The Children of Wilton Chase Part 13

"Let them wait. Eric wants me to see his ferrets. I'd much rather stay with you."

Miss Nelson knew that Marjorie adored Eric, and that whatever pets of his happened to be in vogue had the strongest fascination for her.

Nevertheless she did lie down on the sofa, and her little pupil's gentle hand felt all that was delightful and soothing as it touched her brow. When Marjorie stole out of the room, Miss Nelson had dropped asleep.

Eric was still waiting. He was amusing himself peeling an early autumn apple, eating it in a discontented sort of way, for he was not very hungry, and watching the windows for Marjorie to appear. He was delighted when he saw her, but he would not show his pleasure.

"Come on," he said, in a gruff voice. "I don't know why I waited for you. Half the evening is gone already. Do be quick, Mag; how you loiter!"

"I've an apple in my pocket for Shark," said Marjorie.

She tucked her hand comfortably through Eric's arm. She was feeling very suns.h.i.+ny and happy, and soon managed to bring back the ever-bubbling humor to the little boy's lips.

About a quarter of an hour later, a sort of bundle rolled rather than walked into the Collinses' neat little cottage. Mrs. Collins uttered an exclamation and darted forward. She did not at once recognize that the bundle consisted of Marjorie and Eric, who, with peals and bursts of laughter, had in this style intruded themselves into her modest dwelling.

"Let go, Mag, don't throttle me!" screamed Eric.

"Well, leave the apple in my pocket; I'm going to feed Shark."

Mrs. Collins conducted her two little visitors to the yard, where Shark and his companion ferret resided in their wire cage. Marjorie sank down in front of the cage, and gazed at the ferrets quite as long and as earnestly as Eric could desire.

"They are beautiful," she said at last. "More especially Shark."

Eric felt that if it were not undignified, he could have hugged his sister. They left the yard, and re-entered Mrs. Collins's house the dearest of friends.

They were going into the kitchen to beg for a piece of brown cake, which they knew Mrs. Collins could make to perfection, when, hearing voices raised in dispute, Marjorie drew Eric back.

"Let's come another time for the cake," she whispered. "The pa.s.sage-door is open, we can go out that way."

"Wait a second, Mag. I forgot to take a squint at Lop-ear. Just stay where you are, I'll be with you in a twinkling."

Marjorie stood still; Eric departed. The following words fell on Marjorie's ears:

"It's all very well to talk, Susy, but I'm quite sick of you and your mysteries, and I _will_ know what you're hiding under your ap.r.o.n."

"I can't tell you, mother. It's a secret between Miss Ermengarde and me."

"Well, show it to me, anyhow. _I_ don't mind your talking to miss, though the family make such a fuss about it. If it's anything she gave you, you might as well show it to your mother, Susy."

"Yes, she did give it to me; she gave it to me yesterday."

"Well, show it to me."

"No, no; that I won't."

"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 pa.s.sage. 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 pa.s.sage, 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."