Part 25 (1/2)

”She's dreadfully deaf,” remarked Peletiah.

”What's that?”

”She can't hear unless you scream.”

Rachel burst into a loud laugh, but it was very musical; and before they knew it, although they were very much astonished, the two boys were laughing, too, though they hadn't the least idea at what.

”I'm glad of it,” announced Rachel, when she had gotten through. ”I love to scream. Sometimes it seems as if I'd die if I couldn't. Don't you?”

”No, I don't,” said Peletiah, ”ever feel so.”

”Don't _you?”_ Rachel leaned over to peer into Ezekiel's face.

”No, I don't, either,” he said.

”Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Rachel, catching her breath. ”Well, let's run.”

And before either boy knew what was going to happen, she was hauling them along at such a mad pace as they had never before in all their lives indulged in.

The b.u.t.ter-pat slipped out of Peletiah's hand, gone on the wind, and landed on the roadside gra.s.s.

”Wasn't that a good one!” cried Rachel, her eyes s.h.i.+ning, as she brought up suddenly. ”Oh, my! ain't things sweet, though!”--wrinkling up her nose in delight.

”I lost the b.u.t.ter-pat,” observed Peletiah, when he could get his breath.

”I never see anything so beautiful,” Rachel was saying, over and over. Then she flung herself flat on the gra.s.s, and buried her nose in it, smelling it hungrily. ”Oh, my!”

”I lost the b.u.t.ter-pat,” observed Peletiah again, and standing over her.

”And I'm a-goin' to live here,” declared Rachel, in a transport, and wriggling in the sweet clover, ”if I'm good. I'm goin' to be good all the time. Yes, sir!”

”I lost the b.u.t.ter-pat,” repeated Peletiah.

”b.u.t.ter-pat?” Rachel caught the last words and sprang to her feet.

”Oh, yes, I forgot; we must hurry with the b.u.t.ter-pat. Come on!” and she whirled around on Peletiah. ”Why, where--?” as she saw his empty hands.

”I lost the b.u.t.ter-pat,” said Peletiah. ”I've been telling you so.”

”No, you haven't,” contradicted Rachel flatly.

”Yes, I have,” said Peletiah stolidly.

”No such thing.” Rachel squared up to him, her black eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”You haven't said a single word, you bad, wicked boy.”

”Yes, I have,” repeated Peletiah, ready to say it over for all time; ”I've told you so a great many times.”

Rachel looked at him, and put up both hands. The only thing proper to do under such circ.u.mstances was to shake him smartly, but it seemed so like attacking a granite post, and besides, he was the minister's son, and she was going to be good, else they must send her away (so Mrs. Fisher had said), so her arms flopped down to her side, and hung there dismally. And she burst out:

”Where did you lose it, you nin--? I mean--oh, dear me!--where, I say?”--frowning impatiently.