Part 13 (2/2)

”The screen was out,” went on Mary Ellen, ”and they are great big squirrels, and the slippers are little. He came right up on the window-sill now; you saw him yourself, Miss Martin. Oh, how can we find out? Can't we find out?”

”Of course we can,” said Miss Martin, as pleased as could be at the thought. ”At least we can try. Come, Mary Ellen, won't it be a surprise if those squirrels are the thieves?” And she ran downstairs with Mary Ellen at her heels.

Five minutes later, when Mat placed the long ladder against the old maple and prepared to mount it, not a child was missing from the group at the foot of the tree. The news had spread like wildfire, and long legs and short legs had toiled desperately in those few moments for fear of missing some of the excitement.

All eyes were fixed on Mat as he paused on the ladder outside the squirrels' hole, and slowly and impressively drew on his baseball glove.

That had been his solution of the problem, when Miss Martin had feared that the squirrels would bite his hands.

In went the glove, and out it came with a chattering, scolding bunch of fur that Mat deposited at arm's length upon a branch. Next came a trembling gray ball, also to be placed carefully out of the way, and then, for the third time, Mat thrust in his hand and slowly drew out the missing ”brown betty,” scratched in places, filled with leaves, one b.u.t.ton gone, but Lydia's lost bronze slipper nevertheless.

The children shrieked and hopped up and down in their excitement as Mat dangled it in the air before their eyes. Lydia was smiling happily, but her face was not so bright as Mary Ellen's.

”Try to put the squirrels back in their hole, Mat,” called Miss Martin; but with a flirt and a whisk the squirrels proved that they had other plans, and were out of sight in a twinkling among the green leaves.

Slowly Mat descended to earth, and handed the slipper to Miss Martin, who, in turn, put it in Mary Ellen's hands.

”You, Mary Ellen, must have the pleasure of giving it to Lydia,” said she, ”because you are really the one who found the hiding-place.”

Lydia received the slipper from her friend with a shy smile.

”Thank you, Mary Ellen,” said she. ”I'm sorry I thought you took it. And now that it's scratched, you won't mind my wearing them so much, will you?”

And arm in arm, the girls moved off, both entirely satisfied with this handsome apology.

”Look at them, whispering together out there,” said Miss Martin, half an hour later, to Mr. Blake, as she told him the story of the slippers.

”They are the best of friends now.”

”Wouldn't it be a good thing if Mary Ellen had a pair of those fancy slippers for herself?” asked Mr. Blake. ”If you say so, I'll take her down to the village now, and see what we can buy.”

”Oh, that would be nice,” answered Miss Martin, smiling at this good friend of her children. ”She says she doesn't like them, but that is only because she hasn't any, I think. And we mustn't let Mary Ellen be too strong-minded. She is only nine years old, you know.”

But Mary Ellen was not strong-minded in the least when she reached the village shoe shop. Indeed, she changed her mind three times before she finally decided upon a gay little pair of patent leather slippers with silver buckles.

”Now, what would you like, Roger?” asked kindly Mr. Blake of Lydia's faithful shadow, who had accompanied them as a matter of course.

”I'd like to go home with Lydia,” answered Roger in all earnestness.

”I meant in the way of shoes,” explained Mr. Blake. ”s.h.i.+ny rubbers, or high boots?”

But Roger selected a warm little pair of red felt slippers, in view, perhaps, of approaching winter weather.

The parting with Lydia was very hard. Roger wouldn't and couldn't understand why he must be separated from his friend, though Miss Martin explained it in the kindest and simplest way.

So Lydia, almost in tears herself, said good-bye, for Mr. Blake would not let her slip away when Roger's back was turned.

”We mustn't deceive him,” said he. ”He must learn he is among friends he can trust.”

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