CHAPTER IV
EARLY IN THE MORNING
At six o'clock on Thursday morning Sue was up and scanning the clouds.There were not many clouds to scan; the sun was rising bright andglorious in a wonderful blue sky.
"It's going to be a perfectly splendid day!" said Sue. "I must callMary. I don't believe she is awake. Oh, I'll send a pigeon; that'sjust what I'll do. It will be lovely to be waked up by a pigeon thisglorious morning; and I have to feed them, anyhow, because I said Iwould. I am never going to forget the pigeons again--never! The nexttime I do, I shall go without food for two days, and see how _I_ likeit."
Sue dashed into her dress, buttoned it half-way up, and rushedheadlong down the stairs and through the kitchen. Katy, the maid ofall work, was crossing the floor with a brimming pan of milk. Crash!Sue ran directly into her. The pan fell with a mighty splash; the milkflew over both Katy and Sue, wetting them from head to feet.
"Indade, then, Miss Sue, 'tis too bad of yez entirely!" cried Katy."And laughin', too, after sp'ilin' me gown and desthroyin' me claneflure, let alone all the milk in the house gone."
"Oh, but, Katy, if you knew how funny you look, with the white milkall over your red face! I can't help laughing; I truly can't. And mydress is spoiled too, you see, so it's all right. I can't stop now;I'm in the most terrible hurry!"
She flew on, but popped her head back through the door to say:
"But I am sorry, Katy; I truly am! And if you'll just leave the milkthere, I'll pick it up--I mean wipe it up--just as soon as I get backfrom the picnic."
Her smile was so irresistible that Katy's angry face softened in spiteof herself.
"Sure it's merely a child she is," the good woman said. "Miss Lily'stwice the sinse of her, but yet 'tis her takes the heart of one!"
She brought the mop and wiped up the milk, then went soberly to changeher dress, wondering how the mistress would make her breakfast withoutthe milk-toast which was usually all she could fancy in the morning.
Sue had already forgotten the milk. She ran on across the yard, wherethe dew lay thick and bright, to a small building that stood under aspreading apple-tree. It had been a shed once, and its general effectwas still, Sue admitted, "a little sheddy"; but the door was veryfine, being painted a light pea-green, the panels picked out withscarlet, and having a really splendid door-plate of bright tin, with"S. PENROSE" in black letters. Some white pigeons sat on the roofsunning themselves, and they fluttered down about the girl's head asshe tried the door.
"Dear me!" said Sue. "How stupid of me to lock the door last night! Imight have known I should forget the key this morning. Never mind; Ican get in at the window."
She could, and did; but, catching her dress on a nail, tore a long,jagged rent in the skirt.
"Dear me!" said Sue, again. "And I don't believe there is anotherclean one, since I spilt the ink last night. Never mind!"
Sue ran up the narrow stairs, and, crossing a landing, entered a tinyroom, papered with gay posters. There was plenty of room for thelittle table and two chairs, and if a third person should come in shecould sit on the table. A narrow shelf ran all round the room. Thiswas the Museum, and held specimens of every bird's nest in theneighboring country (all old nests; if Sue had caught any one robbinga nest, or stealing a new one, it would have gone hard with thatperson), and shells and fossils from the clay bank near the river. Theboys played "Prehistoric Man" there a good deal, and sometimes theylet Sue and Mary join them, which was great glory. Then there wassmoked glass for eclipses (Sue smoked them after the last eclipse, ayear ago, so as to be ready for the next one; but the next one wasonly the moon, which was tiresome, because you didn't need smokedglass), and a dried rattlesnake, and a portrait of Raphael framed inlobster-claws. Sue did not look at these treasures now, because sheknew they were all there; but if any "picknickle or bucknickle" hadbeen missing, she would have known it in an instant. Flinging herselfinto a chair, she hunted for a piece of paper; found one, but rejectedit in favor of a smooth, thin sheet of birch bark, on which she wroteas follows:
"DEAREST JULIET: It is the east, and thou art the sun, and it's time to get up. I pray thee, wake, sweet maid! This white bird, less snowy than thy neck, bears thee my morning greeting. Do hurry up and dress! Isn't this day perfectly fine? Sha'n't we have a glorious picnic? What are you going to wear? My cake is just lovely! I burned the first one, so this isn't angel, it's buttercup, because I had to take the yolks. Star of my night, send back a message by the bird of love to thy adored
"ROMEO."
Hastily folding the note into a rather tipsy cocked hat, Sue opened alittle door upon a ladder-like staircase, and called: "Coo! coo!coo!"
Down fluttered the pigeons, a dozen or more, and taking one in herhands, she fastened a note to a bit of ribbon that hung round itsneck.
"There!" she said. "Oh, you dear darlings! I must give you your cornbefore I do another thing."
The corn was in a little covered bin on the landing at the head of thestairs. This landing was called the anteroom, and was fully as largeas a small table-cloth. Sue scattered the corn with a free hand, andthe pigeons cooed, and scrambled for it as only pigeons can. She keptone good handful to feed the messenger bird, and several othersperched on her shoulders and thrust their soft heads into her hand.
"Dear things!" said Sue, again. "Zuleika, do you love me? Do you,Leila and Hassan? Oh, I wonder if I look like Lili, in the Goethebook! If I were only tall, and had a big white hat and a long whitegown with ruffles, I think perhaps--"
She stopped short, for a voice was calling from below: "Sue, Sue,where are you?"
Sue's face, which had been as bright as Lili's own, fell.
"Oh, Mary Hart!" she cried. "How could you?"
"How could I what?" and Mary's rosy face looked up from the foot ofthe staircase.
"Why, I supposed you were still sound asleep, and I was just going tosend a pigeon over. See! The note is all fastened on; and it's a Romeonote, too; and now you have spoiled it all!"
"Not a bit!" said Mary, cheerfully. "I'll run right back, Sue. I amonly walking in my sleep. Look! see me walk!"
She stretched her arms out stiffly, and stalked away, holding her headhigh and staring straight in front of her. Sue observed hercritically.
"You're doing it more like Lady Macbeth than Juliet!" she called afterher. "But still it's fine, Mary, only you ought to glare harder, Ithink. Mind you stay asleep till the pigeon comes. It's Abou Hassanthe wag" (the pigeons were named out of the "Arabian Nights"), "so youmight give him a piece of apple, if you like, Juliet."
"No apples in Verona at this season!" said Juliet, in a sleep-walkingvoice (which is a loud, sepulchral monotone, calculated to freeze theblood of the listener). "I don't suppose hard-boiled egg would hurthim!" Then she snored gently, and disappeared round the corner.
"That was clever of Mary," said Sue. "I wish I walked in my sleepreally and truly, like that funny book Mr. Hart has about SylvesterSound. It would be splendid to be able to walk over the housetops andnever fall, and never know anything about it till you woke up andfound yourself somewhere else. And then, in that opera Mamma told meabout, she walked right out of the window, and all kinds of thingshappened. It must be dreadfully exciting. But if I did walk in mysleep, I would always go to bed with my best dress on, only I'd havemy feet bare and my hair down. Dear me! There's that gray cat, and Iknow she is after my pigeons! Just wait a minute, you cat!"
Sue dismissed the pigeons gently, and they fluttered obediently up totheir cote, while she ran downstairs. Sure enough, a wicked-lookinggray cat was crouching on a branch of the apple-tree, watching withhungry eyes the few birds that had remained on the roof. The cat didnot see Sue, or, at all events, took no notice of her. Sue slippedround to the farther side of the tree and began to climb up silently.It was an easy tree to climb, and she knew every knob and knot thatwas comfortable for the foot to rest on. Soon she was on a level withthe roof of the pigeon-house, and, peeping round
the bole, saw thelithe gray body flattened along the bough, and the graceful,wicked-looking tail curling and vibrating to and fro. The pretty,stupid pigeons cooed and preened their feathers, all unconscious ofthe danger; another minute, and the fatal spring would come. Sue sawthe cat draw back a little and stiffen herself. She sprang forwardwith a shout, caught the branch, missed it--and next moment Sue andcat were rolling on the ground together in a confused heap. Poor pussy(who could not understand why she might not have pigeons raw, whenother people had them potted) fled, yowling with terror, and neverstopped till she was under the kitchen stove, safe from bright-eyed,shouting avalanches. Sue picked herself up more slowly, and rubbed herhead and felt for broken bones.
"I _won_'t have broken anything," she said, "and spoil the picnic. Ow!that hurts; but I can wiggle it all right. I'll put some witch-hazelon it. My head seems to be a little queer!" Indeed, a large lump wasalready "swellin' wisibly" on her forehead. "Never mind!" said Sue."I'll put arnica on that, and vinegar and brown paper and things;perhaps it'll be all right by breakfast-time; and anyhow, I drove offthe cat!" And she shook herself, and went cheerfully into the house.
Punctually at nine o'clock the three girls met on the door-step of thePenrose house, each carrying her basket. They were a curious contrastas they stood side by side. Clarice Packard was gaily dressed in agown of figured challis, trimmed with rows on rows of ribbon, and aprofusion of yellow lace. Her vast hat was tilted on one side, and herlight hair was tormented into little flat curls that looked as if theywere pinned on, though this was not the case. She had on a brooch, agold chain, a locket, seven charms, five "stick-pins," four hat-pins,three bracelets, and eight rings; and, as Mary said to herself, shewas "a sight to behold." If Clarice, on the other hand, had been askedto describe Mary, she would probably have called her a red-faceddowdy. As a rule, people did not think Mary Hart pretty; but every onesaid, "What a _nice_-looking girl!" And, indeed, Mary was as pleasantto look at as clear red and white--and freckles!--could make her, withthe addition of a very sweet smile, and a pair of clear, honest,sensible blue eyes. Her brown holland frock was made in one piece,like a child's pinafore, and, worn with a belt of russet leather, madea costume of such perfect comfort that she and Sue had vowed to keepto it till they were sixteen, if their mothers would let them. Suewas not in brown holland to-day, because she had torn her last cleanpinafore dress, as we have seen; but the blue gingham sailor-suit didwell enough, and the blouse was very convenient to put apples in, oranything else from a tame squirrel to a bird's nest. Just now it helda cocoanut and some bananas that would not go into the basket, andthat gave the light, fly-away figure a singular look indeed.
But Sue's bright face was clouded just now. She stood irresolute,swinging her basket, and looking from one to the other of hercompanions.
"Mother says we must take Lily!" she announced in a discontented tone."I don't see how we can be bothered with having her. She'll want toknow everything we are talking about, and we sha'n't have half so muchfun."
Clarice looked sympathetic. "Children are such a nuisance!" she said,and shrugged her shoulders. "Seems to me they ought to know when theyare not wanted."
"Nonsense, Sue!" said Mary, ignoring the last speech. "Of course wewill take Lily; she'll be no trouble at all, and she will help a gooddeal with the wreaths and baskets. I'll see to her," she added, alittle pang of bitterness mingling with one of self-reproach. She hadnot always wanted to take Lily when she and Sue were together. Theyalways had so much to say to each other that was extremely important,and that no one else could possibly understand, that a third in theparty, and that third a child of nine, seemed sadly in the way. Now,however, all was changed. Somehow, it was herself who was the third.Perhaps Lily's presence would be a relief to-day.
Presently the little girl came running out, all beaming with delightat being allowed to go on the big girls' picnic.
"Mother has given me a whole bottle of raspberry shrub!" she announcedjoyfully.
"Hurrah!" cried Sue, her face brightening again. "We can have toasts,and that will be splendid. Now let's start, girls! Come, Clarice. Letme carry your basket; it's heavy, and I can carry two just as well asone."
"Start!" echoed Clarice. "We are not going to walk, are we?"
ON THE WAY TO THE PICNIC.]
"Why, yes," said Sue, looking a little blank. "Don't you--aren't youfond of walking, Clarice? We always walk, Mary and I."
"Oh, certainly; I adore walking. Only, if I had known, Puppa wouldhave sent the team for us. Is it far?" And Clarice glanced down at hershoes, with their paper soles and high heels.
"No," said Sue, cheerily. "Only a little bit of a way, not more than amile. Oh, Clarice, what a lovely brooch that is! Won't you tell meabout it as we go along? I am sure there is a story about it; there'ssomething so exciting about all your things. Do tell me."
Clarice simpered and cast down her eyes, then cast a significantglance at the others. She took Sue's arm, and they walked on together,one listening eagerly, the other evidently pouring out some romanticstory. Mary took Lily's hand in hers.
"Come, Lily," she said; "we will go together, and I'll tell you astory as we go. What one would you like? 'Goosey, Gobble, andGanderee'? Very well!" But to herself Mary was saying: "I don'tbelieve that girl ever walked a mile in her life. We shall have tocarry her before we get to the Glen!"