The Hickory Limb Part 4

"Well, I just pity your poor father," Gladys commented, "if he goes down on the car to-morrow with Freddy Larkin's father."

"Why, Gladys?" chorused the twins anxiously.

"Because he'll laugh at your father and make fun of him for having a girl that went in swimming with boys. Just you see! And your father'll feel so disgraced!"

Would he really? Margery wondered forlornly. Of all her family, her father was the one, the only one, she would have spared; and now, if Gladys were to be trusted, he it was who would suffer most. With a pang, she suddenly remembered how many times in the past she had been sent to bed, as to-day, to await his coming, and how kind and just he had always been, never p.r.o.nouncing punishment until he had sifted and weighed the evidence against her. And, remembering this, her rebellious little heart softened and a sense of regret came over her--the first she had felt that afternoon. Why, why had she not remembered him sooner? How could she _ever_ have forgotten him?

In the midst of this incipient remorse, Gladys announced his arrival.

He came in with a cheerful, "h.e.l.lo, kidlets!" and almost immediately asked, "Where's Margery?"

"Margery's in bed," Henry said significantly.

Margery heard her father pull over a porch chair and seat himself.

"She's been bad," Katherine said.

Still her father made no comment.

It was Alice's turn to speak, and there was nothing left to tell but the deed itself.

"She went in swimmin'," Alice whispered.

And then, of all things, as Gladys Bailey would say, what did her father do but laugh! He laughed loud and long; but the others, evidently surprised, did not join him.

It was Gladys who spoke first.

"You forgot to tell your father that she went in swimmin' with boys."

"With boys!" her father echoed, and laughed harder than before.

Up-stairs, her head pressed against the window-sill, Margery could scarcely believe her ears. Did he really think it was funny? And then she had it. Her father was pretending! But that, after all, was only half a clue. Why was he pretending? Why?

He stopped laughing after a time and began putting questions to each of them in turn, until he had pieced together the whole story.

"Katherine," he asked finally, "why did you and Alice not take her with you when you went calling? If you had, this would not have happened."

"Well, you see, papa," began Katherine, "she's too little for our crowd."

"Too little? What nonsense! She's not a bit too little."

"Well, Gladys says she is," Katherine insisted.

Gladys corrected this statement kindly but firmly: "What I said was, that, for first calls, four was perhaps too big a crowd."

"Oh, I see. That is very different. No doubt Gladys is entirely right. But you've made your first calls now, haven't you?--and hereafter Margery can go with you just as well as not, can't she, Gladys? Why, you know, really, in crowds, the more the merrier.

Besides"--and Margery knew just as though she were there the kind of look her father was giving Gladys--"as a favor to me!"

Gladys was completely taken in.

"I'll be glad to do anything I can for you, Mr. Blair," she said politely. Then she added gratuitously: "Everybody ought to be kind to each other."

"That's it, exactly. As Gladys says, the big boys and girls should always be kind and gentle to the smaller ones. Now Henry was right, when he found his little sister doing something wrong, to bring her home. But next time he's going to be more gentle about it, aren't you, Henry?"

Yes, Henry was, and Margery hugged herself in wonder and amazement. Why, her father was simply workin' 'em for all they was worth! He was just jollyin' 'em to beat the band! And it was all for her sake, too! Under the magic of his words, already they were ceasing to regard her as an outcast. And Margery, like many another who has sought to overturn the pillars of society, was strangely happy at the thought of being able once again to mingle with her own kind.

"But, papa," she heard Alice ask, "what'll you say to Freddy Larkin's father on the car?"

"What will I say to Freddy Larkin's father on the car, Alice?"

"Yes, papa, when he--Gladys--she says he'll make fun of you on account of Margery."

And then her father rose to the occasion magnificently.

"What will I say," he repeated in a loud, full voice, "to Freddy Larkin's father when he makes fun of me for having a little girl who went in swimming with the boys?"

He paused impressively, and suddenly Margery understood. He was the only one of them all who knew that of course she was listening! And he had known it all along and had been sending messages, no, not of excuse for her naughtiness--they would have that out together, later--but of love and encouragement for herself. Oh, how she would try never to grieve him again!

"I'll tell you what I'll say," his adorable voice continued.

"I'll say, 'Well, I just bet you a great big round dollar that Freddy will never see Margery do such a thing again!' Why, do you know, Gladys, I'd be willing to risk five dollars!"

Then he came into the house and her mother kept him a moment in the library. She could not hear what her mother said, but her father's answer, "Of course I shall be severe, if necessary," put a sudden chill on her heart.

Then she heard his foot on the stairs; and she buried her face in the pillow, pretending to be asleep.

Her father stood over her a moment, looking down at her quietly.

She could feel him looking. Then he said, "Margery," softly, gently. It seemed to her that she had never heard her name p.r.o.nounced so sweetly, so lovingly. Whatever little ice of rebellion had formed anew around her heart melted that instant, and, like a whirlwind, she threw her arms about her father's neck and crushed her chill little nose and her burning face against his cheek. There she sobbed out her love and repentance.

"And papa--papa," she gasped as soon as she could speak, "you can bet him ten dollars if you want to, and you won't lose! I promise you, papa, you won't lose! You _won't!_"

Her mother supposed that, as usual, Margery had cajoled her father into an easy mood, for, when she saw them an hour later, Margery was seated on her father's knee, quiet and happy. In all apparent innocence she was saying:

"_And oh, papa! Ugh! It just squashes up between your toes like worms!_"

[Ill.u.s.tration]