Part 3 (1/2)

”Oh!--a what?” in awestruck chorus from the listeners. ”Say it again, Rhody Sharp.”

”An adopted--that's all she is. I guess n.o.body but an adopted need to go trampin' past when we invite her to play with us! I guess we're good as she is an' better, too, so there!”

Margaret in her hidden nook heard with a cold terror creeping over her and settling around her heart. It was so close now that she breathed with difficulty. If--supposing they meant--

”Rhody Sharp, you're fibbing! I don't believe a single word you say!”

sprang forth a champion valiantly. ”She's dreadfully fond of her mother--just _dreadfully!_”

”She doesn't know it,” promptly returned Rhody Sharp, her voice stabbing poor Margaret's ear like a sharp little sword. ”They're keeping it from her. My gran'mother doesn't believe they'd ought to.

She says--”

But n.o.body cared what Rhody Sharp's gran'mother said. A clatter of shocked little voices burst forth into excited, pitying discussion of the unfortunate who was nothing but an adopted. One of their own number! One they spelled with and multiplied with and said the capitals with every day! That they had invited to come and play with them--an' she'd stuck her chin out!

”Why! Why, then she's a--orphan!” one voice exclaimed. ”Really an'

honest she is--an' she doesn't know it!”

”Oh my, isn't it awful!” another voice. ”Shouldn't you think she'd hide her head--I mean, if she knew?”

It was already hidden. Deep down in the sweet, moist gra.s.s--a little heavy, uncrowned, terror-smitten head. The cruel voices kept on.

”It's just like a disgrace, isn't it? Shouldn't you s'pose it would feel that way if 'twas you?”

”Think o' kissin' your mother good-night an' it's not bein' your mother?”

”Say, Rhody Sharp--all o' you--look here! Do you suppose that's why her mother--I mean she that _isn't_--dresses her in checked aperns?

That's what orphans--”

The shorn head dug deeper. A soft groan escaped Margaret's lips. This very minute, now while she crouched in the gra.s.s,--oh, if she put out her hands and felt she would feel the checks! She had been to an orph--to a place once with Moth--with _Her_ and seen the ap.r.o.ns herself. They were all--all checked.

At home, folded in a beautiful pile, there were all the others. There was the pink-checked one and the brown-checked one and the prettiest one of all, the one with teenty little white checks marked off with buff. The one she should feel if she put out her hand was a blue-checked.

Margaret drove her hands deep into the matted gra.s.s; she would not put them out. It was--it was terrible! Now she understood it all. She remembered--things. They crowded--with capital T's, Things,--up to her and pointed their fingers at her, and smiled dreadful smiles at her, and whispered to one another about her. They sat down on her and jounced up and down, till she gasped for breath.

The teacher's bell rang crisply and the voices changed to scampering feet. But Margaret crouched on in the sweet, moist gra.s.s behind the wall. She stayed there a week--a month--a year,--or was it only till the night chill stole into her bones and she crept away home?

[Ill.u.s.tration: She stayed there a week--a month--a year]

She and Nell--she and the Enemy--had been so proud to have ap.r.o.ns just alike and cut by the same dainty pattern. But now if she knew--if the Enemy knew! How ashamed it would make her to have on one like--like an adopted's! How she'd wish hers was stripes!

Perhaps--oh, perhaps she would think it was fortunate that she _was_ an enemy now.

But the worst Things that crowded up and scoffed and gibed were not Things that had to do with enemies. The worst-of-all Things had to do with a little, tender woman with gla.s.ses on--whose hair didn't curl.

Those Things broke Margaret's heart.

”Now you know why She makes you make the bed over again when it's wrinkly,” gibed one Thing.

”And why she makes you mend the holes in your stockings,” another Thing.

”She doesn't make me do the biggest ones!” flashed Margaret, hotly, but she could not stem the tide of Things. It swirled in.

”Perhaps now you see why She makes you hem towels and wipe dishes--”

”And won't let you eat two pieces of pie--”