Part 13 (1/2)
”Name of a black cat, why?” demanded Laddie.
”Mother said we were most convenient for the teacher.”
”Aren't there enough of us?” asked Leon, straightening up sniffing harness oil as if his life depended on it.
”Any unprejudiced person would probably say so to look in,” said Laddie.
”I'll bet she'll be sixty and a cat,” said Leon. ”Won't I have fun with her?”
”Maybe so, maybe not!” said Laddie. ”You can't always tell, for sure.
Remember your Alamo! You were going to have fun with the teacher last year, but she had it with you.”
Leon threw the oil bottle at him. Laddie caught it and set it on the shelf.
”I don't understand,” said Leon.
”I do,” said Laddie dryly. ”THIS is one reason.” He hit Peter Dover's horse another slap.
”Maybe yes,” said Leon.
”Sh.e.l.ley to music school, two.”
”Yes,” said Leon. ”Peter Dovers are the greatest expense, and Peter won't happen but once. Sh.e.l.ley will have at least two years in school before it is her turn, and you come next, anyway.”
”Shut up!” cried Laddie.
”Thanky! Your orders shall be obeyed gladly.”
He laid down the pitchfork, went outside, closed the door, and latched it. Laddie called to him, but he ran to the house. When Laddie and I finished our work, and his, and wanted to go, we had to climb the stairs and leave through the front door on the embankment.
”The monkey!” said Laddie, but he didn't get mad; he just laughed.
The minute I stepped into the house and saw the parlour door closed, I thought of that ”something” again. I walked past it, but couldn't hear anything. Of course mother wanted to know; and she would be very thankful to me if I could tell her. I went out the front door, and thought deeply on the situation. The windows were wide open, but I was far below them and I could only hear a sort of murmur. Why can't people speak up loud and plain, anyway? Of course they would sit on the big haircloth sofa. Didn't Leon call it the ”sparking bench”? The hemlock tree would be best. I climbed quieter than a cat, for they break bark and make an awful scratching with their claws sometimes; my bare feet were soundless. Up and up I went, slowly, for it was dreadfully rough. They were not on the sofa. I could see plainly through the needles. Then I saw the spruce would have been better, for they were standing in front of the parlour door and Peter had one hand on the k.n.o.b. His other arm was around my sister Sally. Breathlessly I leaned as far as I could, and watched.
”Father said he'd give me the money to buy a half interest, and furnish a house nicely, if you said 'yes,' Sally,” said Peter.
Sally leaned back all pinksome and blushful, and while she laughed at him she
”Carelessly tossed off a curl That played on her delicate brow.”
exactly like Mary Dow in McGuffey's Third.
”Well, what did I SAY?” she asked.
”Come to think of it, you didn't say anything.”
Sally's face was all afire with dancing lights, and she laughed the gayest little laugh.
”Are you so very sure of that, Peter?” she said.
”I'm not sure of anything,” said Peter, ”except that I am so happy I could fly.”