may go and help Bridget a little with the dinner.”
Marilla arranged the table and the master of the house came in. Jack sneaked in, also. Mrs. Henderson staid, so no explanations were made. Jack was very quiet and behaved beautifully, but he wanted to go to bed at once. Violet woke and had her supper and quiet was restored. Then a man came in to consult Mr. Borden about some business.
“It was awful that Jack should go at the babies so,” said Mrs. Borden to her sister.
“I don’t know about telling his father. You gave him one whipping–”
“And a good hard one. I’m afraid of boys getting so used to that mode of punishment that they don’t mind it. But father brought up four boys in that manner and they have all made nice men. I don’t see where Jack gets his badness from.”
Jack’s mother sighed. “And yet he can be so lovely.”
“I’ve been considering,” rejoined Florence. “Suppose we hold this over his head for a while. I might talk to him.”
“Well, we can try it.”
So Aunt Florence talked to him very seriously, and said if he wasn’t a better boy they would have to send him off somewhere in the country where there were no children. She would not tell his father just now, but if he ever struck or pinched the babies again she certainly would, and he would be punished twice over. He must remember that.
He put his arms around her neck, and kissed her. “I’m awful sorry. I didn’t think it hurt so,” he said naively.
“Papa will hurt you a great deal more than I did,” was her reply.
And then Jack had a sudden accession of goodness. His teacher was proud of him. How much was due to his pretty face and winsome manner, one couldn’t quite tell, but the nursery had a lovely rest and Marilla didn’t have to watch out every moment.
Mrs. Borden secretly wished the twins were prettier. They were too fat, and when she tried to diet them a little they made a terrible protest. Here they were fourteen months old and couldn’t walk yet, but they were beginning to say little words under their nurse’s steady training.
Aunt Hetty made light of her attack and was soon about as usual, but she did not take long walks and laid on the lounge a good deal. “Folks can’t stay young forever,” she said, “and I’m getting to be quite an old lady.”
Then they began to plan for a summering.
Last year they had not gone anywhere. Advertisements were answered, and Florence visited several places. They would take Marilla of course, she was coming to have a thin, worn look. Aunt Hetty would visit a grand niece, who had been begging her to come. Bridget would stay in the house, she had no fancy for cantering about. Mrs. Borden would live at home through the week and rejoin them on Saturday afternoons. They must get off soon after school closed. There was no end of sewing. Some pretty skirts were altered over for Marilla, as there was enough for full dresses in them.
The place was on Long Island, a country house with only two other boarders. It was barely a quarter of a mile from the seashore, with a great orchard and grass all about, shady places for hammocks and numerous conveniences, besides moderate board.
Jack had not been an angel all the time. Some days he wouldn’t study. Then he had two fights with boys. He threw stones at cats – sometimes dogs, and broke two or three windows which he didn’t set out to do. He was getting tired of school and the weather was warm.
So one afternoon he thought he would take a walk instead. He would go out to the park where they went on Sundays. It was so warm in school. He was getting quite tired of the confinement.
He found a group of children and played with them awhile. Then they ran off home and he rambled on and on until he came to a street up a few steps. A wagon was standing there and two little boys were hanging on behind.
“Come on, its real fun,” sang out one of them. “You get a good ride.”
Jack thought it would be. They showed him how to hold on. The driver had been busy with an account book and now he touched up the horses. “Hanging on” wasn’t so easy Jack found, and you had to swing your legs underneath. The man paused again at a saloon and he dropped off; his hands were very tired. The man went in the place and when he came out one of the boys said —
“Hi! Mister, won’t you give us a ride?”
The man laughed. “Where you want to go? I’m for Roselands.”
“We want to go there,” was the reply.
“Well, crawl up here. Two of you’ll have to sit on the wagon bottom.”
“I’m going to sit with the driver, ’cause I asked.”
It wasn’t a very clean floor to sit on, Jack thought, and the wagon bumped a good deal, the beer kegs rattled against each other. But the boys laughed and called it fun. There was another stop and then the driver asked who they were going to see in Roselands.
“Oh, no one. We’re going just for fun.”
“Where’d you live?”
The boys all lived at Newton.
“Jiminy; then you better get out and trot back. I’m going over the mountain where I put up for the night. Mebbe you can get a ride back. It’s two miles down to the place where I took you in.”
“Yes, we better get out,” replied the biggest boy. “Oh, we can soon foot it back. Much obliged for the ride, Mister.”
The man nodded.
They sat off quite cheerily. Automobiles passed them and carriages containing ladies, one or two loaded trucks. Jack began to get very tired and lagged. “Come, hurry up,” the biggest boy said. Jack ran a little distance for a change. He began to wish he was back in school. Presently a farm wagon came jogging along.
“Give us a ride?” The biggest boy’s name was Dick and he seemed the spokesman.
“Yes – where ye want to go?”
“To Newton.”
“I turn off at the crossroads, ye kin ride that fur.”
That was a great relief. They were quite jolly again, though Jack didn’t understand the fun. But when they dismounted, Dick asked him where he lived.
“In Arch Street.”
“Well, that’s clear over there,” indicating it with his head. “Ta ta, little sonny.”
They both laughed and Jack felt rather affronted. Over there seemed a long way. Then it was clouding up and night was coming on. He went straight along, but now he was hungry, and his little legs ached. He had been instructed if he was ever lost to ask the way to Arch Street. So he asked now.
“Oh, sonny, you’re a long way from Arch Street. Keep straight on until you come to Taylor, then ask again.”
Here was a bakery with a pleasant, motherly woman. He went in.
“Please ma’am, would you give me a bun? I’m lost and I can’t find my way back to Arch Street.”
“You
