Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 12

This explains why the Roberts children and the Partons received special invitations to call on Rosalind. Friends.h.i.+p began to seem to her a very different place as her acquaintance with it grew and neighborly relations were established with Maurice and Katherine. The gap in the hedge became a daily meeting-place, and grew slowly, but steadily, wider.

A few days after the tea party, Katherine asked Rosalind to go out to the creek with her, and on the way they stopped for Belle. While she went to find her hat, Rosalind made the acquaintance of the colonel and several dogs. Then the three strolled along the wide street, under the shade of tall maples, past pleasant gardens and inviting houses, until the street turned into a country road, and before them was Red Hill and the little bridge over Friendly Creek at its foot.

Under the bridge the water rippled and splashed over the stones, and out of sight, back somewhere among the trees, it could be heard rus.h.i.+ng over a dam. The children seated themselves on a bit of pebbly beach.

"How nice to be near the real country!" Rosalind exclaimed. "At home we are near the park, but that is not the real country. We have to go miles to get there."

"But there are such lovely stores and things in the city," said Katherine.

"Still, you can't go about by yourself, as you can here," Rosalind answered; and Belle added, "I like to go to the city for a little while, but I'd rather live in Friends.h.i.+p, where the houses aren't so close together."

As they sat there, throwing stones in the water and writing in the sand, Rosalind heard a great deal about school, which would close next week,--how the girls had rushed to the window to see her and had lost their recess, and how Belle had been sent to the office, besides, for making chalk dishes. It was all very amusing, but she could not understand why the girls wanted to see her.

"Well, you know they are all interested in your house, and in Miss Genevieve; and then everybody was surprised at your coming to visit your grandmother."

"I can't see why," Rosalind said, opening her eyes.

"Oh, well--because you never had before, you know." Belle's manner was hesitating, as if she felt conscious of being on dangerous ground.

What she said was certainly true. Rosalind herself did not exactly understand it. She knew only that there had been some reason why her father had not visited his old home for many years. She wondered if these girls knew more about it than she.

"You see, you are something new," Belle added, laughing. "Didn't Miss Celia scold us that morning, Katherine?"

"Why, no, Belle, she didn't exactly scold," said Katherine.

"She didn't throw back her head and frown and say 'Young ladies, I am amazed!'"--here Bell gave an excellent imitation of Mrs. Graham's manner--"so you don't call it scolding. She just said, 'Girls, I don't know what to think!' and we felt as mean! I love Miss Celia."

"So do I," echoed Katherine.

"Is she one of your teachers?" Rosalind asked.

"Yes; she is Miss Celia Fair. She teaches drawing and sometimes keeps study hour, and she is as sweet as she can be," Belle concluded, with enthusiasm.

The name brought to mind one of Rosalind's greatest puzzles,--the hillside, the young lady who looked as if she might be as Belle described her--sweet; the strange incident of the rose, and Aunt Genevieve's words, "We have nothing to do with the Fairs."

"I saw her once," she remarked gravely.

"I forgot the Fairs and the Whittredges don't speak. Perhaps you know about it," said Belle.

Rosalind shook her head.

"I think it was about the will; wasn't it, Katherine? Mrs. Whittredge wanted to break it because she thought Mr. Gilpin was crazy, but Dr. Fair said he wasn't, and testified in court."

Rosalind listened with interest. "Isn't Dr. Fair dead?" she asked.

"Yes. He used to be our doctor, and I liked him so much."

"The Fairs have lost all their money now, so Miss Celia has to teach and do all sorts of things," Katherine remarked.

"Her name belongs to the Forest," thought Rosalind, looking at the ripples, Belle had thrown herself back and was gazing at the sky from under her hat brim; Katherine was busy with a collection of pebbles; the stillness was broken only by the hum of insects and the murmur of Friendly Creek. Suddenly Rosalind seemed to hear with perfect distinctness what it said,

"Be fr-ie-nds, be fr-ie-nds," with a little trill on the words.

From experience she knew very little of unfriendliness. All this about quarrels and having nothing to do with people was new to her. As she considered it she remembered that Oliver hated Orlando, and Rosalind's uncle had treated her and her father unkindly, in the story. "But it all came right in the end," she told herself, "when they met in the Forest."

It was a cheering thought, and she smiled over it.

"What are you smiling at?" Belle asked, sitting up.

Rosalind's eyes had a far-away look as she replied, "I was thinking about the Forest."

"What forest?" Belle began to ask, when a curly dog rushed down upon them, and on the bridge above their heads they saw the magician waving his hand.

"Well, Curly Q. How are you?" cried Rosalind.

"There's Morgan," said Belle; "you know him, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I took tea with him last week," Rosalind answered, laughing.

"And, Belle, she calls him the 'magician,'" Katherine said.

"Do you? Why?"

"Because he is one. Didn't you know it?" Rosalind danced up the slope, with Curly Q. after her.

"Rosalind says you are a magician. Are you?" Belle spelled rapidly when they had joined Morgan on the bridge.

The old man's eyes twinkled as he replied, "That's a secret; you mustn't tell anybody."

"Ask him if he knows about the Forest," said Rosalind.

Belle asked the question.

Morgan laughed. "'Where the birds sing--'" he quoted.

"Tell me about it, please," begged Belle. "Does Katherine know?"

Rosalind promised she would sometime; and as Katherine did not know either, and as it was growing late, Belle agreed to wait.

It was rather an odd and pleasant sight, if any one had stopped to think of it--the old man with his bright, wistful eyes, his tool box on his shoulder, and his three companions, walking home together. Demure Katherine, dainty Rosalind, saucy Belle,--all as merry as merry could be,--and Curly Q. running in and out among them in an ecstasy of delight, and at imminent danger of upsetting somebody.

"Well, Pigeon, how do you like your new friend?" asked the colonel, as his daughter took her seat beside him on the door-step.

Belle gazed thoughtfully across the lawn. "I like her," she answered, "but she is funny. I suppose it is because she hasn't gone much to school. She isn't like Charlotte, or Katherine, or me. She isn't prim, and yet--it is queer, father, but she makes me feel as I do when I am with Miss Celia--like behaving."

The colonel laughed his hearty ha, ha! "I hope you'll cultivate her society," he said, adding, "she is like Pat, as high-toned a fellow as ever lived. He was something of a dreamer, too, and this child has the eyes of a poet."

"They are gray," remarked Belle. "But I know what you mean, father; she looks as if she saw things far away. She was looking so this afternoon, and when I asked her what she was thinking about she said 'the forest.' I don't know what she meant, but Morgan knew."

"You have plenty of sense," said her father, looking fondly upon her.