Chicken Little Jane Part 5

"Say, want to tell you something when we get out. S-h-h, teacher's looking now!"

On the way home Ernest unburdened himself.

"You know Chicken Little's crazy to go hazel-nutting. S'pose we take the kids Sat.u.r.day--to kind of--oh, you know--make up!"

What Ernest said was not exactly clear but the boys understood.

"They couldn't walk to Duck Creek," objected Sherm.

"Maybe Frank would drive us. Perhaps you could get Sue to go too.

Mother'd let Jane go sure if she went."

The boys agreed to think it over and to keep it for a surprise for the little girls.

CHAPTER III

THE DUCK CREEK TREASURE

Sundays always dragged in the Morton household. Dr. and Mrs. Morton, like many other excellent people of their day, believed in the saving grace of "Thou shalt not!" The list of things the children couldn't do on Sunday was much longer than the list of coulds.

On this particular Sunday Ernest was specially aggrieved because his mother had sternly deprived him of "The Last of the Mohicans" as being unsuitable for Sabbath reading, offering him a painfully instructive volume from the Sunday School library in its place.

He relieved his feelings to Chicken Little.

"I bet if I ever grow up I'll do what I please on Sunday! I think when a fellow goes to their old church and Sunday School he might be let alone for the rest of the day. Think I'm going to read that dope?--all the chaps with any life in them get expelled or go to the penitentiary and the rest are old goody-goody tattle-tales you wouldn't be caught dead with! Guess they're 'fraid if they got a real live boy in a book he'd bust the covers off!"

Ernest's disgust was so real it was painful. Jane sympathized acutely.

"The 'Elsie Books' aren't so bad only I guess Mother'd spank me if I talked to her the way Elsie does to her father."

"Can't play with the boys--can't read--can't go for a tramp--can't even get my lessons for tomorrow."

Ernest flung himself on the old haircloth sofa and groaned.

Chicken Little looked out of the window wistfully. It was a glorious September day. The fragrance of ripening grapes from the long arbor outside floated in temptingly; the maples were already showing gleams of red and yellow and the soft air was fairly calling to a frolic. Beyond the two high board fences that bounded the Alley separating their yard from the Halford place, she knew her two small playmates were happy out in the sunshine. Mrs. Halford's views on Sunday keeping were not so rigid.

Chicken Little sighed, then suddenly brightened. "Katy and Gertie haven't got a brother anyhow!" she said half aloud, balancing advantages.

"Who you talking to?" Ernest raised himself on his elbow to find out.

"n.o.body--I was just a thinking."

"Must be hard work. Say, Sis, I know something you don't know. No, I'm not going to tell--it's a secret. Bet you'll be tickled to death when you find out--here, look out!"

Ernest flung his arm up in defense as Jane threw herself joyfully upon him.

"Ernest Morton, you mean thing--tell me this minute or I'll tickle you."

"Pooh, you couldn't tickle a fly. Think you're smart, don't you? I'm going to tell you next Sat.u.r.day and not one second sooner so you don't need to tease."

"Next Sat.u.r.day? Is it a picnic? Am I going?"

"Sha'n't tell you what it is, but you're going."

"Goody! Are Katy and Gertie going?"

Ernest saw that she was getting perilously near the facts and considered.

"Tell you next Sat.u.r.day," he replied tantalizingly.

"Please, Ernest, just tell me that."

"Nope, little girls shouldn't be so curious."

"Say, Ernest, if I'll get you a cooky will you?"

"You can't. Mother said if we didn't leave that cooky jar alone she'd punish us--besides Alice hid them."

"I don't care. I've got six."

"Where in--how'd you get them?--hook them?"

"I did not, Ernest Morton. Mother says we can eat all we want when Alice bakes, and I didn't want very many 'cause my throat was sore so I just put some away."

"Cricky, wouldn't Mother be mad if she caught you? Where did you put them? Well, I'll tell you about Katy and Gertie for four cookies."

"Old Greedy, I'll give you three if you'll tell all about it."

"No you don't, you promised you'd bring me two if I told about the girls. Get them quick, I'm hungry."

"All right, if you'll promise to stay right there till I come back."

"All right."

"You're grinning. Promise honor bright."

"Honor bright."

"Hope to die?"

"Oh, yep, trot along."

Chicken Little, relenting, was back in three minutes with the entire cache of cookies, which she religiously divided and the children munched contentedly while Chicken Little speculated as to what the wonderful excursion could be. With feminine persistence she wormed a few more facts from Ernest.