Part 11 (2/2)

”Hum,” said Mr. Whiting, when he had read the slip and studied it backward and forward. ”This is a strange thing. It's for you, Susan.

Look at this, Grandmother.”

On a jagged slip of wrapping-paper, printed in uneven letters that slanted downhill, were the words:

”A pressent for the little miss on the school-house steps.”

”A present for me?” said Susan, delighted, as Grandfather read it aloud.

”I'll go straight down and get it. Shall I?”

”No, no. Eat your breakfast first,” answered Grandfather, who was not nearly so pleased at the idea of a present as Susan thought he ought to be.

In fact, over Susan's head, he and Grandmother exchanged glances which seemed to say they did not altogether understand what had happened.

But Susan saw nothing of this, and, breakfast over, she and Grandfather started at once down the lane to see what her mysterious present might be.

”Grandfather, where is Snuff?” asked Susan. ”I haven't seen him this morning.”

”No more have I,” answered Grandfather.

He whistled again and again, and Susan called, but no Snuff appeared in answer to these familiar signals.

On the school porch lay a dark bundle. It was a large bundle, and it moved slightly from side to side. As they drew nearer they heard a wail, and Susan immediately recognized the cry.

”It's Gentilla,” she called out. ”It's Gentilla crying.”

Yes, it was Gentilla, so securely wrapped in a big gray shawl that had been wound tightly about her and pinned in place that she could move neither hands nor feet, and could only rock herself from side to side as she lay on the hard boards of the porch floor.

Grandfather and Susan helped her out of the blanket, and Gentilla tried to tell her story, but all she could say was:

”All gone away,-riding.”

She rolled her big gray eyes and waved her tiny hand, and that was the best that she could do to explain her presence there so early in the morning.

There was a strange look on Grandfather's face, and he thrust his hands in his pockets and pursed up his mouth as if to whistle as he stared at the little schoolhouse. For from every window the panes of gla.s.s had been neatly removed, and a glance within showed that the old stove had disappeared also.

”You take Gentilla up to the house, Susan,” said he. ”I'm going down the road a ways.”

”Yes, I will,” said Susan. ”But, Grandfather, where is my present?”

”Perhaps Gentilla is the present,” called back Mr. Whiting, already striding down the hill.

And half an hour later when he returned to the house, Grandfather sank into a chair, put the tips of his fingers together, and began to laugh.

”Do tell me what it is all about,” said Grandmother, coming out on the porch, duster in hand. ”The children are over at Mrs. Vane's, and they came up here with such a story that I don't know what to think:-Gentilla wrapped in a shawl, and panes of gla.s.s gone, and I don't know what all.”

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