"Oh, I'll find out, but I wish you'd tell me." Grant looked at her from under his long black lashes. His tone was distinctly wheedling.

Chicken Little laughed again and shook her head.

Grant threw his own line in, seating himself a little lower down on the bank; and quiet reigned for several minutes.

But the boy was determined to get the secret from her. After a tedious silence, he began in a low tone so that he would not disturb the fish: "You know, Chicken Little, I always did think you were the prettiest girl in school, but you were such a kid you never took the trouble to look at a fellow. Seems to me you might be nice now and tell me what you did."

He neglected to mention the fact that he had bet Mamie a silk handkerchief against a plate of taffy that he would find out what they had been up to before night. He received no response.

"Oh, come now, be a trump and tell a fellow."

He glanced around this time with a tenderly reproachful look. This tenderness speedily vanished. Jane was peacefully asleep, her head supported against the tree trunk.

The boy's face flushed wrathfully for an instant, but he had a saving sense of humor. "Serves me right for trying to get the best of a kid, I guess," he said to himself. He let her sleep on undisturbed until the sound of voices announced the approach of some of the others, when he hastily wakened her. He did not intend to be laughed at for the rest of the day.

Chicken Little found it hard to wake up and was heavy-eyed and stupid the remainder of the afternoon. Fortunately for her and Katy, Ernest had orders from his mother to be home by dark.

Patient Gertie was waiting expectantly to hear about the good times, but she could hardly extract three words from either of the revellers.

Parties and boys and finery were all stale, but their neatly made bed looked like heaven.

Chapter IX

BREAD AND POLLIWOGS

Three days elapsed before Katy and Jane could settle down to the quiet, daily life of the ranch. If Gertie had found them disappointingly mute that first evening, she never had to complain again. They went over and over the thrilling events of the night and the picnic the next afternoon, till Gertie got sick of hearing what "Mamie said" and how _he_ looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. Indeed, these events seemed to grow in importance the farther off they were. Gertie was seldom pettish, but Katy's seventeenth repet.i.tion of what Grant Stowe's cousin said to her while they were fishing left her cold.

"Shut up, Katy, I'm sick of hearing about it. I don't care what he said and I just know he thought you were a silly little girl trying to seem grown up when you aren't! You know Mother wouldn't like you to act so, and I guess Mrs. Morton'd be ashamed of you, too, if she knew."

"Gertie Halford, if you dare tell!"

"Thank you, I'm no tattle tale! I intend to forget all about it as soon as ever I can. But I know Sherm thought you were silly from something he said."

Chicken Little related the most presentable of their doings to Marian.

Marian didn't say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She ended a little meaningly: "Do you know, I believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at any other age? They're exactly like that little buff cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before he knows how. I hope you girls won't be in a hurry to grow up. There are so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a while."

July was growing unpleasantly hot. The mornings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was a favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when the wind was from the right direction. They took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with Jilly tumbling over their feet and Huz and Buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the plaguing flies.

They had been picking blackberries mornings for Mrs. Morton's preserving. The rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. The mother pig had developed an appet.i.te that was truly appalling. It seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. Dr. Morton would not let them feed corn in summer.

"Dear me," said Katy, "how big do little pigs have to be before they can be turned into the corral with the others?"

"Oh, six or eight weeks, I guess."

"They are getting awfully smelly!" remarked Gertie, holding her nose, "and they aren't a bit pretty any more."

"I know and Father said last night we'd have to begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long." Chicken Little sighed. This speculation in pigs had its unpleasant side.

"I guess we'd have to bring a lot more stuff if Ernest and Sherm didn't help us out. They give them things to eat lots of times. But I think Jim Bart might keep the pen a little cleaner," Katy observed.

"He's so busy he doesn't have time."

Another morning occupation was bread-making. Dr. Morton had offered a brand new dollar to the girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of bread. They were taking turns under Mrs. Morton's teaching, but it did seem as if more things could happen to bread. Katy would have had her perfect loaf, if she hadn't let the dough rise too long. The loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, alas! Chicken Little spoiled her prize batch by sitting down to read and letting it burn.

Gertie's first and second were very good, but a trifle too solid. Katy won out on her third, and produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that Marian said she was envious.

The others wanted to stop when Katy secured the dollar, but Mrs. Morton persuaded them to persist until they could equal Katy's.

"You may send one to Captain Clarke, if you wish."

This stimulated their waning interest and they tried to produce that perfect loaf. A week went by before Mrs. Morton nodded approval, saying: "Yes, that is nice enough for a present. I am sure the Captain will like it."

The girls had planned to take it over on the ponies, but Mrs. Morton wanted to send over two gallons of blackberries also, which was more than they could manage.

"I am sending Ernest and Sherm down the creek this evening on an errand," said Dr. Morton, "and they can stop at Captain Clarke's and leave the things. You girls can go some other time."

Chicken Little decided to send some of her spare pinks. She came in with a great handful just as the boys were ready to start.

"Where is your loaf, Chicken Little?" asked her mother.

"O dear, I forgot to wrap it up. It won't take a minute."

"Take one of the fringed napkins to wrap it in, then put paper around that," called her mother.

"Where did you put the bread, Mother?"

"In the bread box, of course, child, where did you suppose?"

"There isn't anything but old bread in the box."

"Well, ask Annie."

"She's gone to Benton's."

"Well, I think you're old enough to find four loaves of bread in a small pantry." Mrs. Morton got up, disgusted.

Sherm stood waiting with the tin pail of berries and the bunch of flowers in his hands. Ernest was holding the team out at the road.

When Mrs. Morton disappeared Sherm remarked placidly: "Well, I guess I might as well take these things out. I'll come back for the bread."

Mrs. Morton could be heard exclaiming about something in the kitchen.

Sherm smiled a fleeting smile and departed.

Sounds of hurried footfalls, of boxes and pans being moved, came from the kitchen. Somebody ran hastily down cellar. "It isn't here, Mother."

Jane's tone was emphatic.