Three days elapsed before Katy and Jane could settle down to the quiet, daily life of the ranch. If Gertie had found them disappointingly mute that first evening, she never had to complain again. They went over and over the thrilling events of the night and the picnic the next afternoon, till Gertie got sick of hearing what “Mamie said” and how he looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. Indeed, these events seemed to grow in importance the farther off they were. Gertie was seldom pettish, but Katy’s seventeenth repetition of what Grant Stowe’s cousin said to her while they were fishing left her cold.

“Shut up, Katy, I’m sick of hearing about it. I don’t care what he said and I just know he thought you were a silly little girl trying to seem grown up 162when you aren’t! You know Mother wouldn’t like you to act so, and I guess Mrs. Morton’d be ashamed of you, too, if she knew.”

“Gertie Halford, if you dare tell!”

“Thank you, I’m no tattle tale! I intend to forget all about it as soon as ever I can. But I know Sherm thought you were silly from something he said.”

Chicken Little related the most presentable of their doings to Marian. Marian didn’t say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She ended a little meaningly: “Do you know, I believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at any other age? They’re exactly like that little buff cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before he knows how. I hope you girls won’t be in a hurry to grow up. There are so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a while.”

July was growing unpleasantly hot. The mornings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was a favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when the wind was from the right direction. They took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with Jilly tumbling over their feet and Huz 163and Buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the plaguing flies.

They had been picking blackberries mornings for Mrs. Morton’s preserving. The rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. The mother pig had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. It seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. Dr. Morton would not let them feed corn in summer.

“Dear me,” said Katy, “how big do little pigs have to be before they can be turned into the corral with the others?”

“Oh, six or eight weeks, I guess.”

“They are getting awfully smelly!” remarked Gertie, holding her nose, “and they aren’t a bit pretty any more.”

“I know and Father said last night we’d have to begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long.” Chicken Little sighed. This speculation in pigs had its unpleasant side.

“I guess we’d have to bring a lot more stuff if Ernest and Sherm didn’t help us out. They give them things to eat lots of times. But I think Jim Bart might keep the pen a little cleaner,” Katy observed.

“He’s so busy he doesn’t have time.”

Another morning occupation was bread-making. Dr. Morton had offered a brand new dollar to the 164girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of bread. They were taking turns under Mrs. Morton’s teaching, but it did seem as if more things could happen to bread. Katy would have had her perfect loaf, if she hadn’t let the dough rise too long. The loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, alas! Chicken Little spoiled her prize batch by sitting down to read and letting it burn.

Gertie’s first and second were very good, but a trifle too solid. Katy won out on her third, and produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that Marian said she was envious.

The others wanted to stop when Katy secured the dollar, but Mrs. Morton persuaded them to persist until they could equal Katy’s.

“You may send one to Captain Clarke, if you wish.”

This stimulated their waning interest and they tried to produce that perfect loaf. A week went by before Mrs. Morton nodded approval, saying: “Yes, that is nice enough for a present. I am sure the Captain will like it.”

The girls had planned to take it over on the ponies, but Mrs. Morton wanted to send over two gallons of blackberries also, which was more than they could manage.

“I am sending Ernest and Sherm down the creek this evening on an errand,” said Dr. Morton, “and 165they can stop at Captain Clarke’s and leave the things. You girls can go some other time.”

Chicken Little decided to send some of her spare pinks. She came in with a great handful just as the boys were ready to start.

“Where is your loaf, Chicken Little?” asked her mother.

“O dear, I forgot to wrap it up. It won’t take a minute.”

“Take one of the fringed napkins to wrap it in, then put paper around that,” called her mother.

“Where did you put the bread, Mother?”

“In the bread box, of course, child, where did you suppose?”

“There isn’t anything but old bread in the box.”

“Well, ask Annie.”

“She’s gone to Benton’s.”

“Well, I think you’re old enough to find four loaves of bread in a small pantry.” Mrs. Morton got up, disgusted.

Sherm stood waiting with the tin pail of berries and the bunch of flowers in his hands. Ernest was holding the team out at the road.

When Mrs. Morton disappeared Sherm remarked placidly: “Well, I guess I might as well take these things out. I’ll come back for the bread.”

Mrs. Morton could be heard exclaiming about 166something in the kitchen. Sherm smiled a fleeting smile and departed.

Sounds of hurried footfalls, of boxes and pans being moved, came from the kitchen. Somebody ran hastily down cellar. “It isn’t here, Mother.” Jane’s tone was emphatic.

“What do you suppose is the matter?” exclaimed Katy. She departed to see, followed by Gertie. The sound of fresh disturbances floated in from the cuisine. Dr. Morton grew curious and went out to investigate. Sherm came back as far as the front door and stood waiting.

Presently, Mrs. Morton entered, flushed and annoyed.

“It’s the queerest thing I ever heard of–that entire baking of bread has vanished. Annie is perfectly honest and she knew we were expecting to send a loaf to the Captain. You haven’t seen any tramps about, have you, Sherm? You don’t suppose the dogs could—” Mrs. Morton glanced suspiciously at Buz asleep on the path outside.

“Nonsense, Mother, the dogs couldn’t get away with whole loaves of bread and leave no trace. They are not overly fond of bread, anyhow.”

“Possibly Annie may have put it in some unheard-of place–girls are so exasperating. I’ll go look again.”

A third search was no more successful than the 167previous ones had been. They were obliged to send the boys on without the bread.

Both Chicken Little and Gertie mourned, for they had combined forces in this baking and were immensely proud of their effort.

“We never can get it so nice again–I just know!”

Mrs. Morton had been studying. “You don’t suppose the boys could have meddled with it, do you?”

Katy looked up with a gleam in her eye. “They were laughing about something fit to kill just before supper and they wouldn’t tell what it was.”

“But why–I don’t see.” Mrs. Morton was puzzled.

“To tease the girls, possibly. But I don’t see how they could make away with four big loaves without being noticed.”

“If Ernest Morton took that bread, I’ll never forgive him as long as I live!” Chicken Little’s jaw set ominously. “You just watch me get even.”

“Come now, Chicken Little, we’re merely guessing the boys took it. Annie may have put it away in a new place, forgetting that you would want it to-night,” her father tried to pacify her.

Gertie didn’t say much, but it was plain that she sympathized with Jane. An hour later the three girls went out to the road to watch for the boys’ return. The lads were evidently taking their time. 168Nine o’clock came–half-past nine–still no boys! Mrs. Morton came out and sent the girls in to bed. They were just dropping off to sleep when the lads drove up.

At breakfast the next morning the entire family fell upon Ernest and Sherm and demanded news of the bread. Annie had returned and assured Mrs. Morton that it had been safely stored in the bread box before she left the house the evening before.

“Bread? What bread?” asked Ernest, rather too innocently.

“Ernest Morton, you did something with that bread I was going to send the Captain. You have got to tell me where you hid it.”

“Chicken Little Jane Morton, I give you my word of honor I didn’t touch your old bread and I don’t know where it is.”

Ernest assumed a highly injured air. Sherm took a hasty swallow of water and nearly choked.

The family had come near believing Ernest, but Sherm’s convulsed face roused their suspicion afresh.

“If you didn’t, you got Sherm to,” said Katy shrewdly. “That’s what you were laughing about last night–I know it was.”

“That’s like a girl always suspecting a fellow of being up to some deviltry. Maybe you think we’ll keep on feeding your old pigs if you treat us this way.”

169Dr. Morton scanned the boys closely, but did not say anything.

Jane and Katy turned on Sherm.

“Did you take the bread?” Chicken Little had fire in her eye.

Sherm tried guile. “Chicken Little, do I look hungry enough to steal your bread? Mrs. Morton has been feeding me on good things ever since I came, why should I want to make away with four loaves of bread?” Sherm was almost eloquent.

“Nevertheless,” observed Katy, “you don’t deny that you took it.”

Try as they would, they could get no satisfaction from the boys.

“Well, I know they did and I’m going to make ’em wish they hadn’t.” Chicken Little puckered up her brow to think hard.

“Of course they did or Sherm would have denied it instanter. Let’s think up something real mean.” Katy stood ready to second any effort.

Gertie had been in a brown study. “The boys are going off some place to-night. I heard Ernest ask your mother if she had cleaned that spot off his Sunday suit, where somebody spilled ice cream on him at the party.”

“I bet they’re going to see Mamie Jenkins ... they’re trying to sneak off without our knowing it.” Jane’s indignation was not lessened by this news.

170Katy leaned forward and whispered something.

Jane and Gertie clapped their hands.

“All right, the very thing.”

At dinner the boys were rather surprised to find that the young ladies had dropped the subject of the bread. They were inclined to take it up again, but nobody seemed interested. Ernest was a little vexed to have his father say before them all: “It will be all right about Sherm’s riding the bay, only don’t stay out late, boys.”

The girls went upstairs soon after dinner and there was much giggling from their room for the next two hours.

“Where ever can we put the clothes where they can’t find them? They make such a big bundle.”

“O Chicken Little, I’ve thought of something that will be better than hiding!” Katy’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she unfolded her scheme. “Let’s hurry and fix a cord.”

“There’s a hook there already we can use. Mother had a hanging basket outside the window one summer.”

“We can pretend to take a walk,” added Katy.

“Pshaw, I want to hear them–it will be half the fun,” Gertie objected.

“I said pretend–we will sneak back through the orchard. Of course, we’d have to be here to do it, Goosie.”

171That night Mrs. Morton had an early supper at the request of the boys. Immediately after, they armed themselves with sundry pitchers of hot water and retired upstairs. The girls also disappeared.

All went well for some minutes except that Ernest cut himself in his haste to shave. Presently, a call for mother floated downstairs. Mrs. Morton had gone across the road to visit with Marian. Receiving no reply, Ernest called again lustily. Dr. Morton, coming in just then, replied:

“Your mother is not here, what do you want?”

“Send Chicken Little then.”

“She’s gone for a walk with Katy and Gertie.”

“Thunderation! I’ve got to have somebody. Won’t you please call Mother?”

At this moment three girlish forms slipped into the grape arbor immediately below the boys’ window, and concealed themselves in its deepest shadow.

Mrs. Morton came patiently home to attend to the needs of her favorite son.

“What is it, Ernest?”

“Where did you put our Sunday clothes?”

“Dear me, aren’t they in the closet?”

“In the closet? Do you suppose I’d call you home if they were in the closet? They aren’t anywhere!” Ernest’s tone verged on the disrespectful.

Mrs. Morton toiled upstairs with a sigh. Was there to be a repetition of the bread episode?

172Ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes were not anywhere. The boys exchanged glances both wrathful and sheepish. Ernest had already exhausted every swear word that his mother’s presence permitted. Sherm, also restrained by her presence–he had retired to bed while she searched their room and closet–thought all the exclamations he hesitated to utter. Three young young ladies in the arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conversation as floated down to them with unholy glee.

“Well, Ernest, they’re certainly not here; I’ll go look in Chicken Little’s room.”

Ernest accompanied her. Sherm scrambled out of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing apparel. He was startled to perceive a bulky object suddenly darken their window. It was a peculiar-looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers’ legs dangled indiscriminately. He had no difficulty in recognizing their missing clothes. He rushed to the window and raised the screen, calling to Ernest excitedly. He half expected to see the things disappear as mysteriously as they had come, but the bundle remained stationary. It had been raised to the window by means of a pulley contrived from an old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. The end of the cord was hidden in the arbor.

The boys secured their possessions, hastily assuring themselves that they were all there. Mrs. Morton 173started thankfully downstairs, but had barely reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a loud “Mother!” recalled her.

Mrs. Morton had never seen Ernest so furious. Sherm didn’t say much, but his face was wrathfully red.

“What now?”

“Look at this!” Ernest’s voice was tragic as he held the garment up to view. His trousers’ legs had been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing machine. Sherm’s, ditto. All four pair of sleeves were also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they could not be readily ripped out.

Mrs. Morton looked aghast. “It will take an hour to get that out!”

“Confound those kids! Mother, you can just make those smarties come rip that stitching out!”

“My son, whom are you addressing?”

“Well, Mother, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but this is a little more than I can stand! Wait till I get my hands on Jane!”

“You would do well to remember, Ernest, that you started this practical joking yourself. I hope it will be a lesson to you to refrain from such pranks in future.”

“We didn’t do anything but carry the bread over to the Captain without telling them. That’s where they wanted it to go.”

174Mrs. Morton gasped. “Did you take the whole baking?”

“Sure, wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Mrs. Morton considered a moment before replying.

“Well, Ernest, you boys have brought this annoyance upon yourselves–I think you will have to accept the consequences. I am too tired to fuss with the stitching to-night. If you go to Jenkinses you will have to wear your every day suits.”

“But Mother!”

Mrs. Morton was already descending the stairs; she did not respond.

Ernest turned in despair to Sherm, who was examining the neat stitching ruefully.

Sherm grinned; “Guess we might as well take our medicine. Score one for the kids!”

“I think they might take a joke the way it was intended.”

“They seem to have taken the joke and a few other things besides.”

Sherm chuckled. Ernest laughed, too, a little sulkily.

“We’re elected to stay at home all right, but I’ll get ahead of them if it takes a month!”

By the time the boys had rearrayed themselves and come downstairs, the occupants of the grape arbor had vanished. They didn’t return until the 175enemy had departed for a ride to soothe its ruffled feelings.

The girls retired to bed early, as innocent young people should.

“Did you have a good time at Mamie’s last night?” asked Chicken Little at breakfast the next morning.

“Mamie’s? We didn’t go to Mamie’s.”

“No? I thought you intended to.” This from Katy.

“You girls do get the queerest notions in your heads,” observed Ernest loftily.

Gertie giggled. The boys looked at Gertie; they hadn’t suspected Gertie. Katy also giggled, likewise Chicken Little. There is something exceedingly contagious about giggling.

Ernest became even loftier.

“You girls seem to spend about half your time cackling–I hope you know what you are cackling about.”

“We do,” retorted Chicken Little, still sweetly.

Ernest and Sherm exchanged glances. After breakfast Ernest asked his mother if she had told the girls what happened the night before.

“Not a word. They didn’t ask me.”

“Humph!” The boy was puzzled.

At noon they took another tack.

“I forgot to tell you that Mamie sent her regards 176to you and Katy,” Ernest remarked casually.

“She said she was sorry you didn’t come, too,” added Sherm.

Jane lifted her eyebrows at Katy. Katy shook her head.

“By the way, Sis, I forgot to tell you that Captain Clarke invited us all to come over to supper to-morrow night. He said to tell you he appreciated that bread very much. And while I think of it, if you can spare a little of your valuable time, I’d thank you to rip that stitching out of our clothes. I want to wear mine to the Captain’s.”

“All right, we’ll rip out the stitching if you’ll bake us a batch of bread as good as the one you took.”

“Not much, Mary Ann! We took the bread to the Captain, all right.”

“Yes, but we only intended to send one loaf–and, besides, you made us a lot of trouble.”

“Mother, haven’t the girls got to take out that stitching?”

“I think Jane’s proposition is a fair one, Ernest,” observed Dr. Morton dryly.

The boys retired to their room early that night where they worked most industriously with scissors and penknife and clothes brush. They had paid a hurried visit to Chicken Little’s room when they first came upstairs. This visit did much to sweeten their hour of labor.

177The girls were spending the evening at Frank’s. They were late in getting home. The night was hot and they hated to go to bed until it began to cool off. Dr. and Mrs. Morton were sitting on the front porch.

“Go to bed, children. Father was just starting over to call you.” Mrs. Morton kissed them each goodnight.

Dr. and Mrs. Morton followed them in and had barely settled themselves for the night, when an unearthly shriek rent the air, followed by another and yet another.

“What in thunder are those children up to now?” Dr. Morton spoke in the tone of one who considered that patience had ceased to be a virtue.

“O Mother, come quick–there’s snakes or frogs or something in our bed and we haven’t any light!”

Mrs. Morton hurriedly lit a lamp and went to the rescue, followed by the doctor armed with a stick.

Holding the lamp aloft they went into the room, the three girls, who had retired in a panic to the head of the stairs, bringing up the rear. Katy had scrambled into bed and out again in haste, dragging the coverlet and sheet half off on the floor. The interior of the bed was fully exposed to view. It was already occupied–not by snakes, but by a handful of fat, squirming, little polliwogs.

“Ugh, I thought it was a snake–they were so 178slimy and cold!” Katy shivered at the recollection.

Dr. Morton grimly gathered up the polliwogs, then, leaving his wife to restore order, went into the boys’ room and held a conversation behind closed doors. No report of what was said ever reached the girls, but the practical jokes ended then and there.