Part 23 (1/2)
”It's rather humiliating to confess that I was wrestling with my granddaughter, and that she got the best of me,” returned grandma, patting Cricket's hand. ”It's my first and last pugilistic performance.”
”It's my fault,” burst out Cricket, ”and I ought to be put in jail. Will had been showing me how to wrestle, and he had taught me such a good twist, that I caught Archie on, and I thought I'd just show grandma--just barely show her, auntie, and I put my foot around her ankle, and somehow, she went right over like ninepins, and doubled up her foot. Oh, grandma! can you ever walk again?”
Grandma's lips were getting rather white with pain from her foot, but she laughed again, and said, brightly:
”Yes, indeed, little maid, I will be all right in a week or two.”
”A week!” groaned Cricket. ”I thought you were going to say to-morrow.”
Auntie Jean had slipped off grandma's stocking, and was bathing her rapidly swelling foot with arnica. In a few minutes, Will, and Archie, and Luke appeared, bringing a piazza-chair, and two stout poles. Auntie Jean bandaged the foot temporarily, and then Luke and Will helped grandma up in the chair. They slipped the poles lengthwise under the chair, and Luke stood ready to lift the front ends as Will and Archie took the rear ones.
”Wait a moment,” said Aunt Jean, as the procession was ready to start.
”Can't I fix a support for your foot, mother? It will hurt it dreadfully to hang it down.”
”Put a stick across the poles, and the cus.h.i.+on on it,” suggested Cricket, quickly, ”and lay her foot on that.” She picked up a stout stick, and laid it in place, while Archie put the cus.h.i.+on on it, and adjusted grandma's foot on it.
”That's a capital suggestion,” said grandma, approvingly. ”That feels very comfortable. Are you sure you can lift me, boys?”
”Could carry a ton this way, Mrs. Maxwell,” said Luke. ”All ready, boys.
Hist all together, now.” And as they all ”histed” the procession moved.
Auntie Jean and Cricket walked on either side, keeping the cus.h.i.+on and stick in place. So grandma finally arrived, was helped up the piazza steps, and into her own room, which was, fortunately, on the first floor.
CHAPTER XIV.
PLAYING NURSE.
Poor Cricket went around with a face as long as her arm, all the rest of the day, dreadfully cast down by this unfortunate result of her wrestling lessons. For a while, she was almost ready to vow that she would never do anything again that the boys did, but when she thought of all the lovely things this would cut her off from, she couldn't make up her mind to go that length.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SHE BURIED HERSELF IN THE STORY FOR 'THE ECHO'”]
Auntie Jean soon a.s.sured her that the sprain was not at all serious, and that the inflammation seemed to be going down already, but her heart was very heavy. She would not go sailing with the boys, nor sit under the rocks with the girls, and at last she buried herself in her next story for the _Echo_. A very tragic and mournful tale it was, of a naughty little girl, who was left in charge of her small brother, but who ran away, all by herself, up garret, to play, and when she went back she found her poor little baby brother had fallen into the bath-tub, which was left half full of water, and was drowned. Picturing the remorse of her heroine, and how they finally brought the baby back to life, although he had been in the water all the afternoon,--of course Cricket did not mind a little thing like that,--somewhat relieved her mind. By supper-time she had sufficiently recovered so that she could allow herself to smile.
Will came in from the post-office, waving a letter that finished the work. It was from Hilda Mason, saying that she could come on Friday next, as Cricket, with auntie's permission, had written, asking her to do, to spend a week.
”Goody! goody!” cried Cricket, dancing around, with her dimples quite in evidence again. ”Won't we have fun! and she can write a story for the 'Echo,' too.”
”What bliss!” remarked Archie, bringing all her curly hair over her face with a sweep of his arm.
”It's a great honour to be a contributor to a paper, Mr. Archie, so,”
shaking back her hair, and pulling his.
”Especially for one that pays so liberally as the 'Echo,'” teased Archie.
”You're a model of sarcasticity, I suppose you think,” said Cricket, tossing her head. ”Auntie, will you take us to Plymouth some day? I know Hilda will want to see Plymouth Rock.”
”Watch her that she doesn't carry it off in her pocket,” advised Archie.