In her surprise Randy let the water-spider escape, and, turning about, saw Prue quite alone, running toward her, laughing and holding out something which she had in her hand.

"Prue Weston! what do you mean?" said Randy.

Old Mr. Plimpkins was a farmer who lived at the outskirts of the town, but Prue had seen him at church, and she thought him the funniest man she had ever seen.

He was nearly as broad as he was tall. Winter and summer, he habitually wore very broad-brimmed hats, and he walked with a comical waddle, because his legs were completely bowed. As if to attract attention to these members, they were always encased in light, snuff-colored trousers, while about his neck, hot weather or cold, was always wrapped an immense red plaid cotton handkerchief.

As Prue came along, she handed out to Randy the object which she called Mr. Plimpkins, and, sure enough, clutched tightly in the little hot hand, was a bit of twig on which two stems bowed together until they nearly touched. On it, for a broad-brimmed hat, she had stuck a round green leaf.

"Oh, I think it must be naughty to laugh about him, even if he is funny," said Randy.

"But doesn't it look like him?" persisted Prue, "besides, _you're_ laughing, Randy, only not out loud."

Indeed, Randy was laughing, so, without attempting to reprove the little sister, she placed the bit of birch, which represented the old farmer, on the bark, and watched Prue as she floated it down the stream. Then, turning toward home, they walked along the path which led to the entrance to the wood.

Prue sang all the way, and, seeing her happiness, Randy, sweet Randy, felt rewarded for the afternoon given up to her little sister's amus.e.m.e.nt; but she felt that the reading of the fairy tales was not a success. Clearly, the stories were beyond little Prue; for, at the supper table, when there was a pause in the conversation, she described the afternoon and Randy's reading, much to Randy's surprise and her father's amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "we've been down to the brook, sailing boats, an' Randy read me the beautifulest story! The girl's name was-I've forgotten what, but her hair comed down to the ground, and the prince clumb up on it, and 'most pulled her head off, and the tower was so small the old witch couldn't live in it, and she cut her hair off, and that's all I can think of, 'cept the girl sang all the time, and the prince could hear her, and we sat on the plank and waited for the prince to come."

All this she said in one breath. Her father laughed heartily at her manner of telling the story, but Mrs. Weston said, "What on airth does the child mean?" while Randy decided to read the stories to herself, thereafter, and amuse Prue in another way.

CHAPTER III-RANDY AT CHURCH

"Come, Randy, come! It wants a quarter to ten, an' you'd better hurry."

"Yes, mother, I'm coming," said Randy, pleasantly, and with redoubled energy she reached for the middle b.u.t.ton of her dress waist, which was fastened at the back. This b.u.t.ton was just too high for her left hand to reach up to, and almost too low for her right hand to reach down to, but at last she succeeded in crowding the refractory little b.u.t.ton into its b.u.t.tonhole, and, flushed with the struggle, she stood before the tiny looking-gla.s.s brushing a stray curling lock from her temple. The gla.s.s was a poor one, and Randy's reflection appeared to be making a most unpleasant grimace at the real girl standing there. When she lifted her chin, a flaw in the gla.s.s made one eye appear much larger than the other, and when she bent her head, you would never have believed that the little nose in the gla.s.s was a reproduction of Randy's, so singular was its contour. Truly, with such mirrors as the farm-house afforded, Randy stood little chance of becoming vain.

"Come, Randy!" Randy started, took one more look at the stiff gingham dress, then hastened down the stairs. At the door stood Mrs. Weston, impatiently waiting for her, while little Prue patted the old cat and told her that she "mustn't be lonesome while they were all at church."

Into the wagon they climbed, and away they started to the church. Their progress was slow, for the old horse was far from a "racer" at any time, and on Sunday Mr. Weston felt it to be wrong to more than walk the horse; yet, even with such slow locomotion, they did at last reach the church, and the old horse was duly ensconced in the carriage-shed to dream away the forenoon.

The Westons had arrived a bit early, and Randy amused herself surveying the few parishioners who had already come. In that country town the neighbors were few and far between. The Westons' nearest neighbor was about a mile and a half distant, and so on Sundays it was quite a treat to see so many people.

There were the Babson girls just a few pews in front of Randy. Randy thought Belinda Babson very pretty, mainly because of her fine yellow braids of straight hair. These braids lay down Belinda's broad back, falling quite below her waist.

Her sister Jemima's braids were even thicker and longer; but then, Randy reflected, Jemima's braids were red.

There was Jotham Potts, whose black eyes always espied Randy at church or school, but whose regard she did not at all value. True, on one hot Sunday when Randy had found it well-nigh impossible to keep awake, Jotham had reached over the top of the pew and dropped some big peppermints in her lap. His intention was good, and Randy blushed and was delighted, although her pleasure was partly spoiled by a snicker from Phbe Small, who longed to win Jotham's admiration, but thus far had failed to gain it. Randy had inspected every boy and girl in the church and was just watching a big blue fly that was circling around a web in the angle of the window, when a slight stir among the occupants of the other pews caused Randy to look around and become delighted with a sweet vision. With Farmer Gray and his wife came a number of ladies and gentlemen; summer boarders who were to be at the Gray homestead a number of weeks; but to Randy's eyes, the young lady who took a seat next to Mrs. Gray seemed a dream of beauty. She wore a simple white muslin and a very large hat trimmed with daisies, but to the little country maid the city girl's costume was nothing short of magnificent.

It had always been Randy's delight when the choir arose to sing, to watch Miss Dobbs, the little woman who sang soprano, as she drew herself up to her full height in a vain attempt to catch a glimpse of the page of the hymn book, the other half of which was held by Silas Barnes, the phenomenally tall tenor. Equally amusing was the tall, thin woman who sang "second," standing beside her cousin, John Hobson, who sang ba.s.s with all his might. He was short, fat, and very dark, and his musical efforts, which were mighty, caused a scowl upon his usually jovial countenance, and a deal of perspiration as well.

But to-day when the choir arose, Randy had no eyes for any one but the Grays' lovely boarder, and she almost held her breath as she wondered if the girl would sing.

The tall tenor touched his tuning fork, the choir sounded the chord, then choir and congregation joined in singing the old missionary hymn, "From Greenland's Icy Mountains," and round and full rang out the sweet contralto voice of the tall, fair girl in white.

Randy was spellbound. She had never admired that hymn, but to-day it sounded sweeter than anything she had ever heard. Little Prue looked at the singer with round eyes, and as they sat down she clutched Randy's skirts and in a loud whisper said, "Oh, Randy, do you s'pose she is the fairy princess?"

"Oh, hush!" said Randy, alarmed lest the young girl should hear the child.

Did she hear her? She sat in the pew just in front of the Westons', and when Prue whispered her eager question, a faint suggestion of a smile hovered about the lovely mouth, and a bright twinkle glimmered for an instant in her beautiful eyes.

Just then Parson Spooner arose, gave out the text, and commenced one of his long sermons. He was a good man, with a kindly word and smile for every one, and all of his people were devoutly fond of him. The people liked him, and he always had a pleasant chat with every child whom he met, and most of them thought that he was "lots" nicer on week-days than on Sundays. On week-days he talked with the boy whom he chanced to meet with his fishing-rod over his shoulder, and laughingly wished him good luck. Or, if it happened that the small owner of a home-made kite could not make it fly, the genial parson had been known to tie a new bob (usually a few weeds tied together) to the tail of the refractory kite, and off it would sail to the delight of the small boy and his clerical friend.

But on Sundays, his sermons, delivered in a drowsy sing-song, tried the patience of his small parishioners. Prue and Randy settled down as if for a long day of it, and Randy resolved that, however long the sermon might be, she would not get sleepy; whereupon, she stretched her eyes to their fullest extent, and stared at nothing so persistently, that Prue became uneasy, and whispered, "What's the matter, Randy? you look so queer!"

"Nothing," said Randy. "I just mean to keep my eyes open, that's all."

"They _are_ open, just monstrous!" said Prue, at which Randy could not help laughing. As the little girl was not aware that she had said anything that was at all funny, she thought Randy's amus.e.m.e.nt quite out of place, and sat quietly for a few moments, in injured silence.

Randy tried very hard to attend to the sermon, but in spite of good intentions, her mind wandered from Parson Spooner's flushed face, as he proceeded to make his meaning clear by loud vocal efforts, and to enforce his meaning by many thumps of his fat fist upon the pulpit cushion.

Mrs. Brimblecom sat over by the window, slowly waving a palm-leaf fan to and fro, and occasionally nudging her husband, to keep him awake. In front of her, sat Joel Simpkins, his sandy hair brushed so carefully that not one hair was awry, and just across the aisle, Janie Clifton sat, in all the glory of a new pink calico. Janie's black curls were very pretty, and she knew it; and her bright, black eyes had been pointedly praised in an alleged poem, which had appeared in the county paper a few weeks before. It was ent.i.tled the "Black-eyed Coquette," and Janie felt sure that Joel had written it, in which case, its boldly expressed flattery could have been meant for none other than herself.

Accordingly, she shook her curls, and occasionally looked at Joel, in a manner which Randy considered shockingly bold, and she wondered if, at eighteen, she could act like that. She decided that she could never be so bold, not even if the object of her admiration looked like a prince.

She thought, too, that Joel was very ordinary; then she looked again at the girl in the daisy-trimmed hat and white muslin gown, and fell to wondering how fine and handsome a prince would have to be to gain her favor.

"Probably there isn't any one in these parts that would please her,"

thought Randy. "'Tisn't only her clothes," mused she, "it's something else that makes her different from the folks around here."

All this time Prue had been unusually still, and Randy looked to see if she was asleep. The little girl was very wide awake, and sat staring at the large hat in front of her, her lips moving as if she were counting.

Prue's manner of counting was something unique, and as Randy bent her head to listen, she could hardly help laughing, for this is what she heard:-

"One, two, four, five, two, six, ten, nine, two,-oh, Randy, there's more daisies on her hat than I can count. Are they truly daisies? If they are, why don't they wilt?"

"Hush-sh-sh," said Randy. "Keep still and watch that big b.u.mble bee that's just come in the window."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Prue counts the Daisies on Miss Dayton's Hat]

"Hear him b.u.m," said Prue, thus making Randy laugh again. She felt very wicked, laughing in church, and knew that her father would not approve; but how could she help laughing, for while she watched the bee, and wondered where he would fly next, little Prue watched him, too, all the time softly imitating his monotonous tune by saying under her breath, "b.u.m, b.u.m, b.u.m."

The heat increased, and Prue looked out of the window at the green branches moving in the breeze, and longed to be out there, too. At last the bee tired of the church and flew out of the window, and just as Randy was thinking that she could not bear the heat, Parson Spooner's sermon came to an end. He had become entangled in his own eloquence; and seeing no way to extricate himself, or make his meaning clear, he abruptly closed his sermon and suggested singing the Doxology.

After the service Mrs. Gray stopped to talk with Mrs. Weston, and then, to the mingled delight and embarra.s.sment of Randy and Prue, the beautiful stranger turned, and, stooping, spoke to the little girl.

"How very good you have been," said she, "to sit still this long, hot morning. Do you know I had some candy in my pocket which I longed to share with you, but I didn't like to turn quite around, as I should have had to, to give it to you. Let me give it to you now, and you and your sister can enjoy it during the long ride home. See!" And from a pretty chatelaine bag which hung from her belt, she took a small box of bonbons. "If I give you this, will you give me a kiss?" And she stooped and placed the gift in Prue's eager little hands.

For an instant the child hesitated; then shyly she lifted her face, and as the young girl stooped to take the kiss, Prue's pudgy little arm went around her neck.

Then, turning to Randy, she extended her hand in its dainty glove, saying, "I have seen you and your sister many times when I have strolled past your home, and once, when you were standing near the tall clump of sunflowers, watching the bees, I was tempted to stop and chat with you awhile."

"Oh, I wish you had," said Randy, so eagerly, that the girl laughed merrily, saying, "Well, the next time I am out for a walk and am going up the long hill, I will make you a little call."

Just at that moment Mrs. Weston's friendly chat with her neighbor came to an end, and with her usual hasty manner she hurried the two children out of the church and into the old wagon. Mr. Weston gathered up the reins, and with a loud "g'lang" and a few jerks, the old horse seemed to awaken from his forenoon's nap in the carriage-shed and ambled a few steps, then subsided into the habitual jog.

"Look, mother, just see what she gave me," said Prue, swinging the tiny package of bonbons before her mother's eyes.