as she peered into the closet she forgot there was anything in the world but a sirup pitcher and some apricots and peaches. That candlestick with the candle in it was as far away from her thoughts, to say the least, as the moon in the sky.

But the candle did not forget. It is the duty of a lighted candle to set fire to anything that is put in its way; and presently, when Edith by a quick movement thrust her skirt right into the flame of the candle, what could you expect but a blaze?

Before Edith could explore the closet floor and take out the sirup pitcher, the blaze was creeping up the back of her frock. She knew nothing about it till the smell of burning woollen reached her nostrils; and at the same instant she felt a dreadful sensation of heat, and knew that she was on fire! She screamed in horror,—

“Mrs. Chick! Mrs. Chick! Fire! Fire!” Oh, how far it was down-stairs! Could Mrs. Chick hear?

But Mrs. Chick was not in the kitchen. Feeling rather uneasy about Edith, she had followed her up-stairs, and was on the upper landing when the child called. She heard the first cry, and came at once to her aid, followed by Jimmy.

I rejoice to say that the flames had not reached Edith’s hair. Mrs. Chick wrapped her in her best rug, which was quite spoiled by the means, to say nothing of the little girl’s pretty red frock; but the dear child herself was unharmed.