Part 19 (1/2)

”Oh, Josh, do, just this once,” urged Christopher, almost falling off the seat in his excitement. ”It won't hurt his old knees just for once.”

But Joshua was firm.

”I'm not going to abuse your gran'pa's horses,” he said severely, permitting the horse to slacken his pace to a walk. ”An' what's more, you've got to promise me, honest Injun, that you an' Perk won't let him trot down any hills, nor run races.”

”We aren't going down any hills,” answered Christopher sulkily.

He looked over his shoulder again and saw Perk appear at the top of the hill, red-faced and panting. With a hoot of triumph, the boy c.o.c.ked his knees over the handle bars and whirled down the hill, letting the pedals take care of themselves.

”Yah!” wailed Christopher, ”he's coasting! He'll pa.s.s us like greased lightning.” And as he spoke, Perk flashed by them, an exultant grin on his face.

”Ah, you think you're smart!” jeered Christopher in a vexed tone.

But pride always has a fall. As Perk reached the bottom of the hill he glanced back to see how much of a gain he had made, and the wheel of his bicycle struck a large stone in the road. Over toppled Perk on his head, tumbling into a heap by the roadside. Jane screamed and even Joshua was startled. He urged the horse into a trot again.

”Oh, Perk's not hurt!” declared Christopher scornfully. ”A fellow can stand lots worse croppers than that.”

And Perk was not hurt. By the time they reached him he had scrambled to his feet and was examining his bicycle to see if any harm had come to it. But he rode quietly behind the wagon all the rest of the way into the village.

Billy Carpenter was standing in front of his gate, watching for them, and the impatient Christopher could hardly wait while Perk stowed his bicycle in Mr. Carpenter's barn and Joshua escorted Jane to Mrs.

Parsons' front door.

”You're in an awful hurry to have me go,” Jane exclaimed to Christopher, a bit jealously.

For a moment she forgot Sally's birthday party, and wished she was going on the picnic too. It hurt to think that perhaps Christopher did not want her-was glad she was not going. He really acted as if he were!

But her disappointment soon vanished-vanished the moment she set foot in Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's sitting-room. The party planned was so perfect! In the first place, there was the present for Sally-a dainty little bed in which to take her rest when visiting the lady who wrote books. Mr.

Carpenter had found the small wooden bedstead stowed away in a loft over the post-office, left over from a stock of Christmas toys. Letty, with deft fingers, had painted the dingy, dust-grimed wood white with tiny pink rosebuds (difficult to recognize, perhaps, as rosebuds, but very pretty) and had made, with Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's help, a dainty white canopy, tied back with pink ribbons. There were sheets and pillow-cases and even a little kimono made of a sc.r.a.p of white cashmere and edged with pink ribbon.

”Where is Christopher?” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones as Jane mounted the stairs alone. ”I had a surprise for you all.”

”Kit has gone on a picnic with the boys. He didn't want to come to Sally's birthday,” replied Jane with a catch in her voice.

”Never mind, dear. Boys seem to like to get off by themselves now and then, don't they, dear? We'll have a little dove party. But I have answered a question of Kit's, however, which now he will miss hearing,”

she added, glancing at a pile of closely written pages on her writing desk.

”Oh!” exclaimed Jane, looking from Mrs. Hartwell-Jones to Letty, her cheeks growing crimson. ”You've written the story you promised-just for us!”

”Yes,” laughed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, ”just for you. I got my idea from Letty's song and Christopher's questions about it. Shall I read it now, while we are waiting until it is time for the party?”

”Oh, yes, please! And I can be putting Sally to bed.”

Letty, who had been in a flutter of excitement all day as she watched those pages of story growing, flew over to the table for the ma.n.u.script, and bustled about, making Mrs. Hartwell-Jones more comfortable and arranging the light.

”Oh, perhaps Anna might like to hear the story, too! Might she come?”

she asked impulsively.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said yes, graciously, feeling secretly proud of Letty's thoughtfulness.