Part 24 (1/2)

”No, I ain't. Yes I hev, too. They went rocketin' past me this noon, and give me some sa.r.s.e as they went, and I give it 'em back. I ain't seen 'em sence. They're up to mischief, wherever they be, you can count on that.”

Jacob diffused his smile again, and withdrew. The girls, still eating their apples, turned eagerly to Mrs. Meadows. ”Now, Mrs. Meadows,” they said, ”we must go on with our lesson. Margaret, sit down and learn with us; you know you want to learn.”

”Indeed, I do!” said Margaret. ”But I don't think I'd better now, girls.

w.i.l.l.y came up with me, and he is waiting for me outside; I promised to look at a nest he has found, and I don't like to disappoint him. May I come some other day, please, Mrs. Meadows?”

”Well, I guess you may!” said Mrs. Meadows. ”Sorry to have ye go now, but glad to see ye next time, and so you'll find it nine days in the week, Miss Montfort. Good day to ye, if ye must go.”

Margaret shook the good woman's hand, nodded gaily to the girls, and went out, to find w.i.l.l.y sitting patiently on the fence.

”Was I a very long time, w.i.l.l.y?” she asked. ”I thought you might have got out of patience and gone home.”

”No!” said w.i.l.l.y, soberly. ”You were a good while, but then, girls always are. When a fellow has sisters, you know, he gets used to waiting.”

”Oh! indeed!” said Margaret, much amused.

”Yes,” said w.i.l.l.y. ”I don't think girls have much idea of time, do you?”

”Why, w.i.l.l.y, I don't know that I have ever considered the question. You see, I have always been a girl myself, so perhaps I am not qualified to judge. But--do you think boys have so very much more idea? It seems to me I know some one who has been late for tea several times this week.”

w.i.l.l.y looked conscious. ”Well,” he said, ”I know; but that is different.

When you are late for tea,--I mean when a boy is,--he is generally doing something that he wants very much indeed to get through with, fis.h.i.+ng, or splicing a bat, or something that really has to be done. Besides, he knows they won't wait tea for him, so it doesn't make any difference.”

”I see!” said Margaret. ”And girls are never doing anything important.

Aren't you rather severe on us, w.i.l.l.y?”

w.i.l.l.y was about to rea.s.sure her kindly, for he was extremely fond of her; but at this moment a cheery ”Hallo!” was heard, and the twins rode up on their bicycles, bright-eyed and flushed after a fine spurt.

”Neck and neck!” said Gerald. ”Margaret, I hope you don't object to being a winning-post. That was a great run.”

”Where have you been?” asked Margaret, as the two dismounted and walked along on either side of her.

”Over to the Corners, to send a telegram for the Pater. And thereby hangs a tale.”

”May we hear it? We love a tale, don't we, w.i.l.l.y?”

w.i.l.l.y did not look particularly enthusiastic, but he murmured something, which Gerald did not wait to hear.

”Well, the Pater desired to send a telegram, even winged words, to that man who has been trying to send us sh.e.l.lac for the last three weeks, and who has, we fear, broken down from the strain. A neat despatch it was: 'Send to-morrow, or not at all.--M. Merryweather.' Well, we had just sent it, when we heard some one behind us say, '_Oh_, gos.h.!.+' in a tone of such despair that we turned round to see if it was the sh.e.l.lac man in person. It was little Bean, the pitcher of the Corners team, all dressed up in his baseball togs, scarlet breeches and blue s.h.i.+rt, quite the bird of paradise, and reading a yellow telegram, and his face black as thunder. He was an impressionist study, wasn't he, Fergy? We asked what was up, or rather down, for elevation had no part in him. It appeared that a match was on for this afternoon, between the Baked Beans and the Sweet Peas, the Corners and the Spruce Point team. The Beans were all here except the pitcher and first-baseman, brothers, who were to come over by themselves, as they lived at some distance from the rest of the team; and this telegram conveyed the cheering information, that, instead of coming over, they had come down with mumps, and were, in point of fact, in their little beds.”

”Oh, what a shame!” said Margaret. ”Poor lads! and mumps are such a distressing thing.”

”I rejoice to see that you also get your singular and plural mixed in regard to mumps,” said Gerald. ”You are human, after all. But to tell the truth, I don't know that sympathy with the mumpers was the prevailing sentiment at the Corners.”

”Gee! I should think not,” said Phil. ”This was the match of the season, you see, Margaret. The farmers had come from far and near, and brought their wives and babies; and the Corner fellows had got this gorgeous uniform made, and bought out all the red flannel in the county; and here were these two wretched chumps down with mumps.”

”Oh! but Phil,” cried Margaret, ”they didn't do it on purpose, poor things; and think how they were suffering! You are heartless, I think.”

”They would have suffered more if the Baked Beans had got hold of them,”