Three Little Cousins

"I'm sure there were very few of them," protested Molly. "Anyhow it was just fine, Mary, and you must be sure to go next time. We had the loveliest sail home through the sunset."

"Through the sunset," said Uncle Dick scornfully. "One would suppose we were in a balloon."

"Well, but it was sunset on the water, too," persisted Molly. "The sea was just as colorful as the sky."

"When anybody coins words like that I'm ready for bed," said Uncle Dick. And Mary, feeling that the subject of the afternoon's doings was exhausted, drew a breath of relief.

The three cousins played together most amicably all the next morning. In Mary's breast hope was high, for might not Ellis appear at any time with the pin? She counted much on that notice in the Green Island post-office. She was brighter than she had been for days so that Molly confided to Polly: "She seems more like us."

"I'm beginning to like her real well," admitted Polly. "She isn't so stiff as she was at first."

"I suppose her Englishism is wearing off," returned Molly.

But that afternoon when she returned from the post-office, whither she had gone for her Aunt Ada, she beckoned to Polly who was playing jacks with Mary. They had a set of jackstones which they had collected themselves from the pebbles on the beach, and the place was much more interesting because of them.

"What do you want?" asked Polly following Molly into the house. "Are there any letters for me?"

"No," said Molly, "but just wait a minute and I'll tell you. I must take Aunt Ada her mail first." Her manner was mysterious and Polly wondered what mighty secret she had to disclose.

"Let's go down to the rocks, to the lion's den," proposed Molly when she came back into the room. "We'd better go around by the back way."

Polly looked surprised. "Why? What for?"

"I've something to tell you and I don't want any one to bear. You will scarcely believe it, Polly, and I'm sure I don't know what to do about it."

"Oh, dear, what can it be?" said Polly. "Is it anything about Luella? Is she going to leave?"

"Oh, dear, no. It is about some one much nearer than Luella."

They avoided being seen from the front of the house till they were well away, and then they ran down to the rocks and settled themselves out of sight below one of the great ledges.

"Now tell," said Polly, all curiosity.

"You must promise not to breathe a word."

"I promise on my sacred word and honor."

"Well then; it is about Mary."

"Mary! Oh, Molly!"

"Yes, what do you think? She wasn't at the Whartons' at all yesterday afternoon."

Polly looked as astonished as Molly expected, though she said, after a pause: "Well she never said she was."

"She let us think so. She didn't deny it."

"But did she go to Green Island? Now I think of it, all she said was that she thought it was a pretty place. She knew that because she saw it when she went over there to the party."

"Yes, I know that, but it wasn't at Green Island that she got the strawberries, Polly, and she didn't go anywhere with the Whartons."

"How do you know?"

"I saw Grace at the post-office. I said to her: 'It was real nice of you all to take Mary out in the launch yesterday,' and she looked so surprised when she said: 'Why, we didn't take Mary. We didn't go out at all yesterday, for Uncle Will had some of his friends up from town and they were using the launch all day.'"

"What did you say?"

"I didn't know what to say. 'Did Mary tell you she was with us?' Grace asked, and I had to crawl out by saying: 'No, Luella thought so.' Then Grace said – now what do you think of this, Polly – she said: 'Why, I saw Mary going out with Ellis Dixon in his brother's boat. I watched them rowing off. I am sure it was Mary. I couldn't be mistaken for no one around here has a hat like hers.'"

Polly was silent with amazement and Molly went on: "I had to say, 'Oh, very likely Aunt Ada knows all about it,' and then I came away as fast as I could."

"Why Molly Shelton!" exclaimed Polly finding her voice, "do you suppose she sneaked off that way with a strange little boy when she says her mother is so particular that she doesn't even let her go on the street alone? I can't believe it. I think Grace must have been mistaken."

"No, she wasn't. I know that."

"How do you know?"

"I saw Parker Dixon and he said, 'Did the little girl get home all right? She was pretty safe with El, but I didn't know as your aunt mightn't hev been oneasy, seeing they was just two children. You tell her she needn't hev no fear of El; he can handle a boat as good as I kin.'" Molly unconsciously imitated Parker's manner of speaking.

"Then it is true; of course it is," decided Polly. "Are you going to tell Aunt Ada?"

"I don't know what to do. I feel as if I ought, and yet I feel sort of sorry for Mary. She is 'way off from all her people and we've been picking at her for being so particular and not doing this and not doing that, so maybe she thought she was doing no more than we would have done if we had been in her place."

"I know, and maybe we would have done the same, but she needn't have been deceitful," returned Polly. "She could have asked if she might go."

"She didn't have a chance, for we had gone sailing, you know."

"Then she ought to have told the first thing, as soon as she saw Aunt Ada. No, she is a sneaky, horrid girl and I am not going to have anything more to do with her, if she is my cousin. I was beginning to like her, too." Polly spoke regretfully.

"So was I," agreed Molly. "But now the main thing is, shall we tell or shall we not? I hate to be a tattle-tale."

"Then don't let's tell, but don't let's be more than polite to her and she'll see that something is wrong and maybe she will tell of her own accord. I wish she'd go. I don't like sneaky girls; I'd rather they'd be out and out naughty."

"Why do you suppose she didn't tell?" said Molly thoughtfully. "She might have known that Aunt Ada wouldn't punish her or even scold. She would only have said: 'I'd rather you'd always tell me, Mary, before you undertake such trips again.'" Again Molly imitated the person she quoted. "It doesn't seem to me she could be scared of Aunt Ada when she's always so gentle and kind."

"Well, I don't care whether she was scared or not, she wasn't honest, and I think anyhow it was very queer for her to sneak off with a boy she didn't know."

"But I know him; I used to play with him when I was only four years old," said Molly. "He is a very nice boy. Aunt Ada says that he has been very well raised and that any mother could be proud of him. He is real bright, too: why, he can manage a sail boat as well as a man, and he's always so ready and willing to do anything he can for any of us. He is very different from some of the others who just can't bear the summer people."

"Never mind about him; I suppose he is all right; it is Mary I am bothered over."

"Well, the only thing we can do is to wait and see if she will tell of her own accord; maybe she hasn't had a good chance yet to see Aunt Ada alone; we are giving her the chance now, so we will wait and see what happens."

This Polly agreed was best, but they returned to the house to turn a cold shoulder to Mary, and to ignore her in every way they could without being directly rude. So directly opposite was this course of conduct from that of the morning, when her cousins had been all smiles and sweetness, that Mary's fears again arose and she was so miserable that at bedtime when Molly went in to her English cousin's room to get a bottle of cold cream with which to anoint her sunburned face, she heard a soft little sob from Mary's bed.

Immediately her sympathies were aroused. Mary was far from home and mother. What if she had done wrong? She was alone among comparative strangers and who knew the exact truth of yesterday's proceedings? She crept softly to Mary's bedside. Her cousin's face was buried in the pillow, and she was shaking with sobs. Molly leaned over her. "Are you sick, Mary?" she whispered, "Do you want me to call Aunt Ada?"

"No," came feebly from Mary.