"What bell is that? Where is it?" they all asked. "And what is it ringing for?"

"It's on top of the schoolhouse and it's ringing for noon. 'Twill ring again in the evening at nine o'clock. But I can tell 'em they ought to set it back two minutes."

"A nine o'clock bell? Why, that's a _curfew_ bell! How romantic!" cried Kyzie. She had read of "the mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells," but had never heard it. "Let's go to the schoolhouse."

As luncheon at the Templeton House would not be served for an hour yet, they kept on to the hollow where the schoolhouse stood. It was a small, unpainted building in the shade of three pine trees.

"Just wait a minute right here," said Edith, the young artist, unstrapping her kodak. "I want a snap-shot at it. Stand there by that tree, Jimmum. Put your foot out just so. I wish you were barefooted!"

Just then, as if they had overheard the wish, two little boys came running down the hill, and one of them was barefooted. Moreover, when Kyzie asked if they would stand for a picture, they consented at once.

"My name's Joseph Rolfe," said the elder, twitching off his hat, "and his name,"--pointing to his companion with a chuckle,--"his name is Chicken Little."

"No such a thing! Now you quit!" retorted the younger lad in a choked voice, digging his toes into the dirt, "quit a-plaguing me! My name's Henry Small and you know it!"

While Edith was busy taking their photographs, Kyzie thanked the urchins very pleasantly. They both gazed at her with admiration.

"See here," said Joe Rolfe, twitching off his hat again very respectfully, "Are you going to keep school in the schoolhouse? I wish you would!"

At this remarkable speech Jimmy and Edith fell to laughing; but Kyzie only blushed a little, and smiled. How very grown-up she must seem to Joe if he could think of her as a teacher! She was now a tall girl of fourteen, with a fine strong face and an earnest manner. She was beginning to tire of being cla.s.sed among little girls, and it was delightful to find herself looked upon for the first time in her life as a young lady. But she only said:--

"Oh, no, Joe, people don't teach school in summer! Summer is vacation."

"Well, but they do sometimes," persisted Joe; "there was a girl kep'

this school last summer. She called it 'vacation school.' But we didn't like her; she licked like fury."

"So she did," echoed Chicken Little, "licked and pulled ears. Kep' a stick on the desk."

And with these last words both the little boys took their leave, running up hill with great speed, as if they thought that standing for a picture had been a great waste of time.

"That Chicken boy is the biggest cry-baby," said Nate. "The boys like to plague him to see him cry. Joe Rolfe has some sense."

As the little party walked on, Miss Katharine turned her head more than once for another look at the schoolhouse.

"Wouldn't it be fun, Edy, to teach school in there and ring that 'lin-lan-lone bell' to call in the scholars? I'd make you study botany harder'n you ever did before."

"No, thank you, Miss Dunlee," replied Edith, courtesying. "You'll not get me to worrying over botany. I studied it a month once, but when I go up in the mountains I go to have a good time."

She pursed her pretty mouth as she spoke. Her sister Katharine was by far the best botanist in her cla.s.s, and was always tearing up flowers in the most wasteful manner. Worse than that, she expected Edith to do the same thing and learn the hard names of the poor little withered pieces.

"You don't love flowers as well as I do, Kyzie, or you couldn't abuse them so!"

This is what she often said to her learned sister after Kyzie had made "a little preach" about the beauties of botany.

As they entered the hotel for luncheon, Kyzie was still thinking of the schoolhouse and the sweet-toned bell and the singular speech of Joe Rolfe, about wanting her for a teacher. What came of these thoughts you shall hear later on.

"Well, I declare, I forgot all about that zebra kitty," said Edith.

"What will the knitting-woman think of such actions?"

IV

THE "KNITTING-WOMAN"

The "knitting-woman" met Edith at the dining-room door after luncheon, and said to her rather sharply:--

"Well, little girl, I thought you liked kittens?"

"I do, Mrs.--madam, I certainly do," replied Edith feeling guilty and ashamed. "But Nate Pollard took us to see the gold mine and the schoolhouse and we've just got back."

"Oh, that's it! I thought 'twas very still around here--I missed the noise of the _boyoes_.--You don't know what I mean by boyoes," she added, smiling. "I picked up the word in Ireland. I'm always picking up words. It means _boys_."

"I understand; oh, yes."

"Well, 'twas a little trouble to me, your not coming when I expected you; but you may come this afternoon. I'll be ready in ten minutes."

"Yes, madam, thank you."

Edith ran to her mother laughing. "Oh, mamma, she is the queerest woman!

Calls boys _boyoes_! I must go to see her kitten whether I want to or not--in just ten minutes! I wish I could take Kyzie with me; would you dare?"

"Certainly not. Katharine has not been invited. And don't make a long call, Edith."

"No, mamma, I'll not even sit down. I'll just look at the zebra kitty and come right away."

Mrs. Dunlee smiled. If there were many pets at Number Five it was not likely that Edith would hasten away. "Remember, daughter, fifteen minutes is long enough for a call on an entire stranger. You don't wish to annoy Mrs. McQuilken; but if you should happen to forget, you'll hear this little bell tinkle, and that will remind you to leave."

Number Five was a very interesting room, about as full as it could hold of oddities from various countries, together with four cats, a canary, and a mocking-bird.

"If you had come this morning you would have seen Mag, that's the magpie," said Mrs. McQuilken. "She's off now, pretty creature. She likes to be picking a fuss with the chickens."

The good lady had been knitting, but she dropped her work into the large pocket of her black ap.r.o.n, and moved up an easy-chair for her guest.

Edith forgot to take it. Her eyes were roving about the room, attracted by the curiosities, though she dared not ask a single question.

"That nest on the wall looks odd to you, I dare say," said Mrs.

McQuilken. "The twigs are woven together so closely that it looks nice enough for a lady's work-bag, now doesn't it?"

Edith said she thought it did.

"Well, that's the magpie's nest. She laid seven eggs in it once. I keep it now for her to sleep in; it's Mag's cot-bed."

Edith's eyes, still roving, espied a handsome kitty asleep on the lounge. It must be the zebra kitty because of its black and dove-colored stripes. Most remarkable stripes, so regular and distinct, yet so softly shaded. The face was black, with whiskers snow-white. How odd! Edith had never seen white whiskers on a kitten. And then the long, sweeping black tail!

Mrs. McQuilken watched the little girl's face and no longer doubted her fondness for kittens.

"I call her Zee for short. Look at that now!" And Mrs. McQuilken straightened out the tail which was coiled around Zee's back.