Part 64 (2/2)

”Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Rachel. ”Well, what's the next thing?”--as little d.i.c.k backed away from the cupboard. ”What is it?”--as he placed some article in her hand.

”They're a pair of her doll's eyes,” said little d.i.c.k.

”Oh, misery me!” cried Rachel, tumbling backward, the pair of eyes in her hand. ”Why don't you have 'em put back in your doll, Phronsie?”

”Because these are broken,” said Phronsie, hanging on to the top with one hand, while she reached out the other, ”and Grandpapa took my child down and got her new eyes.”

”Well, what makes you save these?” said Rachel, sitting straight again; ”they're no use, Phronsie, now they're broken. Throw them away, do.”

”No, no,” protested Phronsie, holding the pair of eyes very closely in her warm little palm, ”they were my child's; I'm going to keep them always.”

”Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Rachel faintly, ”you'll never set up your cupboard if you're going to put everything back again the same as it was. Well, pull out the next thing, Phronsie; it's your turn.”

So Phronsie set her two treasures down in a niche in the big boulder, and leaned over the door of the cupboard.

”I'm going clear back,” she announced, running her fat little arm as far as it would go, to bring it out with something round in the middle of her palm.

”What is it?” asked Rachel curiously. ”Whatever in all this world, Phronsie?”--at the queer little wad in Phronsie's hand.

”Oh, that?” said little d.i.c.k, before Phronsie could answer; ”that's what the squirrel gave us, a lo--ong time ago, Rachel.”

”The squirrel gave you?” she cried. ”I suppose it's a nut,” she added carelessly.

”No, 'tisn't a nut,” said Phronsie, still keeping it in her hand, and shaking her head decidedly, ”and he was a naughty squirrel; he was in a bird's nest.”

”In a bird's nest? What do you mean, and how could you see him?” demanded Rachel, all three questions in one breath.

”We looked up,” said little d.i.c.k, throwing his head back to ill.u.s.trate his speech, ”and he was right there ”--pointing up to the highest branches of the apple tree--”way up on top.”

”And the poor bird was screaming,” said Phronsie, snuggling up to Rachel's side, but still not offering to give up the little green wad. ”Poor little bird!--she made a new house, she added sorrowfully.

”And the naughty squirrel was pulling out all the things in her house,”

said little d.i.c.k, breaking in with gusto, ”and flinging them down; and he threw us this. Show her, Phronsie.”

So Phronsie opened her hand and held it up, the little green wad in the center.

”Oh, isn't it funny!” Rachel was going to say. Instead, she seized it, twitched it apart, and hopped up to her feet; then, deserting the two children, ran like lightning up the green bank, two torn bits of paper fluttering in her hand. And not observing where she went, she ran directly into old Mr. King taking a const.i.tutional on the lawn.

”Bless me! what is it?” he gasped, putting out a strong hand to save her from a fall.

”It's the _ten-dollar bill!_” panted Rachel. ”Don't you see?”--waving it at him.

THE END

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