"I only wanted to ask if I might pack a lunch in my little basket for us," said Susan. "It isn't a secret. I just as lief have Miss Liza hear."

Susan reappeared in a moment, basket in hand, carrying s...o...b..ll and Flip.

"Let me see what you took, Susan," said Grandmother.

In the basket were two mola.s.ses peppermints and two lumps of sugar.

"Just enough for Gentilla and me," said Susan contentedly. "Phil has gone to Green Valley with his mother."

Down the lane they started, Gentilla carrying s...o...b..ll, Susan with Flip and the basket of lunch.

"There is no use looking in there to-day," announced Susan, waving her hand toward the office. "Grandfather has gone fishing, and Snuff has gone with him. This is good weather for fishing. Grandfather said so, and he knows everything."

"Everything," echoed Gentilla loyally.

"Yes, he does," Susan chattered on. "When I was little, I used to wonder why he wasn't a king. There are always plenty of kings in fairy stories, but there don't seem to be any round here. Did you ever see a king?"

Gentilla shook her head solemnly, but Susan was not looking at her.

"Gentilla," said Susan, staring at the schoolhouse door, "it's open!"

Never before had Susan seen the schoolhouse door unlocked. Many times had she shaken it and rattled the k.n.o.b, and all of no avail. But now the door actually stood ajar, and, with a push that sent it wide open, Susan, followed by Gentilla, stepped over the threshold.

The air in the schoolroom was close and warm, and dust lay thick upon the floor and danced in the beams of sunlight that filtered through the grimy window-panes.

Susan walked about, surveying the battered desks covered with scratches and ink-spots and ornamented with initials cut into the wood. The door of the rusty stove stood open, and within lay a heap of torn papers. The faded maps were not interesting, and Susan began to think the schoolroom more attractive when peeped at from the porch than when actually within it.

"Let's go outside," said she to Gentilla, who had followed her about like Mary's lamb. "Then we'll sit down and eat our lunch." The lunch basket, guarded by Flip and s...o...b..ll, had been left on the porch steps.

Susan turned the k.n.o.b of the schoolhouse door, which had swung shut behind them, and pulled. The door wouldn't open. Susan tugged until she grew red in the face.

"You try, Gentilla," said she.

Gentilla obligingly gave a pull, and toppled over backward upon the floor.

"Don't cry," said Susan, helping her to her feet. "We will just climb out of the window."

But the windows, swollen and stiff, were no more accommodating than the door.

Susan climbed up on the window-sill, and, covered with dust and dirt, pushed and pulled until she was quite out of breath.

"I can't," she gasped. "I can't open it. What shall we do?"

Gentilla's face puckered up at sight of Susan's distress. She ran back to the door and beat upon it with her soft little fists.

"You open, you open," called Gentilla, in a pitiful little pipe that would have moved a heart of stone.

Susan wanted to cry. There was a big lump in her throat, and it was only vigorous winking and blinking that kept the tears from falling down her cheeks.

But Susan was repeating to herself something she had overheard Grandmother say to Miss Liza that very afternoon.

"Susan is a real little mother to Gentilla," Grandmother had said.

And, at the time, Susan had thought, "If Gentilla ever falls into the fire or tumbles down the well, I must be the one to pull her out."

And she had almost hoped that something of the kind might happen, so that she might show how brave she was, and how devoted to her little friend.

Surely now the time had come. Perhaps they would have to stay forever in the schoolhouse. Without anything to eat they would grow thinner and thinner and thinner until there would be nothing left of them at all. At this doleful thought, one tear rolled down Susan's nose and splashed on the dusty boards. But only one! For she swallowed hard, gave herself a little shake, and then took Gentilla by the hand.

"Come," said she, drawing her gently away from the door. "We will stay by the window, and when anybody goes by, we will knock and shout and call, and some one will let us out, I know."

So the two little girls stationed themselves by the front window and looked longingly out at the sunny road, the dancing leaves, and oh, cruelest of all, the lunch basket on the porch steps, still guarded by the faithful Flip and s...o...b..ll.

Susan, her face streaked with dirt, polished off the window-gla.s.s as best she could with her pocket handkerchief.

"Grandmother will find us," said she hopefully. "Or else Grandfather will. Don't you be afraid, Gentilla."

But in her heart she thought:

"Grandfather has gone fishing, and perhaps he won't be home till black night. And I didn't tell Grandmother where we were going; I know I didn't tell her where we were going."

These sad thoughts were interrupted by the welcome sound of wheels.

"Knock and scream, knock and scream!" called Susan excitedly.

And they fell to work with a will, Susan redoubling her efforts when she saw that it was Mr. Drew, hastening home behind little brown Molly.

But the _clip_, _clap_, _clip_, _clap_, of Molly's hoofs drowned all the noise they made, and Mr. Drew, with not a glance toward the schoolhouse, drove out of sight.

Susan looked blankly at Gentilla.

"Oh, what a long time we've been here," said she forlornly. "It must be nearly night."

"Nearly night," echoed Gentilla.

She sat down on the floor with her back against the wall, leaving Susan alone on guard. She shut her eyes, her head nodded once or twice, and when Susan next glanced at her she lay on the floor sound asleep.

"Oh, Gentilla, wake up! I'm afraid to stay here alone. Wake up!" began poor Susan, who at that moment would have welcomed the company of even a fly buzzing on the window-pane. But the thought of Grandmother's speech silenced her.

"I won't wake her up, and I won't cry either," thought she. And pressing her face against the window, she bravely watched the empty road for a five minutes that actually seemed to her two hours long.

All kinds of dreadful thoughts began to come to Susan's mind. Were there bears in the woods, and at nightfall would they come lumbering out, and, pushing the door open, squeeze her and Gentilla to death in a mighty bear hug? What if Grandfather had made a mistake and the Indians had not all gone away years ago! Suppose they should carry her off and stain her brown with berry juice, like the little girl in her story book, so that, even if Grandfather should see her, he would never know that it was his black-eyed Susan, but would think she was a real true little Indian girl.

Susan gave a start of horror and almost screamed out loud. Up the road this moment there came prowling a big dark animal.

"Gentilla, Gentilla, here's a bear!" called Susan in a frenzy. "Wake up and help me! Here's a bear! Oh! Oh! He's coming after us! Gentilla!

Gentilla!-Why, it's Snuffy! Snuffy! Snuffy! save me!"

And Susan's cries of fright changed into those of joy and hope as soon as she saw that the great brown bear was none other than s.h.a.ggy, comfortable, homelike Snuff.