Part 16 (1/2)

”Like any other time, only stiller,” replied Nancy. ”Go to sleep now, Miss Ethelwyn.”

So Ethelwyn presently fell asleep and woke up with a little start just as the clock was striking twelve.

Johnny Bear was stirring around uneasily in the other room. He had been very still; his stomach was full, and his body warm, so that there really was no possible excuse for making a noise. In fact, there was a faint scratching in the closet that concentrated his attention, and froze him into a statue of silence.

Presently he pounced, and a little shriek, piteous and faint, told the story. Then Johnny Bear played ball with his victim, and ran up and down the room as gaily as if he had never known what it was to cry.

But all at once something went wrong; a crackle in the grate sent a glowing coal over the fender and on the rug, where it smoldered and smoked, and then ran out a little tongue of flame. So Johnny Bear began to mew again loudly and uneasily, the clock struck twelve, and Ethelwyn awoke.

”Hush, Johnny Bear, dear,” she said softly from the other room; ”you'll wake up grandmother.”

But grandmother was awake, and lifted her head just in time to see the tongue of fire.

She was over the side of the bed in a minute, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing up a pitcher of water, dashed it over the rug.

Ethelwyn jumped up too and s.n.a.t.c.hed Johnny Bear in her arms.

”I don't think twelve o'clock at night looks stiller, do you, grandmother?” she asked. ”Aren't you glad Johnny Bear came to live with us, and--oh! oh!” he cried, for she had stepped on a soft little mouse, lying quite still now on the floor.

”O Johnny, how could you?” she said sorrowfully, quite forgetting her instructions to him in the afternoon.

”But he is brave, isn't he, grandmother?”

”Very,” said grandmother, ”and he shall have a saucer of cream in the morning. But come now, chicken; I've put out the fire, and covered the other, so I think we can sleep in peace.”

So they both went to sleep, and Johnny Bear from that time on wept no more.

The next morning, Ethelwyn joyfully told Hannah and Peter all about it.

Their praise was unstinted enough to suit even her swelling heart, and she proudly took the saucer of cream to Johnny, saying, ”There, darling, everybody loves you now, even Peter and Hannah and Nancy, because you did your duty so n.o.bly. I knew you would, so I loved you all the time.”

”Miss Ethelwyn,” said Nancy, appearing, ”there are callers in the drawing-room, and your grandmother wishes you to come in.”

Ethelwyn went in, and was presented to several of the ladies of the church, who had come to see about a reception to be given to the clergyman and his new young wife. It was, Ethelwyn found with joy, to be given at Grandmother Van Stark's.

”O may I stay up?” she begged, and grandmother, who always found it hard to deny her grandchildren anything, said she might. When evening came, Ethelwyn dressed in her best white frock, a little later than the hour when she usually went to bed, came down the staircase with grandmother, who was more stately and lovely than ever? In her black velvet gown, with the great portrait brooch of Grandfather Van Stark, surrounded by diamonds, in the beautiful old lace around her neck.

Grandmother was permitted to sit while receiving the guests. Between her chair and where the clergyman and his wife stood, Ethelwyn slipped her own little rocker, and sat there, highly interested in the streams of people that came by.

”It's like a funeral,” she announced during a slight lull.

Grandmother and the clergyman looked around startled.

”Why, child, what do you know about funerals?” asked grandmother, while the clergyman, of course, laughed.

”'Vada took me and Beth once to a big mercession, and we went into a big church and the folks all went up and looked at somebody, just like to-night. 'Vada said it was a big gun's funeral, just like you and your wife, you know,” she concluded cheerfully, nodding to the clergyman.

”Well of all things--” began grandmother, but a new lot of people coming in demanded her attention.

The clergyman and his wife, laughing heartily, shook hands with the new people, and Ethelwyn was rather indignant to hear her remark repeated several times.

”I'm not going to say anything more,” she thought, ”they always laugh so.”