Part 6 (1/2)

Miss Arabella stood gazing after the trim figure. She sighed enviously. ”She's the lucky girl,” she whispered, ”but it's awful queer she don't want to go on with her singin'.”

A smart vehicle turned out of a gate farther up the street and came whizzing past. The young man driving raised his hat with an air of deference as he pa.s.sed the girl by the roadside. Miss Arabella leaned farther over the gate.

”He looked at her awful pleased like,” she said; and then her face grew pale with a sudden thought. ”I'll give it to her,” she whispered, choking down a rising sob. ”He'll marry her, I'm sure he will, and if he does I'll give it to her, and I won't be foolish any more, so I won't.” The prospect of speedy wisdom seemed a very doleful one, and Miss Arabella's figure drooped and shrank as she moved indoors.

”Arabella!” called a sharp voice over the fence, ”have you got your place all red up yet?”

”Not quite, Susan,” was the apologetic answer. ”I've jist to do the back stoop.”

”Well, don't be so long, for pity's sakes. I'm goin' up to see what sort of a baby Jake and Hannah's got, and you can come along jist as soon as you're done.”

”All right, Susan.” The little woman returned to her task meekly. Her small, slim hands and her frail body did not look at all suited to heavy toil, yet no one in the village worked harder than the little lilac lady. For when her own house was set in order, and brushed and swept and scrubbed, exactly as Susan demanded, Miss Arabella crossed the orchard and washed and baked, and sewed for her brother's children.

She had just finished the lowest step of the porch when she was startled by a tremendous uproar in the Sawyer orchard, and the next moment something came hurtling over the fence and landed with a splash in the pail at her feet. It was a round object, brightly colored and s.h.i.+ning.

”Oh, Lordy, ain't we havin' a slow time!” screamed Polly, most inappropriately.

”Save us!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Arabella.

The Sawyer orchard was separated from Miss Arabella's garden by a high board fence, further fortified by Miss Arabella's long, neat woodpile.

Hitherto, the place had been used exclusively as a parade-ground for Isaac and Rebekah, and the Sawyers' hens; but now it seemed to have been suddenly populated by all the children in the village, shrieking, scolding and laughing. Could the orphan be big enough to run at large?

And had the McQuarry and the Cross and the Williams children all met to celebrate its arrival?

”Save us!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Miss Arabella again, ”they must 'a' got a noisy one!”

There was a scrambling, tearing noise on the other side of the fence, and a head arose above it, followed by the figure of a boy. It was a queer, wasted, tiny figure, with one shoulder higher than the other.

The face was pinched and weird-looking, with that strange mixture of childishness and age that is seen in the countenances of the unfortunate little ones who are called out too early into the battle of life. A long, claw-like arm reached out, and a finger pointed at the object in Miss Arabella's pail.

”That there's our ball!” said the elf sharply. ”Give us a throw!”

Miss Arabella stared, motionless.

”Are--are you Jake Sawyer's orphant?” she asked incredulously.

The boy grinned, a queer contortion of his wizened little face with more mischief in it than mirth.

”Naw, I'm just the tail of it,” he answered enigmatically. ”Say, when did the folks in that there house adopt you?”

Miss Arabella was too much astonished and abashed to reply; and just at that moment a second object appeared on the woodpile. It arose from the Sawyer orchard like the first, swinging itself up feet foremost in some miraculous fas.h.i.+on. This time it was a girl, larger and more robust than the boy, but plainly younger. Her eyes were wild, her face was bold, and she had a mad mop of bushy black hair. She perched herself astride the top board of the fence and gave back Miss Arabella's stare with interest.

”Where on earth did you come from?” cried Miss Arabella.

”None o' your business!” was the prompt retort. ”Hand over that there ball!”

Miss Arabella had no time to obey, for a third apparition arose out of the Sawyer orchard, feet first, and perching itself astride the fence, commanded, ”Histe over that there ball!” It was another girl, exactly like the first, except that her mad mop of hair was yellow instead of black. Miss Arabella rubbed her eyes, and wondered, in dismay, if she had been gifted with a new kind of double vision.

”Oh, my land alive!” she whispered. ”Has Jake Sawyer been and gone and brought home all the orphant asylum? Mercy me! Is the yard full o'

ye?” For still another head was struggling to make its appearance above the fence-top. It was a fiery red head this time, covered with crisp little curls. It belonged to a very small boy, the youngest of the quartette. His round, impish face was full of delighted grins.

His dancing eyes radiated laughter and good-nature.

The four surveyed Miss Arabella's evident consternation with great enjoyment, while that startled lady stood and stared at the array with something of the feelings that Cadmus must have experienced when he beheld the fierce warriors rise from the planting of the dragon's teeth.

”We're the Sawyer orphant,” said the eldest imp, with apparent relish.