Many games they played that sunny afternoon, and so fast flew the hours that every one was surprised when Deacon Turnbull pulled out his great, old-fashioned "timepiece" and declared that it "wanted a quarter to six, and that they ought to be hitchin' up and startin' toward home."

So the baskets and pails were packed into the wagons, the horses harnessed, and the merry, tired party started homeward.

Some of the picnickers were jolly, singing as they went along, others were too tired to sing; but all were unanimous in voting the picnic a success, many declaring that it was just wonderful how Miss Dayton planned it, and that they didn't know when they'd had such a good time.

The ride with Helen was delightful to the two children, Randy looking admiringly at Helen all the way and talking little. She was really too happy for conversation.

Not so with little Prue. She sat between Helen and Randy, and all the way home her chatter was interspersed with s.n.a.t.c.hes of the songs which had been a part of their games.

"'On the green carpet here we stand, Take your true love by the hand, Give her a kiss and send her away, And tell her-'

"That's just the best picnic I ever saw, wasn't it, Randy?"

Before Randy could answer, out rang the childish treble again:-

"'Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high, Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high, Sailor in er boat when the tide runs high, Waiting for a pretty girl to-'

"Oh, Miss Dayton, don't you think Jotham's 'most as nice as a prince? I do," said Prue, without waiting for an answer, although she looked up in Miss Dayton's face expectantly.

Helen took Prue's little dimpled hand in her own as she said: "All princes are not good, although many of them are very, very good indeed.

Jotham has a good face, and I am sure when I really know him I shall like him very much. If he grows to be a good, brave, true man, that is worth much more than being a prince."

"Yes'm," said Prue, not quite catching Helen's meaning, yet vaguely understanding that Jotham was fully appreciated. Prue's curly head swayed a little, like a tired flower; and Helen, slipping her arm around her, drew her toward her, and soon the little girl's head lay against her new friend.

Still she sang, although drowsily:-

"'Oh, what a beautiful choice you've made, Don't you wish you'd longer stayed?'"

The last line was drawled out so slowly that Randy said, "Oh, wake up, Prue, you're asleep."

"I guess I ain't sleepy, but my eyes feel 's if-" she was now really asleep just as they reached Farmer Gray's door.

Mr. Weston was waiting in the dooryard with his own team to take the children home, and, after an exchange of remarks with Mr. Gray regarding the weather and bluff, but hearty thanks to Miss Dayton for the children's day of pleasure, he took little Prue in his arms, and, placing her in Randy's lap, gathered up the reins, and with a resounding "g'lang there" the old mare ambled toward home.

Mrs. Weston was at the door when they arrived. "Well, Randy," said she, smiling.

"Oh, mother!" cried Randy, "it was just splendid, and we had such good times all day."

"What! Prue asleep?"

"No," said little Prue, "I ain't asleep, but my eyes feel funny, and we had gingerbread and peppermints, and cold sausage and lemonade, and 'On the-green-carpet,' and I chose Jotham, and I had a wreath and some maple sugar, and it was all made of daisies and b.u.t.ter-cups-and-and," but here she lost the thread of her story, and was carried upstairs and put in her bed.

CHAPTER VII-RANDY OUTWITS JASON MEADE

The day after the picnic was a busy one for Mrs. Weston, and Randy, eager to be helpful, was really a fine a.s.sistant. She washed all the dishes, allowing little Prue to wipe the spoons, knives, and forks because they would not break if dropped, then she thoroughly cleansed the milk cans and put them just outside the door to dry in the bright sunlight.

"Now, mother, what do you suppose I'm going to do next?" said Randy.

"I don't know," said her mother, "but ye have worked this morning like all possessed."

"Well," said Randy, "I'm just going to bring in towels and ap.r.o.ns from the line and sprinkle and iron them, so's you can sit down awhile after dinner."

Mrs. Weston looked at the bright, flushed face a moment, then said: "I do declare, Randy, you're a real help. There ain't a better daughter in this town, if I do say it."

"Oh, mother," said Randy, "I'd 'most work my fingers off just to hear you say that. I help you because I love you, though somehow I never 'til now could say it."

Mrs. Weston wiped her eyes with a corner of her ap.r.o.n, then, turning to Randy, she kissed her, saying: "Why, Randy, it does me good to hear you say it, and, child, ye must know I'm all bound up in you and Prue. We busy folks sometimes forget to show how much we really feel."

"I mean," said Randy, "to make you and father happy, always; sometimes I forget to help, but always I mean to."

"I know ye do," said her mother.

Randy moved about the kitchen with a subtle sense of exhilaration. Her mother had always been kind and good, but to have her speak of her affection and say a word of approval for her helpfulness, what more could be needed to make a young girl happy? thought Randy.

She sang little s.n.a.t.c.hes of melody while she cleared the dinner table, and grasped the first leisure moment to steal out under the apple tree, thence toward the brook to the old stone wall. A large stone had toppled from the wall, and Randy sat down upon it to rest. She had intended to make a little call upon Miss Dayton, to talk over the events of the picnic, and to hear what her new friend had to tell her; for Helen had hinted that she had another good time planned, and she promised to tell Randy all about it when next they met.

Tall alders grew luxuriantly almost the entire length of the wall, which served as a fence for one side of the pasture; and Randy, a bit tired with the forenoon's work, easily fell into one of her day-dreams, when she was aroused by hearing voices behind the alders. There seemed to be two voices, and Randy heard them mention her father's name. She was an honest girl who, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, would have scorned to listen; but something in the tone of the speaker's voice seemed distinctly unfriendly when he spoke of her father, and Randy seemed, against her will, riveted to the spot and obliged to listen. She must have taken her place on the big stone when the conversation was well under way, but the sound of her own footsteps, while unheard by the earnest talkers, had prevented her from hearing their voices. She was invisible to them as they were to her, separated as they were by the alders.

"Now, I've tried and tried 'til I'm tired er tryin' to sell Mr. Weston that piece er medder land er mine, 'n' it would a been sold long ago if I hadn't been bound to swap land instead er taking cash."

"Yes, but I don't see the great pint er not takin' cash ef he's fool enough to pay it," said the second voice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Nearer to the Wall she crept"]

"I don't s'pose ye do, 'til I tell ye. Ye haven't been here fer years, 'n' only come yisterday, an' ef you was anybody under the sun but my own brother, I wouldn't tell ye now."

How Randy's heart beat! Surely, it was right to listen now. If any one meant to do her father harm, she must know it and warn him. Nearer to the wall she crept, with a stealth which she was unaware she possessed, and she tried to hush her breathing which came quick and hard.

"Just listen to this, Jim. My wife's just got back from a visit to her folks, I forgit the name of the town, 'though it's on my tongue's end this minute, and while she was there she heard say that they're goin' to run a railroad through this part of the town, next summer, jest a sort er branch road from the one that goes through the centre, and my wife never let on that she was much interested; but she asked 'nough questions, kinder keerful like, and she found that ef they _do_ build the road, and she says the folks down that way say they do really mean to, it'll be straight across that little bit er rocky field, back er Weston's barn. Now, I argy that Weston's got money _'nough_, and I mean ter keep at him 'til he agrees ter swap that 'ere little pesky, rocky field er his'n fer my piece er medder land. The more I urge him the less he seems ter want ter swap, an' I even offered to throw in a good young steer to boot, an' all the satisfaction I could git out er him was, 'Wal', I dunno what makes yer so anxious fer that little piece er land er mine.'

"He don't know nothin' 'bout the railroad yet, but there's no knowin'

how soon he will. My wife's naggin' me to make him swap, but I'd like to see her try to hurry Weston when he don't intend to hurry; but I tell ye now, ef that 'ere road _does_ run through his field, I mean ter own it _fust_, an' I'm goin' up ter night ter talk him inter it."

Randy now realized that the speaker's voice was no other than Jason Meade's. She was but fifteen, but she knew that if her father yielded to his neighbor's urging, it would in some way mean loss to him. All thought of her call upon Helen vanished, and in its place lay a great fear that she might be seen before she could get away from her hiding place and rush home.

She was a bit cramped with her crouching pose behind the wall. Slowly she arose to her feet, glided along upon the gra.s.s, lest her footsteps should be heard, and, once in the grove, she sprang across the brook, dashed through the fields, up the path, and into the kitchen door, where she dropped upon a chair and tried to speak.

"Why, Randy Weston! whatever ails ye? Ye look 's if ye'd seen a ghost.

Why, father," as the girl did not speak, "jest come look at Randy. She's been runnin' 'til she's clean tuckered out, 'n' can't seem to speak."

Mr. Weston came hastening in from the well with a pail of water, which he set down when he saw Randy.

"Why, Randy, child, what-"

"Oh, father,-the little rocky field behind the barn,-don't sell it, don't swap it; the railroad's going through it; and oh, father, that's why Jason Meade wants to make you swap it. It's going to be worth lots and lots of money; he can't _make_ you swap it, can he, father?" and in her anxiety she sprang up and put her hands upon her father's shoulders.