Chicken Little Jane Part 31

FORBIDDEN BOOKS AND CANDY HEARTS

During the weeks of worry over Ernest's eyes and the deeper anxiety over Marian's tragic weakness, Chicken Little was left much to her own devices. Mrs. Morton was too overburdened and hara.s.sed to give the child the usual care and oversight. Sewing lessons were dropped entirely and practising was so irregular that her music teacher was in despair.

Fortunately the days were short and Jane didn't have much time out of school hours to get into mischief. While Ernest was shut in, she spent most of her play time faithfully trying to amuse him. But after he got out she proved the truth of the old adage of Satan and the idle hands.

Mrs. Morton always watched Chicken Little's reading most carefully for the child bade fair to be as much of a bookworm as Ernest. She was never permitted to borrow books from other children without having Mother look them over.

Miss Brown's room at school was cursed with the usual abnormal pupil in a silly overgrown girl called Sary Myers. Sary's parents were shiftless and ignorant people and though Sary was almost fifteen years old, and a woman in size, she was still among children of ten and eleven.

She was a good-natured girl, always willing to pet and humor the little girls, and they liked her in a half contemptuous patronizing way. Sary came to school one day with a book done up carefully in a newspaper. She was very mysterious about it taking it out of her desk when Miss Brown's back was turned, pointing to it with smirks and nods till the little girls were so curious, they could hardly wait for recess to see the wonderful volume.

At recess it went the rounds, Sary a.s.suring them that it was a grand story with lots about love and getting married, and that there was a woman in it who treated a girl just terrible.

Chicken Little was not in the least interested in love or lovers, but she was not proof against Sary's mysterious manner. She promptly begged the loan of the precious book till noon. But there was only time for aggravating peeps in the short hour filled with recitations. So she coaxed Sary to let her take it home that night. Sary was easily persuaded. Reading was a painful process to her and she had been secretly hoping that one of the children would read the book and tell her the story.

Chicken Little slipped it home guiltily hidden in her school bag. She found it a weighty responsibility. No sooner had she ensconced herself snugly in one of the dormer windows to read, than she heard someone coming upstairs. It was only Olga. She thought possibly she would be safer in Ernest's room, but Ernest and Carol were doing their algebra there. At last she settled down in the front parlor and by tea time was deep in the adventures of Rosamond Clifford, romantic and unreal enough to satisfy the most exacting child.

For days the book was her constant companion outside of school hours.

She read s.n.a.t.c.hes of it to Sary and a chosen few in a corner of the schoolyard at recesses and noons. She hid it under her pillow ready for her devouring eyes at an early hour in the morning. To be sure Chicken Little never could wake up at an early hour, her mother having to call long and l.u.s.tily before she could rouse her at all. Still the book was there if she should happen to want it.

After Chicken Little finished it, the story was pa.s.sed from hand to hand among the children. Gertie being the only one with sufficient firmness of character to decline to read it without asking Mother. One adventurous child discovered she could get other books by the same author from the public library. These the children also pa.s.sed round and gloated over their lurid adventures for days. The stories were doubly fascinating because each small sinner realized that the mushy volumes must be carefully concealed from mothers and teachers. The craze ended finally by Miss Brown's discovering a copy of "Cousin Maud" and confiscating it after a sharp lecture to the school on what children should read.

But the mischief was done. Fully a dozen young heads seethed with romance. They imagined they were abused by unfeeling sisters or stern parents. They looked for unhappy lovers around every corner. They even tried to lie awake nights nursing broken hearts, but ten o'clock was the latest hour anyone reached, though Grace Dart said she knew she heard it strike one. Katy, indeed, walked in her sleep one night to her mother's horror. Mrs. Halford promptly gave her a liberal dose of castor oil and she was never able to repeat the wonderful feat.

At least six dolls were re-christened Rosamond Clifford, and seven others promptly became Cousin Maud. Marbles and tag and the usual spring outdoor sports were neglected while they planned doll elopements or family quarrels, and locked the tiny heroines in dark closets.

Chicken Little was in great demand on these occasions because she had learned some of the choicest scenes in the stories by heart and she would talk for the dolls.

"My, you do Dr. Kennedy just grand!" said Katy stirred out of her usual calm by a thrilling scene in which her prettiest doll had defied a cruel stepfather made from a stick of stove-wood.

"It's awful easy," Jane responded modestly. "I've read it so often I can say it most all, and I just try to act mad."

The epidemic of play-acting among the dolls gave Katy's practical talents a chance also. There was a great demand for boy dolls. One badly damaged tin soldier and a fat sailor boy were all that could be found.

But Katy was ingenious. She took her tallest doll and made her a complete outfit of men's clothes including a cunning straw hat with a black band. She sheared Angelina's blonde wig short and painted a smart black mustache on her rosebud mouth.

Angie was so changed she wouldn't have known herself in the gla.s.s. But she didn't need to. She became Horatio Seymour and was never permitted to wear petticoats again.

The other children were so charmed, Katy was besieged with teasing to make over their dolls. It was no small job and after being obliging once or twice, Katy had the happy thought of charging fifteen cents for the transformation.

This was more money than most of the little girls had, so they took to borrowing boy dolls. Horatio Seymour was much over-worked. He took the parts of villain, lover and irate father on an average of at least once every day and from two to three times on Sat.u.r.days. Katy had to put a little stick up his back-bone, he got so limp.

But the interest in this doll lovering began to wane after a time. The children looked about for something else exciting. They began to make Horatios out of the boys they knew. Some of the older girls started writing notes, and the smaller ones hung round breathlessly to hear the answers read. The boys were not always responsive. This was the height of the marble season and most of the lads were too crazy over the mooted question of "playing keeps" to care to spell out scrawly notes.

"Who is your beau, Jane?" Grace Dart demanded one day.

Chicken Little cherished a secret admiration for Carol, but she wouldn't have betrayed it for worlds. Still she felt that she must claim somebody to be in the swim. She thought about it for several days and finally announced proudly to Grace that Johnny Carter was her beau.

"Why he's the boy you slapped! I thought you didn't like him Jane."

"I don't so very well," confessed Chicken Little reluctantly. "That's the reason I took him. Don't you see--I'm going to reform him."

Grace looked decidedly puzzled.

"Yes, like the heroines do in books."

"What you going to do to Johnny?"

But Jane had it all thought out.

"His hands most always need washing awful bad--I did think of that, but they don't seem ever to begin with hands. They most always make them promise not to use tobacco or drink wine and stuff."

"Yes," said Grace doubtfully, "but Johnny doesn't do anything like that--Mr. Carter would lick him if he did. He's temperance and awful strict with Johnny. I heard Mother say so."

"Johnny chews gum. I've seen him lots of times--I think gum's most as bad as tobacco don't you?"

"Maybe it's just as bad for a boy. Miss Brown always makes us throw it in the waste-paper basket."

"Well, my mother thinks it's a horrid habit. She says no lady would do such a thing."

"How you going to make him quit?"

This was a point that was not quite clear to Chicken Little herself. To tell the truth she and Johnny had not been on very good terms since the candy episode. She thought it best to be a little vague with Grace.

"For me to know and you to find out," she said with dignity.

"Bet you can't do it," retorted Grace, nettled. "Johnny Carter likes that red-headed girl who goes to our Sunday School better than you anyhow. I saw him talking to her. I guess it doesn't make a boy your beau, just wanting him to be!" And Grace departed with her nose in the air after this parting thrust.

It made Chicken Little feel a trifle uncomfortable. She wished she hadn't been so hasty about claiming Johnny's affections. She wished this still more when she went over to Halford's that evening for Katy called to her before she got inside the gate.

"Somebody's got a beau!--somebody's got a beau!" and Katy pointed the finger of scorn at her vigorously.

Chicken Little tried to appear unconcerned.

"Pooh, that's nothing--all the girls have."

Katy ignored this remark and returned to the charge.

"Jane Morton's got a beau! Johnny Carter is Jane's beau!"

Chicken Little began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. She did wish Katy wouldn't sing it out so loud.

But Katy was thoroughly enjoying herself. She had discovered Ernest and Carol coming along the walk and she saw her chance to make a hit. She took up the refrain again with embellishments.

"Jane Morton's got a beau And I know what'll please her, A bottle of wine----"

but she got no further. Chicken Little, too, had caught sight of her brother Ernest and Carol, and she flew at Katy like a young fury.