The Wide Awake Girls in Winsted Part 31

"You may crow as much as you like, Sir," said the doctor, "but this fellow will beat you." And straightway, as though primed for his part, the rooster opened his mouth and filled the room with a long and l.u.s.ty c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!

"I was so afraid they would hear him before we brought him in," said Frieda to the girls, as the four gathered on the window-seat. "He kept growing and growing out there!" and then she looked bewildered at the others' sudden mirth. Her peculiarities of p.r.o.nunciation were so few that the girls could never learn to expect them, and this, added to the other nonsense of the evening, was too much for even Catherine's self-control.

"I never saw grown-up people do such funny things," said Hannah, in order to cover their laughter. "Do they always act this way, Catherine?"

"O, no, indeed. I never saw them put in a whole evening quite so foolishly before. I didn't know whether they would take the idea up or not, but Judge Arthur loves to laugh, and lately mother said they had had quite stupid commonplace meetings,--cards and talking politics and literary and musical programs,--and she wanted something entirely different. They're a lot of dears, anyway! The younger set wouldn't think of laughing so hard and being so hilarious, even the Boat Club; and you should see the formal dignified parties that the Galleghers and those girls give! They go in carriages and the dancing doesn't begin till nine, though every one has a six o'clock supper and almost goes to sleep waiting for it to be stylishly late to go. Max and Archie and Bess and Win always go, and sometimes the rest of us get in, but we hardly feel acquainted with each other when we meet in such surroundings.

Polly's mother told her she ought to entertain that crowd a while ago, because she was 'indebted,' and she planned a luncheon party, and at the last minute changed her mind and got up a Boat Club picnic instead. That was the last picnic before you girls came."

"I've heard so much about those jolly picnics," said Hannah, "and we haven't been to one!"

"I know. Isn't it odd that it happens so? But we'll have one the night before we go back to college. The moon will be full, and the boys have all the plans made. There! They're beginning to leave." And Catherine went forward to help her mother's guests find hats and scarfs.

"I never heard Catherine talk so much at once before," said Frieda lazily. "She looks beautiful to-night, too,--to boot!" She had just heard that phrase and though a little uncertain as to its exact significance, took pleasure in inserting it here and there in her speech.

"She's a darling dear," a.s.sented Alice, "and so is Dr. Helen, to boot!

Now let's help Inga clear things away and go to bed."

A half-hour later, Frieda and Alice in the guest-room were sound asleep, and Hannah in her little bed was sleeping likewise. But Catherine was sitting by the window writing, by moon and candle light, notes for the _Courier_, due to appear to-morrow, and still lacking at least two columns! She wrote slowly and conscientiously, trying to be clear and simple, and yet not so unlike the usual style of the _Courier_ as to excite comment. Presently she finished and, resting her elbows on the window-sill, looked out into the night. Capella twinkled at her and she leaned out to identify such of her beloved constellations as she could.

The house stood high on a hillside, and overlooked the streets of the little town. Suddenly through the trees Catherine saw the gleam of a moving lantern, then another and a third. She heard a voice call, and an answer from a distance.

"I wonder what it means?" she thought, watching and listening. "It sounds and looks very mysterious. _The Courier!_"

The recently acquired news instinct recognized in this mystery of voices and moving lights at the dead of night a possible "scoop" for her paper.

To be sure, her paper was the only one in Winsted, but that did not matter. She got up, and taking a long light cloak from the closet threw it over her shoulders, drawing the silk hood over her head. Then she stole out into the corridor and down the stairs, her party skirts rustling, and the boards now and then creaking under her stockinged feet. Down stairs she stopped, put on her pumps, and then let herself out, closing the door softly behind her.

Outside everything was very still. Catherine felt a little frightened and foolish. But having started, she would not turn back. Resolutely she went down the walk in the direction in which she had seen the lights.

"I might take Hotspur, though," she thought, and turned back toward his house under the porch. The big dog sprang up to meet her, and leaped upon her, then drew her toward his kennel. Puzzled, Catherine followed him, and once there, knelt down and looked inside. Curled on the straw inside the roomy doghouse were two little figures. She pulled at them and called. Suddenly one sat up and said: "Mamma! Peter!"

"Perdita Osgood! what are you doing here?" and Catherine drew a sleepy dishevelled-looking little girl out and into her arms. Perdita blinked and woke entirely.

"Elsmere and me went journeying," she said, "and we stayed all night in Hotspur's house, so bears wouldn't get us."

Then Catherine remembered the other slumberer, and dragged Elsmere out with more force than gentleness.

"I see now what the lights and the calling were," she said. "They discovered that the children were not at home, and were out looking for them. Poor Polly and poor Algernon! Elsmere, wake up here, and come along home this minute. There, Perdita, I'll carry you, you sleepy, naughty little girl. Elsmere, come along. Give me your hand."

Down the hill they went, and through the short cut to the Osgood house, Elsmere running beside Catherine, who walked as rapidly as though Perdita had no weight, Hotspur leaping and bounding alongside.

In the path, through a little grove, they saw a twinkling lantern and Catherine called:

"Polly, Algernon! They're here! I'm bringing them home." With a rush the lantern-bearers were upon her, and Perdita was taken from her arms into Mr. Osgood's, while Algernon, husky and faint with relief, picked up his brother and listened to Catherine's story. She followed the others to the Osgoods', where Polly and Mrs. Osgood were waiting in suspense.

Perdita had been put to bed as usual, but when Mrs. Osgood came home from the Three R's party she had gone in to tuck the children up, and kiss them good night. Perdita was not there, and they searched the house before they thought of being alarmed. Not finding her anywhere, they had roused Peter and questioned him. He could only say: "I say, 'Perdita, Perdita, stay home with Peter. Elsmere bad boy.'"

That suggested Elsmere, and investigation showed that, though he had not been missed at home, he was not there. Then the men had taken lanterns, and gone out to search.

No one was more distressed than Peter. "I'd ought to tooken care of Perdita better," he would sob. "I'd ought to watched her better."

"There, there, boy," Catherine and Polly soothed him. "You did your best, and she's home now, all safe, and won't go journeying again, ever.

She didn't like Hotspur's house, and she will stay home with Peter."

"O, Catherine," sighed Polly. "You are an only child, and you don't know what agonies you can have over your brothers and sisters. It seems to me ever since Peter and Perdita were born I've been worrying about one or both of them!"

"Poor Polly!" said Catherine sympathetically. "But I don't suppose you'd give me your share in them, would you?"

Polly caught Peter close, and hugged him till he protested and drew away from her.

"Kiss me," she begged.

"I did," said Peter.

"Kiss me again."

"I did twice," said Peter. "I want to go to bed. Aw-ful sleepy!" and, with a yawn that set the others to imitating him, he stumbled off toward the stairs, in his little night clothes. Polly followed to make him comfortable, while Mr. Osgood took Catherine home.

"You did us a great service to-night, my dear," he said, as he lifted his hat to say good night, when she had reached her home porch. "But I haven't learned yet how you happened to find them."

"I was out reporting for the _Courier_," she told him and then, laughing softly at his astonished expression, explained her meaning.

"And though I did find out the news, I can't write it up," she sighed.

"I know how real journalists feel when they have to sacrifice a scoop for reasons of delicacy."

"The _Courier_ shall not suffer!" said Mr. Osgood. "Since it was for its sake that you went out, I'll have to see that Max gets a little a.s.sistance. My profession doesn't advertise, but I have some influence with one or two concerns that do, and I'll see that your next number is full of something more profitable to the management than harrowing accounts of midnight searches for missing babies!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE LAST PARTY

Rain.

Rain.

Rain.

"It's beastly," said Alice, with her nose pressed to the window-pane, watching the cold drifting downpour.

"Let's go in and see if the others are awake."

So Frieda put on her heavy leather slippers, lined with figured satin and edged with fur, and a very bunchy bathrobe, and followed Alice's kimonoed figure across the wide corridor to Catherine's room.

They pushed the door softly open and entered.

Then they exchanged glances of mischief. Dr. Helen did not believe in girls sleeping two in a bed, but Alice had found the big mahogany bed in the guest-room lonely, and Frieda had found the cot narrow; so they had made a law for themselves and slept together; and here, in Catherine's four-poster, were also two heads, one auburn and one brown.