Part 14 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: UNDER A LARGE TREE IN THE GARDEN]
”I find myself looking forward quite eagerly to my return to the city in the autumn,” she said to grandmother. ”Letty will need some clothes before she goes to school, of course, and it will be such a pleasure to buy them. It has been so long since I have had any one to buy clothes for,” she added, the tears coming to her eyes. ”I dare confess now, Mrs.
Baker, how much I have envied you Janey and Kit this summer.”
”They are dear children,” agreed grandmother with a sigh, ”but they are growing up so fast! Until this year they were always 'the children.' Now Jane is a girl and Kit a boy.” Grandmother paused a moment as if she wished to say something more, but she was afraid of boring her visitor by discussing the children too much and changed the subject.
It happened that the afternoon of the day before that set for the return of Letty and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to the village was very hot, and all the grown-ups had retired to their own rooms to lie down. The children were told to stay quietly in the shade until the sun was lower, and Letty agreed to tell them stories. So they settled themselves under a large tree in the garden close to the house and, as it happened, just underneath Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's window.
Letty began with ”Jack the Giant Killer,” which she had read in one of Jane's old books, but found that she was listened to with only polite interest.
”I think Jack ought to have saved the giant's wife before he cut down the beanstalk,” said Christopher disgustedly, when the story was ended, ”after she had treated him so kindly and all. It was a shame to leave her up there without any way of getting down.”
”She was the fairy, you goose,” exclaimed Jane, ”who first told Jack that all the giant's treasure belonged to his mother, and so she could easily get down, because fairies can go anywhere.”
”Don't you know any other stories, Letty?” asked Christopher. ”New ones?”
”Make up one!” urged Jane. ”You know you said you did sometimes.”
”But they aren't really stories; I mean not long ones. They're just little thoughts about the birds and flowers and things talking. But I will try to tell you a story I read once, that I love dearly. It was a story in a magazine that a girl lent me at school, and I loved it so that I read it over and over again. I think I know it by heart and I'll tell it to you if you think it will interest you. It's not exactly a boy's story,” she added apologetically, looking at Christopher.
”Oh, never mind, fire away,” answered Christopher grandly.
Christopher was very comfortable, sprawled on his back in the shade, and was ready to be amused by anything except a nursery tale.
”Well, then, here is the story. It is called 'Thistledown.'”
”'Thistledown,'” repeated Christopher, ”that's a funny name.”
”Thistledown was the fairy's name, and you'll see what he got for being naughty and mischievous. Well--”
”Before you begin, Letty,” broke in Jane, ”please make Kit promise one thing-that he won't interrupt.”
”Huh, I'd like to know who was the first to interrupt,” mocked Christopher.
”I didn't interrupt. The story hadn't begun yet. Make him promise, Letty, do.”
”I don't see why I have to promise.”
”Because it spoils a story so, Kit. Please promise. Letty's going to recite the story, just as we do our poetry at school, and she might forget something if she had to stop in the middle. Besides, explanations cut up a story so. Come on, say you won't interrupt, like a good boy. I know you won't if you only promise.”
”Well, I'll not interrupt if you don't,” conceded Christopher. ”Go on, Letty, let's hear what happened to Thistledown.”
CHAPTER X
THISTLEDOWN
”Well,” commenced Letty cheerfully, ”it began like this:
”Thistledown was a roguish elf and, I am afraid, rather a selfish little fellow. The sight of good examples did not make him want to be useful or helpful at all. Indeed, nothing could make him work except to threaten to take away his liberty. For Thistledown prized his liberty dearly. Not from the high, n.o.ble motives of honor and self-respect that are the reasons why most people insist upon having their rights, but because to Thistledown his liberty meant his happiness. It meant nice long, warm hours in which to float idly about the great suns.h.i.+ny world with never a thought or care in his feather-brained head.