Part 29 (1/2)
”I am afraid so--you remember your mother warned you against selecting all those intricate patterns.”
Ernest remembered only too distinctly, but he preferred not to be reminded of it.
”Is there anything a fellow can do?” he demanded after three horrid days of close confinement with the blinds down.
”Not much, poor boy, I'm afraid,” Mrs. Morton replied pityingly. ”I'll read to you a couple of hours this morning and perhaps Sherm and Carol will come in for a while after school. I'll send word to them by Chicken Little. Mrs. Dart sent you over one of her custard pies just now.”
The custard pie sounded comforting.
”How long is it till dinner time?”
”Only about three hours--we might let you have a taste now if you are impatient,” Mrs. Morton said.
”Oh, I can wait but the hours seem so plaguey long when you can't see.
Read me Alice's letter again, will you? Gee, I wish she were here--she always knew how to help a chap out.”
”Better than Mother?” Mrs. Morton couldn't help feeling a trifle nettled.
Ernest felt the tone.
”Oh, Mumsey, you're a brick, but Alice can always think up things--you know? Of course, she isn't like your mother.” Ernest reached for his mother's dress and pulling her head down gave her a kiss--an unusual mark of affection.
It wrung Mrs. Morton's heart to see him grope to find her.
It took her a moment to compose herself before she went over to the window and raised the blind enough to see to read the letter.
Alice had written jubilantly of her progress.
”I am so happy today over a compliment--doesn't that sound vain?--that I am going to sit right down and share it with you. I should like to get up on a fence like that little bantam rooster of Darts' and crow it to all the world. Mrs. Martin, our princ.i.p.al, told me this morning I had done wonders in three months! And I was so stupid at first--French and Geometry seemed absolutely impossible. I used to put myself to sleep saying those awful French verbs. If the French had invented those verbs on purpose I'd never forgive them. But I suppose your language is like the color of your hair--you're not responsible. Funny how little of us is _us_, and how much is somebody else, isn't it? Tell Ernest the first ten pages of Geometry would have floored me completely if I hadn't remembered how patiently he used to saw round all those curves and curlicues in that scroll-work. Every time I flung the old book down and said 'I can't,' I seemed to see Ernest bent over that old scroll saw cutting Geometry out of wood. I could not let a fourteen year old boy beat me. Now the figures are getting as tame as kittens which reminds me of Jane's kitten.
”We call her Poky Pry because she is always poking her inquisitive nose into places where she has no business. I was afraid they might not want her here, but she frisked her way into favor at once. Her usual place for a morning nap is in Aunt Clara's work basket. We found her once in Uncle Joseph's silk hat. Another time she got shut in a bureau drawer and miauwed pitifully to be let out. But her funniest adventure was going downtown. Uncle Joseph got on the horse car one morning and was talking to a friend when they heard a soft purring. 'What on earth is that--it sounds like a cat?' asked the other man. They both looked all around. As soon as Uncle Joseph moved, the sound ceased. When they settled down to talk again the purring began again. 'Well, I never!'
said Uncle Joseph. He made another search even getting down to look under the car seat. The sound ceased the moment he began to hunt.
'Pshaw,' said his friend, 'somebody is playing a trick on us. I've heard of people who can throw their voices so the sound seems to come from some other place.' So they settled down once more, and once more the purring began and grew louder. Uncle Joseph got fidgety. His friend watched the lips of the other pa.s.sengers to see who was hoaxing them.
'It sounds,' he remarked finally, 'as if it came from your overcoat pocket!'--Uncle Joseph plunged his hand down into his pocket and felt soft warm fur. The whole car shouted when he drew Poky Pry out.
”I wonder if I told Chicken Little how Poky frightened the Pullman porter. She was sound asleep in her basket and I put it at the lower end of the berth, carelessly leaving the cover off. The porter was making up the next berth to mine. Suddenly I heard a wild shriek, and, parting my curtains, saw the porter das.h.i.+ng down the aisle with Poky Pry clanging distractedly to his kinky black head. She had crept out of her basket and made her way to the berth above the one he was making, to watch him.
When he straightened up she evidently thought his wooly hair some new variety of mouse and she made a spring for it.
”Tell Chicken Little, Kitty has kept me from being lonesome and is a great comfort. Uncle Joseph keeps asking questions about Chicken Little.
His girls are all boys and grown up. He was so pleased with her note thanking him for the ring. He chuckled over her skating adventure for days. 'Starting out pretty young to straighten up the world, isn't she?'
he remarked.”
”Chicken Little Jane is a very rash child, I'm afraid,” Mrs. Morton said as she laid down the letter a few moments later. ”I only hope she won't get into trouble some day on account of it.”
”Don't worry, Mother, she always comes out all right.”
Jane came up at noon to bring Ernest his dinner--a dinner in which a generous quarter of the custard pie played an important part. Sherm and Carol would come right from school she told him. Chicken Little had established herself as head nurse out of school hours. She felt very important and amused Ernest with her airs.