Part 38 (2/2)

”Why, my parcels are all gone and there doesn't seem to be anything for you. Dear me, did I forget it?”

Just then Ernest got up and went out into the hall, coming back presently, leaving the door open behind him. In spite of themselves the family all looked toward the door. Chicken Little looked too, but saw nothing. A moment later the queerest voice called:

”Chick-en Lit-tle! Chick-en Lit-tle! Poor Pete! Scat! Go off an' die!”

The words seemed to come from the floor and sounded as if they were fired out of a popgun.

Chicken Little jumped down from her father's chair and stood for an instant spellbound in the middle of the floor.

Then she fell upon the newcomer with a shout.

”Oh, it's a parrot! Ernest, it's a parrot!”

But Polly eyed her distrustfully.

”Scat--go off and die!” he exclaimed, promptly retreating toward the door.

At a safe distance he began to call again:

”Chicken Little--Chicken Little!”

”Why, Father, how does he know my name?”

”Father's taught him, silly--he makes him say it before he feeds him.

He'll call you every time he wants his grub.” Ernest could not resist airing his superior knowledge.

”Go get him a cracker, Chick, and he will make friends with you fast enough.”

Pete caught the word cracker and observed plaintively--”Poor Pete--give Pete cracker. Bust my b.u.t.tons--cracker--cracker!” Then remembering his latest lesson he called engagingly once more: ”Chicken Little!”

”I am afraid it will be a sad nuisance,” Mrs. Morton said, laughing in spite of herself at the bird's absurd talk.

”Let Chicken Little take care of it herself--she's old enough,” Dr.

Morton replied.

”Yes, she's old enough, but somebody will have to see that she does it!”

”Pete will see to that--he'll make life a burden for her with his 'Chicken Little' if he is neglected.”

Mrs. Morton sent the pretty Indian basket on to Alice with a letter telling her that Frank and Marian were going West to their new home early in September. She did not mention Dr. Morton's new plan. She could not bear to admit even to herself the possibility of their all going.

Her home meant much to her. She looked about the handsome, comfortable rooms of the old house and she felt that she loved every nook and cranny of it, though they had owned it but five years. She thought, too, of Alice's disappointment should her old home again pa.s.s on to strangers.

They had taken great pride in restoring the place, which had been much run down when they bought it. The flower garden was her especial pride and care. It was lovely now with clove pinks, sweet williams, mignonette, and a dozen more old-fas.h.i.+oned blossoms, as she looked up from her letter to rest her eyes lovingly upon it. She had lain awake nights wondering if it was her duty to give up this home and her friends for the unknown ranch life. It would be giving up more still. The nearest church would be nine miles away--the children would have only an ungraded district school. She shook her head. No, she must take plenty of time to think all this over.

A day or two after his father's return, Frank caught up with him just outside the gate. ”Heard about Ga.s.sett?”

”No--has he had a relapse?”

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