Marian overheard. "Trust me, Chicken Little, I have one very special one for Frank--I didn't intend to have him crowing."

Wing bore in a most tempting custard. Frank inspected it carefully to make sure it had not been tampered with. In so doing he attracted the attention of those round him. He took a generous spoonful and made a hasty dive for the kitchen amid lively applause from the whole room.

"What was in it?" The Captain was still shaking.

"Mustard--Marian made it bad enough so he couldn't hide it!" Chicken Little was dancing up and down in glee.

"Wing, you rascal, I'd like to choke you." Frank was still sputtering.

Wing a.s.sumed a mournful expression. "Me velly sorry--n.o.body touch, samee you say."

It was the second of April before the last rattle of wheels died away down the lane.

"Well, Mother, I think it paid for the trouble," said Dr. Morton, as they were starting homeward, his arms laden with chairs.

"Yes, I guess, perhaps, I have been inclined to stand too much aloof.

That little Mrs. Anderson is really a cultured woman. She comes from Maine. I asked her to come and spend the day Tuesday."

Marian's comment was brief.

"Frank, I am dead, but I'm glad we did it."

"So am I--put out the light." Frank was already half asleep.

CHAPTER XIX

SHERM HEARS BAD NEWS

"Sherm, don't you just love this room?" Chicken Little gazed about Captain Clarke's big library with a real affection. "I don't know why it is, but this room makes me feel the same way a sunset, or the prairie when it's all in bloom, does. I can't just tell you, but it makes me so satisfied with everything ... as if the world was so beautiful it couldn't possibly be very bad."

"I know--it's the harmony, like in music. The colors all seem to go together ... everything seems to belong. I like that, too, but it doesn't mean just that, to me. I see the Captain every time I step in here. It's a part of him--almost as if he had worked his own bigness and the kind of things he loves, into furniture and books and--fixings."

"Yes, there's so much room to breathe here--I s'pose being at sea so much, he had to have that. And he picked up most of these things on his voyages--he must have wanted them pretty bad or he wouldn't have carried them half around the world with him."

The young people had come over to the Captain's for supper. School had closed the day before, and Chicken Little was the proud possessor of an elaborate autograph alb.u.m, won as a spelling prize. Captain Clarke had attended the closing exercises at her request. He had invited them over to celebrate, this evening. He declared he had never learned to spell himself and he wanted the honor of entertaining some one who knew how.

Chicken Little had brought the alb.u.m along for the Captain's signature.

"And write something, too, won't you? Something specially for me," she had begged winningly.

"Have they all written something--specially for you, Chicken Little? I should like to read them."

"I haven't asked very many people yet, just Mr. Clay and Grant Stowe and Mamie Jenkins' little sister--Mamie's in town you know. I asked Sherm, but he hasn't thought up anything."

The Captain glanced at Sherm and smiled whimsically. "Now, if I were as young as Sherm, I shouldn't have to think up things--the trouble would be to restrain my eloquence."

Sherm grinned and looked uncomfortable.

The Captain was merciful; he changed the subject.

"Isn't the middle of May a little early to close school?"

"No, it is the usual time. You see the older children have to help at home as soon as the weather gets warm."

"Of course. What are you going to do this summer?"

"Wish Ernest was home," Jane answered pertly, but there was a wistful look in her eyes.

Before the Captain could reply, Wing came to the door to announce a man to see him. The Captain was gone some time. When he returned, he explained that it was a buyer from Kansas City after his corn, and he should have to leave them to entertain themselves for a while.

"I'll tell you what you can do," he paused in the doorway as the idea occurred to him. "You two may rummage in the drawers of the cabinet.

Take out anything you like the looks of. I think you will find a lot of interesting stuff there. Make yourselves at home."

They lingered, discussing the room for several minutes after his departure, then Jane went over to the cabinet.

"Come on--there are heaps of wonderful things here. He showed me some of them the day I ran off and came to see him on my own hook. That's a year ago! My, I feel as if it were a dozen--it seems as if I were just a little girl then."

"And now?" Sherm adored to set Jane off.

"None of your sarcasm, Mr. Dart." Then soberly: "Truly, Sherm, I know I'm a lot older. Things seem so different to me."

"I know you are, too, Lady Jane. I was only teasing you."

They had a beautiful half hour among the Captain's treasures. Sherm gloated especially over the prints--their wonderful composition and soft color.

"Say, the j.a.ps know a thing or two, don't they? That wouldn't be my idea of what to put into a picture, but it's awfully satisfying." He held the print off and closed one eye to see the outlines more vividly.

"Sherm, you surely were intended for an artist." Chicken Little had gone on to the drawer below. "Oh, Sherm, I believe this is the drawer the Captain didn't show me before. Do you suppose he wants us to go through it?"

"He said all of them. What's in it?"

"Oh, sashes and scarfs and things. I thought maybe they used to belong to his wife."

Sherm lifted a Roman scarf of crimson and yellow and rich blue, and examined it admiringly. "It doesn't look as if this had ever been worn.

I guess he wouldn't have told us to go ahead if there had been anything here he didn't want us to find. Say, Chicken Little, this would look dandy on you. Here, I'm going to fix you up for Captain Clarke to see."

Sherm shook out the glowing silken folds and proceeded to wreathe the scarf around Chicken Little's head, turban fashion. Her brown eyes glowed and the color in her cheeks grew deeper, as she met the admiration in Sherm's eyes. He was staring at her, enchanted at the result of his efforts. Jane moved restlessly.

"Hold still there, can't you? I want to try it another way. Didn't I see one of those sleeveless jacket affairs in there?"

Jane rummaged and brought to light a crimson silk Turkish jacket embroidered in gold thread. She noticed that it, too, seemed perfectly fresh.

"Sherm, I do wonder how Captain Clarke happened to buy all these woman's things. Do you suppose he bought them for his wife and she was dead when he got home with them?"

"I wonder. Perhaps we oughtn't to be handling them. See all those queer beads, and there's a bracelet! Isn't it a beauty? See, it is like silver lace. I guess those blue stones must be turquoises."