Part 2 (1/2)

”_Very_,” said the children. ”But mightn't your grandmother have known it was your mother's basket?” said Magdalen.

”It was a common enough one, but if she had looked inside she'd have known mother's b.u.t.ter and cake, I daresay,” said Martin. ”But the funny thing was, the dog would let no one touch it but me--he growled at grandmother when she tried to look in, but he stood by and saw me take out the things and just wagged his tail.”

”And did zou have nice tea, and cake, Martin?” said Hec.

”Oh yes, dears, very nice. But for all that it cured me of setting down baskets or anything like that when I had to take them anywhere. For you see it isn't every dog that would have had the sense of that one.”

”And then he _might_ have been a woof,” suggested Hoodie. ”The picture says a woof.”

”Yes,” said Maudie. ”But this isn't the picture story, Hoodie. This was a real story of Martin herself, you know, for there aren't wolfs now.”

”Not none?” said Hoodie.

”No, of course not.”

Hoodie nodded her head, but made no further remark, and the nursery party congratulated themselves on the astonis.h.i.+ng success of their endeavours to ”put her crying fit out of her head.”

This happy state of things lasted nearly all day. Hoodie was really most agreeable. She was rather more silent than usual, but, for her, surprisingly amiable.

Martin was delighted.

”Take my word for it, Miss Maudie,” she said, ”the only way with a child like her, is to take no notice and talk of something else.”

”But we can't always do that way, Martin,”--Maudie was not of a sanguine temperament,--”sometimes, you know, she's naughty about things that you _must_ go on talking to her about, till you get her to do them.”

”I can't help it, Miss Maudie,” said Martin. ”Talk or no talk, it's my belief that no power on earth will get Miss Julian to do what she wants not to do. And folks can't live always quarrel--quarrelling. She may improve of herself like, when she gets older, but as she is now, I really think the less notice she gets the better.”

Maudie felt rather puzzled. She was only nine years old herself, remember, and Hoodie's queer ways were enough to puzzle much wiser heads than hers.

”I don't think Martin's way would do,” she said to herself, ”but still I think there must be _some_ way that would make her gooder if only we could find it.”

The children all went to church in the afternoon. The morning service was too long for them, their mother sensibly thought, but the afternoon hour, or hour and a quarter at most, no one, not even wee Hec and Duke, found too much. And Hoodie was rather fond of going to church. What she thought of, perched up by herself in her own corner of the pew, no one ever knew; that she listened, or attempted to listen, to what was going on, was doubtful in the extreme. But still, as a rule, church had a soothing effect on her, the quiet and restfulness, the monotony itself, seemed to calm her fidgety querulousness; possibly even the sensation of her Sunday clothes and the admiring glances of the little school-children helped to smooth her down for the time being.

This special Sunday afternoon their mother was not with them. They went and returned under Martin's convoy, and till about half way on their way home again all went satisfactorily. Then unfortunately occurred the first ruffle. Maudie had been walking on in front with little Duke, Hoodie and Hec, each with a hand of Martin, behind, when Maudie stopped.

”Martin,” she said, ”may Duke walk with you a little? He says he's tired.”

”Of course, poor dear,” said Martin; ”come here, Master Duke, and you, Miss Hoodie, go on a little with your sister.”

Hoodie let go Martin's hand readily enough.

”Wonders will never cease,” thought Martin, but alas, her rejoicing was premature. Hoodie let go her hand, but stood stock still without moving.

”No,” she said deliberately, ”I won't walk with Maudie. Why can't Hec walk with Maudie, and me stay here?”

”Because he's such a little boy, Miss Hoodie dear, and I daresay both he and Master Duke are getting tired. They've had a long walk you know.”

Martin was forgetting her own advice to Maudie. He who stopped to reason with Hoodie was lost indeed!

”And so has me had a long walk, and so you might daresay me is tired too,” returned Hoodie, standing her ground both actually and figuratively. Two fat little legs apart, two st.u.r.dy little feet planted firmly on the ground, there she stood looking up defiantly in Martin's face, armed for the fight.