Part 35 (2/2)

”Good Land o' Goshen! a-wrestlin' with Mis' Maxwell! you little snip of a gal! and throwed her! for goodness' sake! deary me! throwed her!”

”Yes,” said Cricket, with the air of confessing to a murder, as she set down the blanc-mange. ”I _don't_ see how I could have done it. I just twisted my foot around her ankle. I was just as much surprised as if the--the church had tumbled over. It was a week ago Monday.”

”Jest to think on 't! I never heerd the beat o' that! An' n.o.body hain't told me of it, nuther. 'Lizy was here yestiddy, and she hain't never let on a word.”

”I guess grandma told her not to,” said Cricket, blus.h.i.+ng again.

”Let me see,” said the old woman, suddenly, bending forward and peering into her face. ”Which one be you? You ain't Miss Edny. Be you Miss Eunice?”

”I'm Cricket,” said that young lady, quite at her ease now. ”Most probably you've never heard of me before. We're all grandma's grandchildren, and are spending the summer here. At least, we're all grandchildren but Hilda. She's visiting me. She is going home to-morrow, and I'm awfully sorry.”

Marm Plunkett paid no attention to the end of this speech. She was bending eagerly forward, looking at Cricket through her big steel-bowed gla.s.ses.

”Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket! Have--I--seen--her!” came slowly from the old woman's lips, as she clasped her hands over her staff, still gazing at her as if she were a rare, wild animal. Cricket felt somewhat disconcerted.

”Yes, I'm Cricket,” she repeated, uncomfortably, feeling guilty of something. She felt as if she were confessing to being an alligator, for instance.

Mrs. Maxwell had often amused the old woman by tales of her grandchildren, and as Cricket always had more accidents and disasters than all the rest of the family put together, she had naturally figured largely in her grandmother's stories.

”Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket!” repeated the old woman, stretching out her hand as if she wanted to touch her to make sure she was flesh and blood. Cricket went towards her, rather reluctantly. Marm Plunkett laid her shaking claws on her hands, felt of her arms, and even laid the point of her withered finger in the dimple of the round, pink cheek.

Cricket winced. She felt as if she were a chicken, which the cook was trying, to see if it were tender.

”I--I--didn't know you knew me,” she said, trying to be polite and not pull away.

”I--_have_--seen--Miss--Cricket,” declared Marm Plunkett, triumphantly, at last. ”Who'd 'a' thought it! She's come to see me. Won't Cindy be glad an' proud to hear of this honour.”

”Dear me!” said Cricket, trying not to laugh. ”I'd have come before, if I'd known you'd wanted to see me so much.”

”Would you really, my pretty? Now, ain't that sweet of her?”

admiringly, to Hilda.

Hilda sat looking on in dumb amazement. She was so accustomed to feeling a little superior to Cricket, on account of her orderliness and generally good behaviour, that she was struck with surprise at the old woman's joy over seeing her little friend, while she sat by unnoticed.

She did not know how many a laugh and pleasant hour the stories of Cricket's mishaps had given the lonely old woman.

”Yer favour yer ma, I see,” said Marm Plunkett, still holding Cricket's sleeve. ”Dear! dear! she was a pretty one, that she was! You've got s.h.i.+ny eyes like her'n, but yer hair's a mite darker, ain't it? My! ain't them curls harndsome!” touching very gently one of the soft rings of Cricket's short hair. It was never regularly curled, but had a thorough brus.h.i.+ng given it by Eliza every morning, and, five minutes after, the dampness or the summer heat made her like a Gloriana McQuirk.

Cricket looked dreadfully embarra.s.sed, and hadn't the least idea what to say to this peculiar old woman, who repeated, softly, with no eyes for the rest:

”Have--I--seen--Miss--Cricket!”

Fortunately, here a howl from Zaidee created a diversion. She had pushed herself too far back on the bottomless chair, and had suddenly doubled up like a jack-knife into the hole. As Hilda and Cricket hastily turned, nothing was visible but a pair of kicking feet, for her little short petticoats had fallen back over her head, entirely extinguis.h.i.+ng her.

Helen instantly lifted up her voice and wept.

Cricket seized Zaidee's feet and Hilda her shoulders, and together they tried to pull her up. But she was a plump little thing, and was so firmly wedged in, that the chair rose as they pulled her.

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