"I've decided what I'm going to do," said Jeanne. "I'm going to be married."

"Why?" asked her grandfather.

"Well, you see, if I had a kindergarten, I couldn't tuck the children in at night. That's the very nicest part of children--tucking them in. But the husband wouldn't need to be _much_ trouble. He could stay away all day like Uncle Charles does. What does Uncle Charles _do_? When he isn't at the Club, I mean?"

"He is in a bank from nine until three every day."

"Only that little bit? I guess I'd rather have an iceman. He gets up very early and works all day, doesn't he? Anyway, Miss Wardell said I didn't need to worry about picking _him_ out until I was twenty.

Sometimes I wish Aunt Agatha liked kittens and puppies, don't you?

They're so useful while you're waiting for your children."

CHAPTER XIII

BANISHED FRIENDS

"I have a letter from Old Captain," confided Jeanne, that same afternoon. "Don't you want to read it? You wouldn't laugh at it, _would_ you?"

"Certainly I wouldn't laugh," a.s.sured her grandfather, taking the letter.

DEAR AND HONORED MISS [wrote Old Captain, in a large, sprawling hand]:

This is to let you know that it is a warm day for April. The lake is still froze. It seems as if the sun shines more when you are here. Sammy lost his freckles for a while, but they come back again last week.

Michael and Annie were here yestiddy. He says your father is teaching him to read. As I am a better hand with a boat-hook than I am with this here pen, I will close, so no more at present.

Your true friend and well-wisher,

CAPTAIN JOHN BLOSSOM.

"Old Captain _is_ my true friend," explained Jeanne. "He taught me to make dresses and things. But I've learned some more things about sewing in school. I can put in a lovely patch, with the checks and stripes all matching; and darn, and hem, and fell seams, and make b.u.t.tonholes. Old Captain's b.u.t.tonholes were so funny. He cut them _round_ and all different sizes. I'm ever so glad Michael is learning to read. It's too far for small children to walk to school. Besides, their clothes--well, their _best_ clothes aren't just right, you know. I guess they haven't _any_ by this time."

"Do you really like those children?" asked her grandfather.

"I love them. Annie and Patsy are sweet and Sammy is so funny. He's so curious that he gets too close to things and either tumbles in or gets hurt. Once it was a wasp! I guess I couldn't live with people and not like them a little."

"Then you like your cousins?"

"I--I haven't lived with them very long," evaded Jeanne.

Her grandfather chuckled. _He_ had lived with them for quite a while.

With the coming of June, Jeanne began to yearn more than ever for the lake. She told Miss Wardell about it the day she had to stay after school to redraw her map.

"Jeannette," asked the teacher, "what possessed you to draw in all those extra lakes? You know there are no lakes in Kansas."

"That's why I put them in," explained Jeanne, earnestly. "There ought to be. If there were a large lake in the middle of each state with all the towns on the sh.o.r.e, it would be much nicer. But I didn't mean to hand that map in, it was just a play map. You see, when you can't have any real water you like to make pictures of it."

"Are you lonesome for Lake Superior?"

"Oh, yes. Last Sunday, when the minister read about the Flood I just hoped it would happen again. Not enough to drown folks, you know, but enough to make a lot of beautiful big lakes--enough to go round for everybody."

"You've been to the park?"

"Yes, but the lake there isn't as big as our Cinder Pond, and its brick edges are horrid. It looks _built_."

"Of course it is artificial; but it's better than none."

"Ye-es," admitted Jeanne, very doubtfully. "I guess I like real ones best."

Along toward spring, when her "past" had become a little more comfortably remote, Jeanne had made a number of friends among her cla.s.smates. She had particularly liked Lizzie McCoy because Lizzie's red hair was even redder than that of the young Duvals, and her freckles more numerous than Sammy's. And Lizzie had liked Jeanne.

But when Lizzie had ventured to present herself at Mrs. Huntington's door, she had been ushered by James into the awe-inspiring reception-room, where Mrs. Huntington inspected her coldly.

"I came," explained Lizzie, nervously, "to see Jeanne."

"I don't seem to recall your name--McCoy. Ah, yes. What is your father's business?"

"He's a butcher," returned Lizzie.

"Where do you live?"

"Spring Street."

Mrs. Huntington shuddered. Fancy anyone from Spring Street venturing to ring at her exclusive portal!

"Jeannette is not at home," said she.

Susie Morris fared no better. Susie was round and pink and pleasant.

Everybody liked Susie. Several times she had walked home with Jeanne; but they had always parted at the gate.

"Do come in," pleaded Jeanne. "I'll show you my new party dress. It's for the dancing school party; next week, you know."

"All right," said Susie.

The dress was lovely. Susie admired it in her shrill, piping voice. The sound of it brought Mrs. Huntington down the hall to inspect the intruder.

"Jeannette," she asked, "who _is_ this child?"

"Susie Morris. She's in my cla.s.s."

"What is her father's business?"

"He's a carpenter," piped Susie.