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Chapter VI Wherein Mrs. Comstock Indulges in "Frills," And Billy Reappears IT WAS
Wesley Sinton who really wrestled with Elnora's problem while he drove about
his business. He was not forced to ask himself what it meant; he knew. The old
Corson gang was still holding together. Elder members who had escaped the law
had been joined by a younger brother of Jack's, and they met in the thickest of
the few remaining fast places of the swamp to drink, gamble, and loaf. Then suddenly,
there would be a robbery in some country house where a farmer that day had sold
his wheat or corn and not paid a visit to the bank; or in some neighbouring
village. The home of
Mrs. Comstock and Elnora adjoined the swamp. Sinton's land lay next, and not
another residence or man easy to reach in case of trouble. Whoever wrote that
note had some human kindness in his breast, but the fact stood revealed that he
feared his strength if Elnora were delivered into his hands. Where had he been
the previous night when he heard that prayer? Was that the first time he had
been in such proximity? Sinton drove fast, for he wished to reach the swamp
before Elnora and the Bird Woman would go there. At almost
four he came to the case, and dropping on his knees studied the ground, every
sense alert. He found two or three little heel prints. Those were made by
Elnora or the Bird Woman. What Sinton wanted to learn was whether all the
remainder were the footprints of one man. It was easily seen, they were not.
There were deep, even tracks made by fairly new shoes, and others where a
well-worn heel cut deeper on the inside of the print than at the outer edge.
Undoubtedly some of Corson's old gang were watching the case, and the visits of
the women to it. There was no danger that any one would attack the Bird Woman.
She never went to the swamp at night, and on her trips in the daytime, every
one knew that she carried a revolver, understood how to use it, and pursued her
work in a fearless manner. Elnora,
prowling around the swamp and lured into the interior by the flight of moths
and butterflies; Elnora, without father, money, or friends save himself, to
defend her — Elnora was a different proposition. For this to happen just when
the Limberlost was bringing the very desire of her heart to the girl, it was
too bad. Sinton was
afraid for her, yet he did not want to add the burden of fear to Katharine
Comstock's trouble, or to disturb the joy of Elnora in her work. He stopped at
the cabin and slowly went up the walk. Mrs. Comstock was sitting on the front
steps with some sewing. The work seemed to Sinton as if she might be engaged in
putting a tuck in a petticoat. He thought of how Margaret had shortened
Elnora's dress to the accepted length for girls of her age, and made a mental
note of Mrs. Comstock's occupation. She dropped
her work on her lap, laid her hands on it and looked into his face with a
sneer. "You
didn't let any grass grow under your feet," she said. Sinton saw
her white, drawn face and comprehended. "I
went to pay a debt and see about this opening of the ditch, Kate." "You
said you were going to prosecute me." "Good
gracious, Kate!" cried Sinton. "Is that what you have been thinking
all day? I told you before I left yesterday that I would not need do that. And
I won't! We can't afford to quarrel over Elnora. She's all we've got. Now that
she has proved that if you don't do just what I think you ought by way of
clothes and schooling, she can take care of herself, I put that out of my head.
What I came to see you about is a kind of scare I've had to-day. I want to ask
you if you ever see anything about the swamp that makes you think the old
Corson gang is still at work?" "Can't
say that I do," said Mrs. Comstock. "There's kind of dancing lights
there sometimes, but I supposed it was just people passing along the road with
lanterns. Folks hereabout are none too fond of the swamp. I hate it like death.
I've never stayed here a night in my life without Robert's revolver, clean and
loaded, under my pillow, and the shotgun, same condition, by the bed. I can't
say that I'm afraid here at home. I'm not. I can take care of myself. But none
of the swamp for me!" "Well,
I'm glad you are not afraid, Kate, because I must tell you something. Elnora
stopped at the case this morning, and somebody had been into it in the
night." "Broke
the lock?" "No.
Used a duplicate key. To-day I heard there was a man here last night. I want to
nose around a little." Sinton went
to the east end of the cabin and looked up at the window. There was no way any
one could have reached it without a ladder, for the logs were hewed and mortar
filled the cracks even. Then he went to the west end, the willow faced him as
he turned the corner. He examined the trunk carefully. There was no mistake
about small particles of black swamp muck adhering to the sides of the tree. He
reached the low branches and climbed the willow. There was earth on the large
limb crossing Elnora's window. He stood on it, holding the branch as had been
done the night before, and looked into the room. He could see very little, but
he knew that if it had been dark outside and sufficiently light for Elnora to
study inside he could have seen vividly. He brought his face close to the
netting, and he could see the bed with its head to the east, at its foot the
table with the candles and the chair before it, and then he knew where the man
had been who had heard Elnora's prayer. Mrs.
Comstock had followed around the corner and stood watching him. "Do you
think some slinking hulk was up there peekin' in at Elnora?" she demanded
indignantly. "There
is muck on the trunk, and plenty on the limb," said Sinton. "Hadn't
you better get a saw and let me take this branch off?" "No, I
hadn't," said Mrs. Comstock. "First place, Elnora's climbed from that
window on that limb all her life, and it's hers. Second place, no one gets
ahead of me after I've had warning. Any crow that perches on that roost again
will get its feathers somewhat scattered. Look along the fence, there, and see
if you can find where he came in." The place
was easy to find as was a trail leading for some distance west of the cabin. "You
just go home, and don't fret yourself," said Mrs. Comstock. "I'll
take care of this. If you should hear the dinner bell at any time in the night
you come down. But I wouldn't say anything to Elnora. She better keep her mind
on her studies, if she's going to school." When the
work was finished that night Elnora took her books and went to her room to
prepare some lessons, but every few minutes she looked toward the swamp to see
if there were lights near the case. Mrs. Comstock raked together the coals in
the cooking stove, got out the lunch box, and sitting down she studied it grimly.
At last she arose. "Wonder
how it would do to show Mag Sinton a frill or two," she murmured. She went to
her room, knelt before a big black-walnut chest and hunted through its contents
until she found an old-fashioned cook book. She tended the fire as she read and
presently was in action. She first sawed an end from a fragrant, juicy,
sugar-cured ham and put it to cook. Then she set a couple of eggs boiling, and
after long hesitation began creaming butter and sugar in a crock. An hour later
the odour of the ham, mingled with some of the richest spices of "happy
Araby," in a combination that could mean nothing save spice cake, crept up
to Elnora so strongly that she lifted her head and sniffed amazedly. She would
have given all her precious money to have gone down and thrown her arms around
her mother's neck, but she did not dare move. Mrs.
Comstock was up early, and without a word handed Elnora the case as she left
the next morning. "Thank
you, mother," said Elnora, and went on her way. She walked
down the road looking straight ahead until she came to the corner, where she
usually entered the swamp. She paused, glanced that way and smiled. Then she
turned and looked back. There was no one coming in any direction. She followed
the road until well around the corner, then she stopped and sat on a grassy
spot, laid her books beside her and opened the lunch box. Last night's odours
had in a measure prepared her for what she would see, but not quite. She
scarcely could believe her senses. Half the bread compartment was filled with
dainty sandwiches of bread and butter sprinkled with the yolk of egg and the
remainder with three large slices of the most fragrant spice cake imaginable.
The meat dish contained shaved cold ham, of which she knew the quality, the
salad was tomatoes and celery, and the cup held preserved pear, clear as amber.
There was milk in the bottle, two tissue-wrapped cucumber pickles in the
folding drinking-cup, and a fresh napkin in the ring. No lunch was ever
daintier or more palatable; of that Elnora was perfectly sure. And her mother
had prepared it for her! "She does love me!" cried the happy girl.
"Sure as you're born she loves me; only she hasn't found it out yet!"
She touched
the papers daintily, and smiled at the box as if it were a living thing. As she
began closing it a breath of air swept by, lifting the covering of the cake. It
was like an invitation, and breakfast was several hours away. Elnora picked up
a piece and ate it. That cake tasted even better than it looked. Then she tried
a sandwich. How did her mother come to think of making them that way. They
never had any at home. She slipped out the fork, sampled the salad, and
one-quarter of pear. Then she closed the box and started down the road nibbling
one of the pickles and trying to decide exactly how happy she was, but she
could find no standard high enough for a measure. She was to
go to the Bird Woman's after school for the last load from the case. Saturday
she would take the arrow points and specimens to the bank. That would exhaust
her present supplies and give her enough money ahead to pay for books, tuition,
and clothes for at least two years. She would work early and late gathering
nuts. In October she would sell all the ferns she could find. She must collect
specimens of all tree leaves before they fell, gather nests and cocoons later,
and keep her eyes wide open for anything the grades could use. She would see
the superintendent that night about selling specimens to the ward buildings.
She must be ahead of any one else if she wanted to furnish these things. So she
approached the bridge. That it was
occupied could be seen from a distance. As she came up she found the small boy
of yesterday awaiting her with a confident smile. "We
brought you something!" he announced without greeting. "This is Jimmy
and Belle — and we brought you a present." He offered
a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "Why,
how lovely of you!" said Elnora. "I supposed you had forgotten me
when you ran away so fast yesterday." "Naw,
I didn't forget you," said the boy. "I wouldn't forget you, not ever!
Why, I was ist a-hurrying to take them things to Jimmy and Belle. My, they was
glad!" Elnora
glanced at the children. They sat on the edge of the bridge, obviously clad in
a garment each, very dirty and unkept, a little boy and a girl of about seven
and nine. Elnora's heart began to ache. "Say,"
said the boy. "Ain't you going to look what we have gave you?" "I
thought it wasn't polite to look before people," answered Elnora. "Of
course, I will, if you would like to have me." Elnora
opened the package. She had been presented with a quarter of a stale loaf of
baker's bread, and a big piece of ancient bologna. "But
don't you want this yourselves?" she asked in surprise. "Gosh,
no! I mean ist no," said the boy. "We always have it. We got stacks
this morning. Pa's come out of it now, and he's so sorry he got more 'an ever
we can eat. Have you had any before?" "No,"
said Elnora, "I never did!" The boy's
eyes brightened and the girl moved restlessly. "We
thought maybe you hadn't," said the boy. "First you ever have, you
like it real well; but when you don't have anything else for a long time, years
an' years, you git so tired." He hitched at the string which held his
trousers and watched Elnora speculatively. "I
don't s'pose you'd trade what you got in that box for ist old bread and bologna
now, would you? Mebby you'd like it! And I know, I ist know, what you got would
taste like heaven to Jimmy and Belle. They never had nothing like that! Not even
Belle, and she's most ten! No, sir-ee, they never tasted things like you got!"
It was in
Elnora's heart to be thankful for even a taste in time, as she knelt on the
bridge, opened the box and divided her lunch into three equal parts, the
smaller boy getting most of the milk. Then she told them it was school time and
she must go. "Why
don't you put your bread and bologna in the nice box?" asked the boy. "Of
course," said Elnora. "I didn't think." When the
box was arranged to the children's satisfaction all of them accompanied Elnora
to the corner where she turned toward the high school. "Billy,"
said Elnora, "I would like you much better if you were cleaner. Surely,
you have water! Can't you children get some soap and wash yourselves? Gentlemen
are never dirty. You want to be a gentleman, don't you?" "Is
being clean all you have to do to be a gentleman?" "No,"
said Elnora. "You must not say bad words, and you must be kind and polite
to your sister." "Must
Belle be kind and polite to me, else she ain't a lady?" "Yes."
"Then
Belle's no lady!" said Billy succinctly. Elnora could
say nothing more just then, and she bade them good-bye and started them home. "The
poor little souls!" she mused. "I think the Almighty put them in my
way to show me real trouble. I won't be likely to spend much time pitying
myself while I can see them." She glanced at the lunchbox. "What on
earth do I carry this for? I never had anything that was so strictly
ornamental! One sure thing! I can't take this stuff to the high school. You
never seem to know exactly what is going to happen to you while you are
there." As if to
provide a way out of her difficulty a big dog arose from a lawn, and came
toward the gate wagging his tail. "If those children ate the stuff, it
can't possibly kill him!" thought Elnora, so she offered the bologna. The
dog accepted it graciously, and being a beast of pedigree he trotted around to
a side porch and laid the bologna before his mistress. The woman snatched it,
screaming: "Come, quick! Some one is trying to poison Pedro!" Her
daughter came running from the house. "Go see who is on the street. Hurry!"
cried the excited mother. Ellen
Brownlee ran and looked. Elnora was half a block away, and no one nearer. Ellen
called loudly, and Elnora stopped. Ellen came running toward her. "Did
you see any one give our dog something?" she cried as she approached. Elnora saw
no escape. "I
gave it a piece of bologna myself," she said. "It was fit to eat. It
wouldn't hurt the dog." Ellen stood
and looked at her. "Of course, I didn't know it was your dog,"
explained Elnora. "I had something I wanted to throw to some dog, and that
one looked big enough to manage it." Ellen had
arrived at her conclusions. "Pass over that lunch box," she demanded.
"I
will not!" said Elnora. "Then
I will have you arrested for trying to poison our dog," laughed the girl
as she took the box. "One
chunk of stale bread, one half mile of antique bologna contributed for dog
feed; the remains of cake, salad and preserves in an otherwise empty lunch box.
One ham sandwich yesterday. I think it's lovely you have the box. Who ate your
lunch to-day?" "Same,"
confessed Elnora, "but there were three of them this time." "Wait,
until I run back and tell mother about the dog, and get my books." Elnora
waited. That morning she walked down the hall and into the auditorium beside
one of the very nicest girls in Onabasha, and it was the fourth day. But the
surprise came at noon when Ellen insisted upon Elnora lunching at the Brownlee
home, and convulsed her parents and family, and overwhelmed Elnora with a
greatly magnified, but moderately accurate history of her lunch box. "Gee!
but it's a box, daddy!" cried the laughing girl. "It's carved leather
and fastens with a strap that has her name on it. Inside are trays for things
all complete, and it bears evidence of having enclosed delicious food, but
Elnora never gets any. She's carried it two days now, and both times it has
been empty before she reached school. Isn't that killing?" "It
is, Ellen, in more ways than one. No girl is going to eat breakfast at six
o'clock, walk three miles, and do good work without her lunch. You can't tell
me anything about that box. I sold it last Monday night to Wesley Sinton, one
of my good country customers. He told me it was a present for a girl who was
worthy of it, and I see he was right." "He's
so good to me," said Elnora. "Sometimes I look at him and wonder if a
neighbour can be so kind to one, what a real father would be like. I envy a
girl with a father unspeakably." "You
have cause," said Ellen Brownlee. "A father is the very dearest
person in the whole round world, except a mother, who is just a dear." The
girl, starting to pay tribute to her father, saw that she must include her
mother, and said the thing before she remembered what Mrs. Sinton had told the
girls in the store. She stopped in dismay. Elnora's face paled a trifle, but
she smiled bravely. "Then
I'm fortunate in having a mother," she said. Mr.
Brownlee lingered at the table after the girls had excused themselves and
returned to school. "There's
a girl Ellen can't see too much of, in my opinion," he said. "She is
every inch a lady, and not a foolish notion or action about her. I can't
understand just what combination of circumstances produced her in this
day." "It
has been an unusual case of repression, for one thing. She waits on her elders
and thinks before she speaks," said Mrs. Brownlee. "She's
mighty pretty. She looks so sound and wholesome, and she's neatly
dressed." "Ellen
says she was a fright the first two days. Long brown calico dress almost
touching the floor, and big, lumbering shoes. Those Sinton people bought her
clothes. Ellen was in the store, and the woman stopped her crowd and asked them
about their dresses. She said the girl was not poor, but her mother was selfish
and didn't care for her. But Elnora showed a bank book the next day, and
declared that she paid for the things herself, so the Sinton people must just
have selected them. There's something peculiar about it, but nothing wrong I am
sure. I'll encourage Ellen to ask her again." "I
should say so, especially if she is going to keep on giving away her
lunch." "She
lunched with the Bird Woman one day this week." "She
did!" "Yes,
she lives out by the Limberlost. You know the Bird Woman works there a great
deal, and probably knows her that way. I think the girl gathers specimens for
her. Ellen says she knows more than the teachers about any nature question that
comes up, and she is going to lead all of them in mathematics, and make them
work in any branch." When Elnora
entered the coat room after having had luncheon with Ellen Brownlee there was
such a difference in the atmosphere that she could feel it. "I am
almost sorry I have these clothes," she said to Ellen. "In
the name of sense, why?" cried the astonished girl. "Every
one is so nice to me in them, it sets me to wondering if in time I could have
made them be equally friendly in the others." Ellen
looked at her introspectively. "I believe you could," she announced
at last. "But it would have taken time and heartache, and your mind would
have been less free to work on your studies. No one is happy without friends,
and I just simply can't study when I am unhappy." That night
the Bird Woman made the last trip to the swamp. Every specimen she possibly
could use had been purchased at a fair price, and three additions had been made
to the bank book, carrying the total a little past two hundred dollars. There
remained the Indian relics to sell on Saturday, and Elnora had secured the
order to furnish material for nature work for the grades. Life suddenly grew
very full. There was the most excitingly interesting work for every hour, and
that work was to pay high school expenses and start the college fund. There was
one little rift in her joy. All of it would have been so much better if she
could have told her mother, and given the money into her keeping; but the
struggle to get a start had been so terrible, Elnora was afraid to take the
risk. When she reached home, she only told her mother that the last of the
things had been sold that evening. "I
think," said Mrs. Comstock, "that we will ask Wesley to move that box
over here back of the garden for you. There you are apt to get tolled farther
into the swamp than you intend to go, and you might mire or something. There
ought to be just the same things in our woods, and along our swampy places, as
there are in the Limberlost. Can't you hunt your stuff here?" "I can
try," said Elnora. "I don't know what I can find until I do. Our
woods are undisturbed, and there is a possibility they might be even better
hunting than the swamp. But I wouldn't have Freckles's case moved for the
world. He might come back some day, and not like it. I've tried to keep his
room the best I could, and taking out the box would make a big hole in one side
of it. Store boxes don't cost much. I will have Uncle Wesley buy me one, and
set it up wherever hunting looks the best, early in the spring. I would feel
safer at home." "Shall
we do the work or have supper first?" "Let's
do the work," said Elnora. "I can't say that I'm hungry now. Doesn't
seem as if I ever could be hungry again with such a lunch. I am quite sure no
one carried more delicious things to eat than I." Mrs.
Comstock was pleased. "I put in a pretty good hunk of cake. Did you divide
it with any one?" "Why,
yes, I did," admitted Elnora. "Who?"
This was
becoming uncomfortable. "I ate the biggest piece myself," said
Elnora, "and gave the rest to a couple of boys named Jimmy and Billy and a
girl named Belle. They said it was the very best cake they ever tasted in all
their lives." Mrs.
Comstock sat straight. "I used to be a master hand at spice cake,"
she boasted. "But I'm a little out of practice. I must get to work again.
With the very weeds growing higher than our heads, we should raise plenty of
good stuff to eat on this land, if we can't afford anything else but
taxes." Elnora
laughed and hurried up stairs to change her dress. Margaret Sinton came that
night bringing a beautiful blue one in its place, and carried away the other to
launder. "Do
you mean to say those dresses are to be washed every two days?" questioned
Mrs. Comstock. "They
have to be, to look fresh," replied Margaret. "We want our girl sweet
as a rose." "Well,
of all things!" cried Mrs. Comstock. "Every two days! Any girl who
can't keep a dress clean longer than that is a dirty girl. You'll wear the
goods out and fade the colours with so much washing." "We'll
have a clean girl, anyway." "Well,
if you like the job you can have it," said Mrs. Comstock. "I don't
mind the washing, but I'm so inconvenient with an iron." Elnora sat
late that night working over her lessons. The next morning she put on her blue
dress and ribbon and in those she was a picture. Mrs. Comstock caught her
breath with a queer stirring around her heart, and looked twice to be sure of what
she saw. As Elnora gathered her books her mother silently gave her the lunch
box. "Feels
heavy," said Elnora gaily. "And smelly! Like as not I'll be called
upon to divide again." "Then
you divide!" said Mrs. Comstock. "Eating is the one thing we don't
have to economize on, Elnora. Spite of all I can do food goes to waste in this
soil every day. If you can give some of those city children a taste of the real
thing, why, don't be selfish." Elnora went
down the road thinking of the city children with whom she probably would
divide. Of course, the bridge would be occupied again. So she stopped and
opened the box. "I
don't want to be selfish," murmured Elnora, "but it really seems as
if I can't give away this lunch. If mother did not put love into it, she's
substituted something that's likely to fool me." She almost
felt her steps lagging as she approached the bridge. A very hungry dog had been
added to the trio of children. Elnora loved all dogs, and as usual, this one
came to her in friendliness. The children said "Good morning!" with
alacrity, and another paper parcel lay conspicuous. "How
are you this morning?" inquired Elnora. "All
right!" cried the three, while the dog sniffed ravenously at the lunch
box, and beat a perfect tattoo with his tail. "How
did you like the bologna?" questioned Billy eagerly. "One
of the girls took me to lunch at her home yesterday," answered Elnora. Dawn broke
beautifully over Billy's streaked face. He caught the package and thrust it
toward Elnora. "Then
maybe you'd like to try the bologna to-day!" The dog
leaped in glad apprehension of something, and Belle scrambled to her feet and
took a step forward. The look of famished greed in her eyes was more than
Elnora could endure. It was not that she cared for the food so much. Good
things to eat had been in abundance all her life. She wanted with this lunch to
try to absorb what she felt must be an expression of some sort from her mother,
and if it were not a manifestation of love, she did not know what to think it.
But it was her mother who had said "be generous." She knelt on the
bridge. "Keep back the dog!" she warned the elder boy. She opened
the box and divided the milk between Billy and the girl. She gave each a piece
of cake leaving one and a sandwich. Billy pressed forward eagerly, bitter
disappointment on his face, and the elder boy forgot his charge. "Aw, I
thought they'd be meat!" lamented Billy. Elnora
could not endure that. "There
is!" she said gladly. "There is a little pigeon bird. I want a teeny
piece of the breast, for a sort of keepsake, just one bite, and you can have
the rest among you." Elnora drew
the knife from its holder and cut off the wishbone. Then she held the bird
toward the girl. "You
can divide it," she said. The dog made a bound and seizing the squab
sprang from the bridge and ran for life. The girl and boy hurried after him.
With awful eyes Billy stared and swore tempestuously. Elnora caught him and
clapped her hand over the little mouth. A delivery wagon came tearing down the
street, the horse running full speed, passed the fleeing dog with the girl and
boy in pursuit, and stopped at the bridge. High school girls began to roll from
all sides of it. "A
rescue! A rescue!" they shouted. It was
Ellen Brownlee and her crowd, and every girl of them carried a big parcel. They
took in the scene as they approached. The fleeing dog with something in its
mouth, the half-naked girl and boy chasing it told the story. Those girls
screamed with laughter as they watched the pursuit. "Thank
goodness, I saved the wishbone!" said Elnora. "As usual, I can prove
that there was a bird." She turned toward the box. Billy had improved the
time. He had the last piece of cake in one hand, and the last bite of salad
disappeared in one great gulp. Then the girls shouted again. "Let's
have a sample ourselves," suggested one. She caught up the box and handed
out the remaining sandwich. Another girl divided it into bites each little over
an inch square, and then she lifted the cup lid and deposited a preserved
strawberry on each bite. "One, two, three, altogether now!" she
cried. "You
old mean things!" screamed Billy. In an
instant he was down in the road and handfuls of dust began to fly among them.
The girls scattered before him. "Billy!"
cried Elnora. "Billy! I'll never give you another bite, if you throw dust
on any one!" Then Billy
dropped the dust, bored both fists into his eyes, and fled sobbing into
Elnora's new blue skirt. She stooped to meet him and consolation began. Those
girls laughed on. They screamed and shouted until the little bridge shook. "To-morrow
might as well be a clear day," said Ellen, passing around and feeding the
remaining berries to the girls as they could compose themselves enough to take
them. "Billy, I admire your taste more than your temper." Elnora
looked up. "The little soul is nothing but skin and bones," she said.
"I never was really hungry myself; were any of you?" "Well,
I should say so," cried a plump, rosy girl. "I'm famished right now.
Let's have breakfast immediate!" "We
got to refill this box first!" said Ellen Brownlee. "Who's got the
butter?" A girl advanced with a wooden tray. "Put
it in the preserve cup, a little strawberry flavour won't hurt it. Next!"
called Ellen. A loaf of
bread was produced and Ellen cut off a piece which filled the sandwich box. "Next!"
A bottle of olives was unwrapped. The grocer's boy who was waiting opened that,
and Ellen filled the salad dish. "Next!"
A bag of
macaroons was produced and the cake compartment filled. "Next!"
"I
don't suppose this will make quite as good dog feed as a bird," laughed a
girl holding open a bag of sliced ham while Ellen filled the meat dish. "Next!"
A box of
candy was handed her and she stuffed every corner of the lunch box with
chocolates and nougat. Then it was closed and formally presented to Elnora. The
girls each helped themselves to candy and olives, and gave Billy the remainder
of the food. Billy took one bite of ham, and approved. Belle and Jimmy had
given up chasing the dog, and angry and ashamed, stood waiting half a block
away. "Come
back!" cried Billy. "You great big dunces, come back! They's a new
kind of meat, and cake and candy." The boy
delayed, but the girl joined Billy. Ellen wiped her fingers, stepped to the
cement abutment and began reciting "Horatio at the Bridge!"
substituting Elnora wherever the hero appeared in the lines. Elnora
gathered up the sacks, and gave them to Belle, telling her to take the food
home, cut and spread the bread, set things on the table, and eat nicely. Then Elnora
was taken into the wagon with the girls, and driven on the run to the high
school. They sang a song beginning— "Elnora, please give me a sandwich. I'm ashamed to ask for cake!" as they went. Elnora
did not know it, but that was her initiation. She belonged to "the
crowd." She only knew that she was happy, and vaguely wondered what her
mother and Aunt Margaret would have said about the proceedings.
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