The Children of Wilton Chase

"What is it? you might tell me that."

Marjorie distinctly heard Susy's pleased childish laugh.

"Oh, you'll never guess," she said; "it is so pretty – all sorts of color, blue and pink and white, and – and – But you shan't see, that you shan't."

Before Marjorie could hear more Eric hurried back.

"Now we'll have a game of cricket," he said to his sister.

Marjorie followed him without a word. She was a very good cricketer for a little girl, and she and Eric often had a jolly game together. The two went to the cricket-field, and the game began.

On Eric's side it was vigorously played; but had Marjorie's arm lost its cunning? Her bowling went wide of the mark, Eric proposed that he should bowl, and she should bat. This made matters no better. Finally he stopped the game in disgust.

"You're awfully changed, Mag," he said, half between sorrow and anger. And then he marched out of the field. He felt an intense pity for Marjorie. "She always was a good, boyish sort of a girl," he said to himself, "but she's getting like the rest of them. Girls are a poor lot, and she's like the rest."

At another time Marjorie could not have borne to see Eric look at her sorrowfully. She took no notice now, however, but the moment her brother left the field, she turned on her own heel and went back to the Collinses' cottage. Mrs. Collins had gone out, but Susy was standing by the door. Susy wore a blue cotton frock to-day, and her curly hair was pushed back from her fair and pretty face. She was standing in the porch talking to the canary. He was pouring out a flood of song, and Susy was looking up at him, and trying to bring notes something like his from her rosy lips.

On ordinary occasions Marjorie, remembering the home mandate, would not have entered into any prolonged conversation with Susy. She forgot all this now in her eagerness and desire for information.

"Susy!"

"Yes, Miss Marjorie."

Susy had no particular love for Marjorie. Marjorie was downright in manner, plain in face, no flatterer. Susy came out of the cottage slowly, looking behind her, as she did so, at the singing canary.

"Come here, Susy, come quickly; I want to say something to you."

"Yes, Miss Marjorie, what is it?"

"What were you saying to your mother just now? I overheard you in the passage. What was it all about?"

"I don't remember, miss, I'm sure."

Susy's color had changed from red to white.

"Where were you, miss, when I was talking?" she said after a pause.

"I was in the passage, waiting for Eric. You must remember what you said. Your mother was asking you to show her something. Something you said Ermengarde had given you."

"Oh, I remember now, miss. Miss Ermie do give me things now and then."

"But you said she gave you this, whatever it was, yesterday."

"I couldn't have said yesterday, Miss Marjorie."

"You did, Susy; I heard you."

"I couldn't have said yesterday, really, miss."

"But you did, Susy; you said yesterday as plain as possible. You said 'she gave it to me yesterday'; those were your very words."

"I must have meant another day, miss; I'm careless in my words, often and often."

"What did she give you, Susy? Do tell me."

"Only a yard of blue stuff to make a frock for my doll."

"But how could a yard of blue stuff be pink white and all sorts of colors?"

"Well, miss, I suppose I meant my doll. She's pink and white enough, I'll show her to you, if you like, and then you'll believe me. Shall I run and fetch her to show you, miss?"

"Oh, if you are as sure as all that, you needn't trouble," said Marjorie.

She left the cottage without even waiting to bid Susy good-by. Eric was still lounging about, waiting for her, and Marjorie ran up to him, all her usual spirits once more shining in her face.

CHAPTER VIII.

FATHER'S BIRTHDAY

The great event of the year at Wilton Chase came in the summer. It came just at the time when all the children could enjoy it – when they were all at home and together.

This event was Mr. Wilton's birthday. It had been his custom, as long as any of the children could remember, to devote this day to them. He was their willing slave, their captive to do what they pleased with during the long hours of that summer day.

Aunt Elizabeth, who hated being brought into close contact with what she termed "unfledged creatures," generally left the house for that occasion. The oak doors which divided the schoolroom from the grown-up portion of the building were thrown open, and happy rioters might have been seen darting about in all directions. In short, during this day Chaos reigned instead of order. Each child did as he or she liked best, with a reckless disregard to all future consequences.

In preparation for the feasting which went on during father's birthday, nurse was wont to see that all the useful unpleasant nursery bottles were well filled. She sent them to the chemist a week before, and when they were returned, put them grimly away in the cupboard.

"These," she would remark, "have nothing to do with father's birthday, but they come in handy the day after."

Miss Nelson also made preparations for the after effects of this day of unrestraint. She laid in a good store of clean manuscript paper, for she knew many impositions would have to be written, and she looked well through the poetry books and books of French selections, to see which on an emergency would be suited to the capacities of the delinquents, who would be certain to have to learn them amidst tears and disgrace.

The children's maid, too, laid in stores of buttons and hooks, and tapes and ribbons, for the repairing of the clothes which must come to grief in the general riot.

Thus all that the careful elders could do was done, but the children cared for none of these things. To the children the day itself stood before them in all its glory, and they gave no thought or heed to any after-time of reckoning.

Mr. Wilton's birthday arrived in the beginning of the second week of the summer holidays. The first exuberance of joy, therefore, at having the boys at home again, was past, and all the young folk could give themselves up to the ecstasy which the day itself afforded.

"Good-by, Roderick," said Miss Elizabeth Wilton to her brother. She came in in her neat traveling-dress, and surprised him over a late breakfast.

"Why, where are you off to?" he asked.

"Where am I off to? I'm going to town, of course."

"To town, in August! What do you mean, Lizzie?"

"You may well shrug your shoulders, and ask me what I mean. You, Roderick, are the cause. Your birthday comes to-morrow."

"Good gracious! And I had forgotten all about it."