Part 26 (1/2)

”But you'll come later. We'll be home by two o'clock and then the real celebration is to begin,” Jane begged, while Gerald said informingly, ”We're going to do stunts. I mean something extra-different. We don't know what yet, but it'll be something awful jolly.”

Meg beamed down at the eager freckled face. ”I wouldn't miss it for worlds. Of course I will be there.” Dan, who had been standing silently at her side said: ”I will come up to your cabin for you. Then you will know when we are back and ready to begin the frolic, whatever it is to be.”

”Is Jean Sawyer coming?” Meg glanced at Jane to inquire. The mountain girl noted the sudden clouding of her new friend's eyes and although the reply was lightly given in the negative, Meg knew that something was wrong. She had been so sure that Jane and Jean liked each other especially well.

Glancing at the sun, which was nearing the zenith, she exclaimed: ”I must go now; my pony has had a long walk today and I do not want him to climb too rapidly.” Then with a direct glance out of her dusky, long-lashed eyes at Dan, she said: ”I'll be ready and waiting for you when you come.”

Mrs. Bently was indeed pleased when she heard that she was to have so many hungry guests for lunch and asked if she might have one hour for preparation.

The young people were disappointed when they learned that the mail had not arrived, but they had not long to wait before the stage drew up in front of the inn. Mr. Bently went out to get the leather bag which both Jane and Merry hoped might contain something of especial interest to them.

They all crowded around the tiny window in the corner which served as postoffice and waited eagerly while the innkeeper sorted out the papers, letters and packages.

”Wall, now,” he beamed at them over his spectacles, ”if here ain't that parcel ol' Granny Peters been waitin' fer so long. Yarn's in it,” he informed his amused listeners. ”Red, black and yellar. Granny sends to the city for a fresh batch every summer and knits things for Christmas presents. I've had one o' Granny Peters' m.u.f.flers every year for longer than I kin recollect.” He reached again into the bag. ”An' here's magazines enough to start a shop. Them's for the Packard ranch. They must have a powerful lot o' time for settin' around readin', them two must.”

Merry was watching eagerly, for, on the very next package she was sure that she saw her name. The postmaster looked at it closely. Then he held it far off to get a different angle, evidently hoping for enlightenment.

Finally he shook his head and tossed it to one side. ”Reckon thar's been a mistake as to that parcel,” he said. ”Thar ain't no Miss Marion Starr in these here parts.”

”I'm Marion Starr,” that maiden informed him, laughingly holding out her hand. But before the postmaster would give up the parcel he presented the girl with a paper to sign. ”Reckon thar's suthin' powerful valuable in that thar box,” he said, ”bein' as it's sent registered.”

Then he leaned on his elbows as though planning to wait until Merry had opened her package before he finished distributing the mail, but to his quite evident disappointment, the girl slipped it into her sweater coat pocket. ”I know what's in it,” she said brightly. Jane, noting the radiant happiness in her friend's face, believed that she also knew, but her attention was attracted again to the small window near which she stood, for the postmaster was touching her arm with a long letter. ”Miss Jane Abbott,” he said, adding, ”Wall, golly be, you're sort o' popular, I reckon. Here are three letters an' thar's another that come in yesterday.”

”It's Jane's birthday,” Julie piped up informingly. A month before the older girl would have rebuked the younger for having been so familiar with one of a cla.s.s far beneath her. As it was, she accepted smilingly the well meant remark. ”Wall, do tell! How old be yo', Miss Jane? Not a day over sixteen, jedgin' by yer looks.”

As soon as the two girls could slip away from the others, Jane led Merry into the deserted parlor of the inn, where hair-cloth chairs and sofa, a marble-topped table, and bright-colored prints on the wall were revealed in the subdued light from windows hung with heavy draperies.

When they were alone, Merry whirled and caught Jane's hands as she asked glowingly: ”Can you guess what's in the box? I told mother to forward it.”

For answer Jane stooped and kissed the flushed cheek of her friend. ”Of course, I can guess,” she replied. ”It's the ring Jean's brother was to send you from Paris.”

Merry soon had the small box unwrapped and a dew-drop clear diamond was revealed in a setting of quaint design. ”Oh, Merry, how wonderfully beautiful it is!” Jane said with sincere admiration. Her s.h.i.+ning-eyed friend slipped it on the finger for which it was intended, then, smiling up at her companion, she prophesied, ”Some day another ring, as lovely as this one, will make you my sister.”

There was a wistful expression in the dark eyes, but Jane's quiet reply was, ”You are wrong, Merry. Even if Jean thinks he cares for me, he would not, if he knew, and what is more, I have no reason to believe that he even likes me better than he does his other girl friends.”

Merry, knowing that time alone could tell whether or not she was a prophet, changed the subject by asking: ”From whom are your letters, dear? How selfish I have been, opening my box first when it is _your_ birthday.” Jane glanced at the top envelope, then tore it open with breathless eagerness.

Merry surmised, and correctly, that the letter was from Jean Sawyer. It was the one Mr. Bently had taken from a pigeon-hole where it had been since the day before. It did not take long for Jane to read it, and when she looked up there was an expression of happiness s.h.i.+ning through the tears that had come. Then suddenly and most unexpectedly, the girl sank down in the stiff chair by the marble-topped table and bending her head on her arms, she sobbed bitterly. Merry went to her and putting an arm about her, she implored: ”Don't, don't cry, dearie. It will make your eyes red and the others will wonder. Tell me what is in the letter and let us try to think what it is best to do. Is it from Jean?”

Jane lifted her head and wiped her eyes. Then she held the letter out for her friend to read. There were few words in it, but they told how sincerely unhappy the lad was because Jane seemed not to wish for his friends.h.i.+p. Jean had written: ”All I can think of is that in some way I have hurt you, and that I do so want to be forgiven. At least, be frank and tell me just why you do not wish my friends.h.i.+p.”

”Why don't you tell him, dearie? If it would be hard to talk it over with him, write a little letter now and leave it until someone comes for the Packard ranch mail. Will you do that if I get the materials?”

Jane nodded miserably. ”Yes, I would rather write it. Then I will go back with you next week and I shall never again see Jean Sawyer.”

Merry procured from Mr. Bently the paper and envelope, while Bob willingly loaned his fountain pen. A glance at the big, loud-ticking clock on the wall showed that there was still twenty minutes before Mrs.

Bently would be ready for them.

Merry thoughtfully left Jane alone, nor did she ask what her friend had written when, at last, she joined the others, who were seated in the cane-bottomed chairs on the front veranda of the inn.

The letter Jane had given to Mr. Bently, asking him to place it with the rest of the mail for the Packard ranch.