Kristy's Rainy Day Picnic Part 21

"Thank you--that is worth thinking of," said Miss Brown.

Now the smoke began to pour out of the chimney, and one of the tired men who had been wandering the woods all night saw it.

He uttered a shout, "They're in the schoolhouse!"

Soon fifty men, on their way home in despair at finding no trace, were about him.

"But the door is locked," said one man. "I tried that the first thing."

"Well, somebody is there!" said one; "and we better break the door in, and see who it is."

They went to the door and knocked, and then pounded, while those inside shouted and cried. At last they were heard, and, coming as near the back windows as they could get, they asked the reason of this strange performance.

"I say!" began the man standing on the edge of the bluff, "who's in there?"

"We're all in here," was the answer; "and we can't get out because a big bear is in the pa.s.sageway."

"Why did you lock the door?" was the next question.

"We didn't. The bear rolled against it. He's there now. You can't open it."

The good news was quickly carried to the waiting men, and an effort was made to burst in the door, several of the men being provided with guns for their night in the woods.

But Bruin was too heavy for the united efforts, and at last they decided to shoot through the door.

Calling directions to those inside to go close to the wall on the north side so as not to be in danger from any stray bullet, the men began shooting through the door.

It was not long before the bear found it too hot for comfort, and slowly rose to his feet and started for the barricade of benches, now left without a guard.

At that instant the door yielded and burst open, and men and shots and bear and baskets and all came in a mad medley together.

Poor Bruin's troubles were soon over; he paid for his breakfast with his life.

When all was ended, and the men had a chance to look around and see the barricade, and turned to thank Miss Brown for her heroism in protecting the children, she was found in a dead faint on the floor.

It was weeks before she recovered her strength and her voice, after that terrible night, and the schoolroom--put in fresh order, with a door between it and the pa.s.sage, a window cut through the side of the building, and a big dinner bell provided to ring when help was needed--was opened again for study.

As her mother paused, Kristy drew a deep sigh. "I'm so glad it ended well; I love to have stories end well."

"Well," said her mother, looking at the clock, "I'll tell you one more that I think ends very well indeed, for it taught--but"--she interrupted herself,--"I won't tell you the end before the beginning; you shall decide whether it ends well."

CHAPTER XV

HOW LETTIE HAD HER OWN WAY

"I just wish I could do as I've a mind to for once in my life!" said Lettie Glover crossly, when her mother refused to allow her to carry out a plan she had made. "I never can do anything I want to," she went on. "I've heard that stepmothers were horrid, but I believe real mothers are just as bad!" and she flounced out of the room.

"Let.i.tia!" called her mother sternly, as she was about to slam the door after her, "come back!"

She turned. "What do you want?" she snapped.

Mrs. Glover was very pale. Lettie had never seen her look so, and in spite of her anger she was frightened.

"I think you need a lesson, my daughter," she said quietly, speaking evidently with difficulty, almost in gasps. "I will let you try your plan; you may do exactly as you choose for twenty-four hours; I shall not see you again till it is over," and, rising, she went to her own room, and locked the door.

Lettie stood as if stunned; she remembered, suddenly, what the doctor had said, that her mother's health was precarious, that she must not be agitated; and a feeling of dismay rushed over her; but a thought of what her mother had refused her returned, and she hardened herself again.

"I don't believe what the old doctor said, anyway," she muttered; "and I'll have a good time for once! Oh! won't I!" as the thought of what she would do came over her.

"In the first place," she thought, "of course I'll go on Stella's moonlight excursion to-night; mother's objections are nonsense. I know Stella's friends are a little wild; but they're awfully jolly all the same, and I know we'll have lots of fun--and I do love a sail on the river. I'll wear my new white dress, too," she went on, as the thought of her perfect freedom grew upon her; "I don't believe I'll hurt it, and if it is soiled a little it can be done up before Aunt Joe's party that mother's so wonderfully particular about."

It was now time to start for school, but she at once decided not to go. "I'll have a good time for once," she said, "and get rid of that horrid grammar lesson. Now I'll go over to Stella's and tell her I'm going;" and she went to her room to get ready.

"I won't wear this old dress," she said scornfully; "for once I'll dress as I please; mother's so notional about street dress!"

In her own room she threw off the scorned dark school dress and brought from her clothes-press a new light blue silk, just made for her to wear on very special occasions. "I'll wear this," she said; "I shan't hurt it; and I want Stella to see that other folks can have nice dresses as well as she."

Hurriedly she put on the pretty dress and the ribbons that went with it. Then, taking off her sensible street shoes, she put on the delicate ones that belonged to the dress.

Looking at herself in the gla.s.s, another thought occurred to her: "I'll wear my gold beads, too; mother never lets me wear them in the street, but other folks wear them, and I don't see any use of having things if you can't wear them."

From a jewel case in her drawer she took a beautiful string of large gold beads. They had belonged to her grandmother, and had been given to her because she was named after her, Let.i.tia, though she had softened it into Lettie, "and little enough, too," she had said, "to pay for having such an old-fashioned name, when Mildred, or Ethel, or Eva, or Maude would have been so much prettier."

The beads she clasped around her throat, then she pinned on the little gold chatelaine watch her mother had given her at Christmas, and--resolving for once to wear as much jewelry as she liked--she slipped on to her finger a ring bequeathed to her by her Aunt Let.i.tia.

It was of diamonds; five beautiful stones in a row, worth a great deal of money, and far too fine for a schoolgirl to wear, her mother said.

Much as she longed to wear it and show it to the girls, she had never been allowed to do so. "Now," she exultingly thought, "now I'll have the good of it for once!"

To all this finery she added her best hat, which had just come home from the milliner's, and taking a pair of fresh white kid gloves in her hand, which she couldn't put on to cover up that ring, she started out, feeling more elegant than she had ever felt in her life before.

The way to Stella's was through a corner of the park, and everything that morning was so fresh and sweet that Lettie lingered as she pa.s.sed through. There were not many people there so early in the morning, and Lettie paid no attention to a rough-looking man she pa.s.sed, sitting on a bench and looking as if he had pa.s.sed the night there. Her way lay on the border of the wilder and more secluded part of the park, and her mother had always warned her to avoid this part when she was alone. She had therefore never penetrated the fascinating little paths which led among the close-growing trees and bushes, though she had always longed to do so. Now, on the day of her perfect freedom, the temptation came up again. She hesitated; her mother's warning recurred to her.

"I don't believe there's a bit of danger," she said to herself; "mother's so old-fashioned. Girls don't do as they did when she was young; they can take care of themselves nowadays. I mean to see where this little path goes; it looks so lovely and cool in there."

She turned into the path. It was charming; birds were singing, flowers blooming, and she walked on and on, enchanted.

After a little, however, she was struck with the loneliness of the place, and a thought of her mother's warning made her turn back towards the more frequented walks. As she turned she found herself facing the man she had noticed on the bench, and a panic seized her.

She tried to rush past him, but he barred the way. She tried to scream, but she could not make a sound; and the man spoke.

"No you don't, my fine miss! If you make a noise I'll brain you!" and he flourished a heavy stick he carried. "If you behave yourself like a lady," he went on, less roughly, "I'll not hurt you in the least."

"Let me pa.s.s!" cried Lettie, white with terror.

"Certainly, miss," said he gruffly, "in one minute; just as soon as you give me those beads on your neck, and that watch; and if you hand 'em over quietly yourself you'll save me the trouble of gagging you with this,"--dragging a filthy handkerchief from his pocket,--"and taking them off myself; 'n I ain't no lady's maid, either," he added grimly, "'n I might possibly hurt you!"