Just then Letty drove up and stopped again. Mrs. Hartwell-Jones began to ask her questions about the ponies; whether they were afraid of trains, motor cars, or things like that.

"No, ma'am, they are very gentle," replied Letty earnestly, overcoming her awe of the "author-lady" in her anxiety to do justice to the ponies.

"They have so much sense and intelligence, from being taught things that they always listen to reason."

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones smiled kindly.

"Their intelligence certainly has been cultivated," she agreed, "but are they practical? I mean, will they be content to go jogging peacefully about country roads with a quiet old lady? They might miss the spangle and sawdust of the circus, you know. Or if they heard a band play, they might stand up on their hind legs, carriage and all, and begin to waltz."

Jane and Christopher shouted with laughter at that suggestion. Even Letty laughed, and then reddened with embarra.s.sment.

"I don't believe they would do that," she answered politely.

"If they're anything like Letty, they'll be glad to get away from the circus," added Christopher. "Isn't Letty funny, not to like the circus?

I should think it would be bully-specially with such jolly little beasts as Punch and Judy to show off."

"Those are the ponies' names, you know," put in Jane. "They are twins, grandmother, twin brother and sister, the same as Kit and me."

It was grandmother's and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's turn to laugh now. Then there were a great many more questions to be asked about the ponies, and everybody was so interested and excited that they forgot all about dinner-even Christopher-until Huldah came out the second time to say everything would be spoiled. Christopher was sent to the stable to fetch Jo Perkins to look after the ponies and grandmother invited Letty to stay for dinner.

"You must be very hungry," said Jane, as she led Letty up-stairs to wash her hands. "I am always starved when I've been to the village. Huldah cooks awfully good dinners."

It was impossible for any one to feel shy very long in that cheerful household, and Letty soon began to enjoy herself very much, although she was very quiet.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's mind was still busy over that new idea that Jane's speech had given her and she watched Letty very closely without seeming to do so.

"She is a very sweet-mannered child," she reflected. "I find it hard to realize that she is only a little circus girl. She must have had a wonderfully good mother. I must manage to have a long talk with her."

After dinner the real business began. Joshua examined the ponies carefully while the twins looked on with bated breath. Suppose Joshua should find something wrong with those delightful, charming little animals!

"But he couldn't, oh, he couldn't!" whispered Jane to herself over and over.

And Joshua didn't.

Then the price must be settled upon. As this subject did not interest the children, and as they were forbidden to drive the ponies again because they must be rested for the return trip to the circus field, they carried Letty off to show her Juno's puppies, the orchard, and their treasures and playgrounds generally.

"If I'd a-thought the lady would surely take the ponies," said Mr. Drake when the transaction was satisfactorily concluded, "I'd a-druv over with another horse, so's Letty an' me could of got back and I could of left the ponies right now. But I guess my wife'll be glad to have one more good sight of 'em. It's strange how fond we all are of them ponies, mem; something like they was pet dogs. The little un," pointing with his thumb in the direction in which Letty had disappeared, "she'll most cry her eyes out, I guess. Poor little un, I'm afraid there's a good many troubles ahead o' her." And he shook his head regretfully. He had a kind heart under his rough jacket.

"I was given to understand that the girl is to leave you?" said Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones thoughtfully. "Is she no relation at all to you or your wife?"

"No, mem, none at all. Her big brother Ben was our prize tight-rope walker. A wonder, he was. But he fell an' broke his neck; dreadful accident, mem. It happened only last summer. The little un took on dreadful. She always lived with her big brother; all her folks are dead and she hasn't any friends but us. Folk ain't very cordial to circus folk and their kin, for some reason, though you couldn't find a nicer spoken child than Miss Letty there. After the accident we kept her on with us. She's most astonishin' helpful. My wife she sets great store by her, but Letty don't seem to care for the rovin' life. I guess she won't mind parting company, 'cept for bein' sorry to leave my wife an' the kid. But it's powerful uncertain what's to become of her. My wife'll do the best she can for her when we get to the city."

"I was thinking," said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones slowly, "that perhaps I could find a position for the girl. But I should like to talk to your wife first."

"Yes'm?" replied the man hopefully. "I guess my wife could suit you all right about Letty's character, mem. We'd like first-rate to see Letty get a good place of some sort, where she was treated kind and not worked too hard."

"Mr. Baker," said Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, turning to grandfather, "I'd like to ask a favor of you. Might Joshua drive the phaeton into the village-to where Mr. Drake has his tents-to bring me home? I think I should like to take a drive behind my new ponies to see how I am going to like them and the little carriage." For the basket-phaeton had been bought, too.

Grandfather was only too delighted to put any carriage at all at Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones's disposal, and word was sent to Joshua at once, while Mrs. Hartwell-Jones limped into the house to consult with grandmother.

When Jane and Christopher learned that Letty was to drive Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones into the village in the pony carriage they were very eager to go too, of course, but grandmother said no, they might not go.

They would make too big a load in the pony carriage for so long a drive, and would crowd Mrs. Hartwell-Jones too much in the phaeton coming back.

Christopher had a dozen or more arguments and different arrangements by which he and Jane could dispose of themselves for the excursion.

"I could drive the ponies, Jane could sit in the rumble and Letty could squeeze in between Josh and Mr. Drake in the phaeton," he exclaimed, in a positive tone, as if no possible fault or objection could be found to so excellent an arrangement.

But grandmother was firm. The fact was that Mrs. Hartwell-Jones had confided her plan to grandmother and in order to think of carrying it out that lady required to have a long talk alone with Letty and with Mrs. Drake, the wife of the circus manager.

The "lady who wrote books" felt very hard hearted as she was helped carefully into the low pony carriage, at thus leaving Jane and Christopher behind. They took such a long, affectionate farewell of the ponies and Letty, and stared so wistfully at the little rumble! But she comforted herself with the thought that if her plan worked out properly, the children would have many opportunities during the summer for long drives and games.

CHAPTER VIII

JANE'S IDEA

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty were very silent at first as they drove along. Letty was quite overcome with shyness and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones was considering what it was best to say first. She was very anxious to have a long talk with Letty, which was the reason why she had not wished Jane and Christopher to come too. For Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's plan was nothing more nor less than to take Letty herself, to act as little errand girl and companion during the summer; then in the autumn when she returned to the city, to put the child in school and enable her to grow up well-taught and fitted to take her place in the working world. But there were a great many things to be thought about and talked over first.

"My dear, tell me something about yourself, will you?" she asked gently, after the gate had been pa.s.sed and the ponies were trotting sedately over the smooth country road toward the village.

"About myself!" exclaimed Letty in astonishment. "Why, there isn't anything to tell. I'm just Letty Grey."

"How long have you been with Mr. and Mrs. Drake?"

"Three years this fall. My brother--" She stopped a moment to swallow hard and then went bravely on: "My brother was with the circus. He performed on the tight rope. Then after he fell and-and died, Mrs. Drake said I might stay on and help round. I had nowhere else to go. I am fond of Punch and Judy, and Mrs. Drake was always kind to me, but--"

"But what, dear child?"

"I hate a circus!"

"You poor child! Tell me how you happened to join a circus in the first place. Tell me more about it all. When did your parents die and where was your home when they were living?"

"In Philadelphia. But my father died when I was a tiny baby. I don't remember him at all. We were very poor and my mother was not strong. My brother Ben was only sixteen years old when father died-he was fourteen years older than I. He ran errands at a theatre, 'call boy' I think it was called, and mother took in sewing. After a while Ben learned how to do tumbling from a man who had an act at the theatre and taught me how to spring up and balance on his head. Mr. Goldberg engaged us for his little theatre at Willow Grove. He was a very kind manager and used to give me big boxes of candy. But mother never liked my doing it. She was glad when, about the middle of the summer, a trained bear that had performed in the theatre went mad or something from the heat and they had to take him away; then Mr. Drake brought Punch and Judy and offered to teach me how to put them through their tricks instead of the trained bear. Mother was much happier because I did not have to jump with Ben any more.

"It was a very happy summer!" And Letty sighed. "It was the last my mother ever lived," she added in a low, choked voice.

"When did it happen, dear little child, and how old were you?" asked Mrs. Hartwell-Jones softly.

"It was that next fall. I-I was hardly ten years old. Mrs. Drake was with us. She lived in the neighborhood and-and afterward she took me with her. I have been with her ever since," and Letty sighed again.

"You poor, forlorn child!" exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones tenderly. "What a melancholy life you have had!"

"Only since-since I lost my mother," replied Letty quickly. "I was very happy before that."