The Campfire Girls of Roselawn Part 6

THE FRECKLE-FACED GIRL

CHAPTER V

THE FRECKLE-FACED GIRL

Of the two young fellows hurrying in from the boulevard one was tall and slim and dark; the other was stocky--almost plump, in fact--and sandy of complexion, with sharp, twinkling pond-blue eyes. Burdwell Alling's eyes were truly the only handsome feature he possessed. But he had a wonderfully sweet disposition.

Darry Drew was one of those quiet, gentlemanly fellows, who seem rather too sober for their years. Yet he possessed humor enough, and there certainly was no primness about him. It was he who hailed Jessie on the ground and Amy leaning out of the window above:

"I say, fellows! Have you seen a couple of young ladies around here who have just finished their junior year at the New Melford High with flying colors? We expected to find them sitting high and dry on the front porch, ready to receive company."

"Sure we did," added Burd Alling. "They have taken the highest degree in Prunes and Prisms and have been commended by their instructors for excellent deportment. And among all the calicos, they are supposed to take the bun as prudes."

Amy actually almost fell out of the window again, and stuck out her tongue like an impudent urchin. "A pair of smarties," she scoffed.

"Come home and fret our ears with your college slang. How dare you!"

"I declare! Is that Miss Amy Drew?" demanded Burd, sticking a half dollar in his eye like a monocle and apparently observing Amy for the first time.

"It is not," said Amy sharply. "Brush by! I don't speak to strange young men."

But Darry had come to Jessie and shaken hands. If she flushed self-consciously, it only improved her looks.

"Awfully glad to see you, Jess," the tall young fellow said.

"It's nice to have you home again, Darry," she returned.

Amy ran down again then, in her usual harum-scarum fashion, and the conversation became general. How had the girls finished their high-school year? And how had the boys managed to stay a whole year at Yale without being asked to leave for the good of the undergraduate body?

Was the _Marigold_ a real yacht, or just a row-boat with a kicker behind? And what were the girls doing in their present fetching costumes?

"The wires!" cried Burd. "Is it a trapeze? Are we to have a summer circus in Roselawn?"

"We shall have if you remain around here," was Amy's saucy reply. "But yon is no trapeze, I'd have you know."

"A slack wire? Who walks it--you or Jess?"

"Aw, Burd!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Darry. "It's radio. Don't you recognize an aerial when you see it?"

"You have a fine ground connection," scoffed Burd.

"Don't you worry about us," Jessie took heart to say. "We know just what to do. Go upstairs again, Amy, and haul up this end of the contraption. I've got it untwisted."

A little later, when the aerial was secure and Jessie went practically to work affixing the ground connection, Darrington Drew said:

"Why, I believe you girls do know what you are about."

"Don't you suppose we girls know anything at all, Darry?" demanded his sister from overhead. "You boys have very little on us."

"Don't even want us to help you?" handsome Darry asked, grinning up at her.

"Not unless you approach the matter with the proper spirit," Jessie put in. "No lofty, high-and-mighty way goes with us girls. We can be met only on a plane of equality. But if you want to," she added, smiling, "you can go up to my room where Amy is and pull that rope tauter. I admit that your masculine muscles have their uses."

They were still having a lot of fun out of the securing of the aerials when suddenly Burd Alling discovered a figure planted on the gravel behind him. He swept off his cap in an elaborate bow, and cried:

"We have company! Introduce me, Amy--Jess. This young lady----"

"Smarty!" croaked a hoa.r.s.e voice. "I don't want to be introducted to n.o.body. I want to know if you've seen Bertha."

"Big Bertha?" began Burd, who was as much determined on joking as Amy herself.

But Jessie Norwood, her attention drawn to the freckle-faced child who stood there so composedly, motioned Burd to halt. She approached and in her usual kindly manner asked what the strange child wanted.

It really was difficult to look soberly at the little thing. She might have been twelve years old, but she was so slight and undernourished looking that it was hard to believe she had reached that age. She had no more color than putty. And her sharp little face was so bespatted with freckles that one could scarcely see what its real expression was.

"Bertha who?" Jessie asked quietly. "What Bertha are you looking for?"

"Cousin Bertha. She's an orphan like me," said the freckled little girl. "I ain't got anybody that belongs to me but Bertha; and Bertha ain't got anybody that belongs to her but me."

Burd and Amy were still inclined to be amused. But Darry Drew took his cue from Jessie, if he did not find a sympathetic cord touched in his own nature by the child's speech and her forlorn appearance.

For she was forlorn. She wore no denim uniform, such as Amy had mentioned on a previous occasion as being the mark of the usual "orphan." But it was quite plain that the freckle-faced girl had n.o.body to care much for her, or about her.

"I wish you would explain a little more, dear," said Jessie, kindly.

"Why did you come here to ask for your Cousin Bertha?"

"'Cause I'm asking at every house along this street. I told Mrs. Foley I would, and she said I was a little fool," and the child made the statement quite as a matter of course.

"Who is Mrs. Foley?"

"She's the lady I help. When Mom died Mrs. Foley lived in the next tenement. She took me. She brought me out here to Dogtown when she moved."

"Why," breathed Amy, with a shudder, "she's one of those awful Dogtown children."

"Put a stopper on that, Amy!" exclaimed Darry, promptly.

But the freckle-faced girl heard her. She glared at the older girl--the girl so much better situated than herself. Her pale eyes snapped.

"You don't haf to touch me," she said sharply. "I won't poison you."

"Oh, Amy!" murmured her chum.

But Amy Drew was not at all bad at heart, or intentionally unkind. She flamed redly and the tears sprang to her eyes.