Chapter II: Part 2

"Sh!" said Bubbles, for just then Olive entered and said in a prim way: "Mamma says you are not to stay in here with Eleanor, Barbara. She says you are to go down and set the table for tea, and you are not to stay in Eleanor's room nor even come in here without express permission."

Bubbles arose and obediently went below stairs, but she muttered much to herself and racked her brain for some way in which she could avenge the trials of her beloved Miss Dimple, who, meanwhile was trying to comfort herself with her new doll. A letter from her mother that day had said that Mr. Dallas was not quite so well but that Eleanor was not to worry, for she hoped to have better news the next time she wrote, and she was glad to hear that her little daughter was getting along well at school and that she was well. She must try to be kind and obedient and helpful to her Cousin Ellen.

"I won't, I won't, I won't," whispered Eleanor to herself. "I can't be. She is too hateful to me. I wish I had never seen her and I wish I could stay out of the house all the time." And indeed this is what she tried to do, starting early for school, and trying to spend as much of the afternoon as possible with some of her schoolmates. Olive had made friends with Janet Forrester, and Jessie had found a playmate nearer her own age, so Eleanor was free to select her own friends. Upon one occasion there came a clash upon this very subject, for Mrs. Murdoch insisted that Eleanor should go to Janet Forrester's to spend the afternoon. "I feel myself responsible for you, Eleanor," she said, "and I should like to know that you are somewhere with Olive that I may be able to account for you."

"Mamma doesn't like me to play with Janet," Eleanor blurted out.

"Why not?"

Eleanor hung her head. She did not like to tell tales, in school or out, but Olive spoke up: "I know, mamma; it's because Barbara stole a ring from Janet and she and Eleanor quarreled about it."

"Oh, what a story," cried Eleanor. "She didn't steal it, any such a thing. Janet said she did just to get Bubbles into trouble and she found the ring afterward at her own house. So there."

Mrs. Murdoch and Olive exchanged glances and Mrs. Murdoch lifted her eyebrows slightly, in a way that Eleanor much disliked.

"That's what Janet told me, anyhow, mamma," said Olive meaningly.

"There are always two sides to a question," said Mrs. Murdoch, "but if you are sure, Eleanor, that your mamma does not like you to play with Janet you needn't go. Mrs. Forrester has doubtless the same objection on her side."

Eleanor looked at her with blazing eyes; then stamping her foot she cried: "I wish you'd just write to mamma and ask her. She will tell you the truth, anyhow, if you don't believe me. I never tell stories. I never do such things. You can ask mamma." And she turned away.

This was on Wednesday before school, and on her return home she found Mrs. Murdoch in quite a perturbed state. "Eleanor," she said, "have you seen anything of Barbara? She hasn't been seen since about eleven o'clock."

"I haven't seen her," returned Eleanor curtly.

"Do you know where she is?"

Eleanor hesitated, then remembered that she did not know just where Sylvy's parents lived; it was somewhere in the country, but where she could not tell.

"Answer me," said Mrs. Murdoch. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, Cousin Ellen, at least, I know she has gone away somewhere in the country, but I don't know where the place is. You said you were going to send her away, and so she went anyhow."

"And you have known this all the time and haven't told me? Such deceit!"

"I don't know why I should have told," retorted Eleanor. "It wouldn't have done Bubbles any good, and I love her a thousand million times more than I do you, if she is black. She is white inside and I know you are not."

"Eleanor!" Mrs. Murdoch spoke very sternly. "You are really the most dreadful child I have ever encountered. I never had any one speak to me as you have done. You are completely contaminated by your association with servants."

"I don't tell stories, and I don't steal from the pantry, and I don't do lots of things your children do," returned Eleanor thoroughly defiant.

"Hush!" cried Mrs. Murdoch. "If it were not for worrying your mother I should tell her very plainly what I think of you, but as it is, my hands are tied. I shall have to pass over this as I have over many other things. If Barbara has gone I wash my hands of her, and when your mother returns she can do as she thinks fit about the affair. I am not in a position to punish you as you deserve, but I wish you not to address me or any of my family, except when absolutely necessary, while we remain here."

However much Mrs. Murdoch was pleased at Bubbles' departure to Eleanor it was a sore loss, and she went to bed that night clasping her dear Ada close to her heart and shedding many tears for Bubbles. The absence of the little colored girl in more ways than one, made it hard for Eleanor, for now Bubbles could not be used as a scapegoat for Olive's sly pilferings, nor for Don's tricks, and so by degrees it was Eleanor herself upon whom all the blame was laid. Did anything happen to be out of place, Eleanor had it last. Were there mud tracked through Mrs. Murdoch's clean halls, Eleanor did it; and, since Mrs. Murdoch's blind idolatry of her children did not permit her to see a fault in any one of them, poor Eleanor was gradually made to believe herself a most wicked person, and she was in danger of acquiring some of the very qualities which were attributed to her.

It was Miss Reese who first noticed this, for she saw that the child's sunny little face was now habitually clouded and that, whereas she had formerly been responsive to gentle chiding for some slight fault, she was beginning to show open defiance, and so the teacher called upon Mrs. Murdoch and very tactfully brought around the conversation to the subject which was upon her mind.

"You find Olive and Jessie tractable, I hope," said Mrs. Murdoch.

"Yes," returned Miss Reese, "Jessie particularly. I have some times thought that Olive was not as frank as I should like her to be, but I may be mistaken."

Mrs. Murdoch's visible resentment showed Miss Reese that she was upon dangerous ground. "That is a quality that belongs to Eleanor rather than to Olive," Mrs. Murdoch said. "The child has been brought up very unwisely."

"Why, what do you mean?" Miss Reese was surprised into saying. "I have always thought Mrs. Dallas one of the tenderest and most devoted of mothers. Every one thinks Eleanor one of the best behaved little girls in town; for myself I think she is a charming child."

"One can never tell unless one lives in the house with such a character," said Mrs. Murdoch, sighing. "Your estimate simply proves what I say that Eleanor is vain and deceitful."

Miss Reese began to take in the situation but she only said:

"I think a teacher has an excellent opportunity for judging of the characters of those placed in her care, and I cannot agree with you, Mrs. Murdoch." Then she took her leave, resolved to give more attention to Eleanor from this out.

_CHAPTER V_

_More Trouble_

It was about two weeks after Bubbles' departure that Eleanor, coming home one day from school, found her new doll missing and her precious Jungle Book out of its place on her shelves. She searched high and low but could find neither book nor doll. She gave to her dolls a devoted affection. They seemed real persons to her and any indignity offered to them cut her to the very heart. Once in a while she had forgotten and had left some special member of her family out in the garden all night and her self-reproach upon discovering it was great. It was as if she felt upon her own tender body the dews of night, and as if pangs of hunger had been hers, and after that, for days, the victim of her forgetfulness would be treated with extra care and tenderness.

For her books she had the feeling that is that of every true book-lover. It hurt her to see her treasured volumes laid face down, or to see thumb-marks soiling one of the clean pages or to come across a leaf turned down; therefore she dreaded to see one of her beloved books in Donald's hands. Donald was no respecter of the property of others, and if he wanted a book he usually helped himself to it and kept it in the playhouse as long as it suited him. He was very tenacious, it may be said, about his right to the playhouse, and always kept the door locked and the key in his pocket when he was not in the small building, so that Eleanor had no opportunity of going in there to search for any of her lost treasures.

She sighed as she thought some day she would probably find her Jungle Book, soiled and with dingy covers, returned to her shelves, but Donald professed to despise dolls and what could he want to do with her dear Ada? She determined to ask him if he had seen her doll, and to be very polite when she did it; so she waited patiently till she should hear him come in.

It was cold November weather and the winter was fast approaching. Eleanor shuddered as she thought of Ada lying somewhere out in the chill wind, but she said very sweetly, "Donald, have you seen anything of my new doll?"

"What do you suppose I know about your old doll?" he returned.

"I can't find her anywhere," Eleanor went on wistfully. "I left her sitting on my bed this morning, and I have hunted high and low for her."

"You didn't look in the flour barrel, I suppose," said Donald laughing.

"No. Oh, you didn't put her in there, did you? She will smother." And she hurried off to the pantry to examine the contents of the barrel.

Mrs. Murdoch coming saw her there. "Eleanor, what are you doing?" she asked sharply. "You charge Olive with pilfering from my store of cakes and I find you in here. What does this mean?"

"I am only looking for my doll, Cousin Ellen," Eleanor replied, too much worried to notice the implied charges.

"A queer place to look for a doll."

"Donald asked me if I had looked in the flour barrel, and I want so much to find her."

"As if he would put a doll in there. He has better sense than to do such a thing," said Mrs. Murdoch. "Your excuse is a very lame one, Eleanor."

But Eleanor paid little heed to her and again sought Donald, who jeeringly said: "When she's up she's up, and when she's down she's down, and when she's half-way up she's neither up nor down." And that was all Eleanor could get out of him.

Up and downstairs she trudged, looking in every room but no Ada was to be found. All over the garden she searched, but no Ada was there, but at last the child caught sight of something swinging from the garret window, and going closer, she saw Ada clad in her little nightgown and tied by the neck to a string which was suspended from a nail in the eaves. Upstairs Eleanor rushed, feeling as if she could not endure such treatment of her doll. She was in an agony of sympathy for poor Ada, but, try as she would, she could not grasp the string which hung just beyond her reach and could only be touched by standing on the ledge outside the window.

Eleanor was always desperately afraid to stand on high places, but her eagerness to gain possession of her doll, nerved her to climb out and stand upon the sill. She caught the string in one hand and with a dreadful feeling that Ada's body was thumping against the side of the house, she managed to climb in again and drew up the precious burden to find the doll a little scarred, but otherwise unhurt.

The child was now in such a nervous tremor that she felt her limbs shaking under her as she sank down on the garret floor giving vent to quick little sobs. "We won't stand it, Ada; we won't," she said. "We will run away, too. We will go with the butterman and find Sylvy and Bubbles. They love me better than these cousins." She had always been used to having negro servants about her and the idea of going to Sylvy did not affect her as it might have done a child not accustomed to being petted and coddled by a negro nursemaid.

"To-morrow the butterman comes again and we will hide somewhere, Ada, and go with him. I hope Bubbles found Sylvy. I haven't heard a word about her, but I hope she got there all right. I must write a note to Miss Reese, for she will wonder why I am not at school. I will mail it in the morning." The little inconsequent mind did not see any further troubles arising from her purpose, and she began to make her plans. "I will write to mamma and tell her I did not mean to be bad but that they made me so, and I'll tell her I am safe and that I am going to stay till she comes back," she told her doll. Then she tied up a little bundle of her own clothing, and put in what she considered proper apparel for Ada, and then she wrote her little note to Miss Reese:

"DEAR MISS REESE:

"I can't come to school because I am going away. I'm so miserble
without mamma and nobody loves me. Ime not going because I dont
like to go to school and plese excuse my lessons I will study very
hard when mamma comes back

"Affectionately yours
"ELEANOR DALLAS.

"P.S.--I forgot to tell you ime going to stay with Sylvy and
Bubbles."

She decided that she would go to school and at recess she would slip out and be on the corner when the butterman drove by. She would leave her bundle with old Mrs. Wills who kept a small shop near the school. She felt distressed at leaving her other dolls and Nyxy, her little black cat, but she laid the former carefully away in a drawer, after fondly kissing each smiling face, locked the drawer and took the key with her. Nyxy she knew would be well cared for. Jessie was devoted to him and the cook was fond of cats, and therefore with a soft whisper and a loving pat, Eleanor bade good-bye to her furry pet the next morning and started out alone. She did not often walk to school with her cousins nowadays, for Olive usually stopped for Janet Forrester and Jessie had a friend about her own age who called for her almost every morning, therefore Eleanor was not observed as she stepped out with her bundle and hurried along to Mrs. Wills before the others started.

Mrs. Wills cheerfully took charge of the bundle, patted Eleanor's shoulder and gave her a cocoanut cake. Her little shop was beginning to show Christmas wares and it gave Eleanor a pang to think that perhaps this year there would be no mamma on hand to plan delightful surprises. The tears gathered in her eyes as she went on to school, stopping to mail her letter to Miss Reese on the way.

She arrived quite early and found the schoolroom empty of every one except her teacher. Miss Reese looked up with a smile. "Good-morning, Eleanor," she said. "This is quite a frosty morning, isn't it? It promises cold weather soon. I suppose you are glad of that, for your mamma thought she would be home by Christmas, I remember."

"I'm afraid she won't be," returned Eleanor. "Papa wasn't so well when she last wrote."

"Oh, that's too bad. Never mind, you can have a good time with your cousins. It must be very lively for you to have so many playmates, after being the only child in the house."

Eleanor did not reply, but there was a quivering of her lips that told Miss Reese more than words could have done. "Did you come to school on your wheel?" Miss Reese asked, changing the subject.

"No, Miss Reese. Don has broken it. I hate Don."

"Why, my child."

"I do. I can't help it if I am wicked and selfish and--and deceitful, I just hate him," she said, going to her desk and hiding her face behind the lid as she raised it that Miss Reese might not see her tears. But just then in came a troop of girls and no more was said, although Miss Reese made a mental note of Eleanor's words.

At recess Eleanor asked permission to go to Mrs. Wills' little shop. This was often accorded the girls and consent was given to the child, who, however, waited till the last moment and then ran out, passing the girls returning from having made their purchases of sour balls or ginger cakes or buns.

"You'd better hurry up," said Laura Field; "the bell will ring in a minute."

Eleanor nodded in reply, and ran on, secured her bundle and hurried around the corner to overtake the butterman. But just as she reached the spot where she intended to wait for him she saw the white top of his wagon ahead of her, and she ran with all her might toward it, calling: "Mr. Snyder, Mr. Snyder, please wait for me," but his sleek brown horses trotted on and the child, breathlessly following, at last, dropped into a walk, but still determined to overtake him.

On and on she went up the hard country road where fewer and fewer houses were to be seen, and at last she saw the wagon turn into a lane, and outside the gate she sat down to wait till the butterman should come out again. She was very warm and tired and a cough which she had noticed for some days, began to trouble her more than before. The cold wind struck her and in a few minutes she was shivering, but she was not the less firm in her determination to go on to find Sylvy.

But as she sat there huddled up she heard a horse's hoofs come clattering along the road and she saw the flash of a scarlet jacket as a tiny Shetland pony came dashing along bearing as his rider a swarthy little girl, whose black tousled hair was tossed about by the wind. She drew rein as she saw Eleanor there and came cantering up to her. "What you doing?" she asked, slipping down from her pony and peering down with her bright eyes into Eleanor's face.

"I'm waiting for the butterman," answered Eleanor shyly.

"Wha' for?"

"'Cause I want him to take me along with him."

"I'll take you. Want to ride my pony? Come; there ain't no man coming."

Eleanor looked up toward the house before the gate of which she was waiting. "He's in there," she said.

The girl shook her black locks. "No, he's gone t'other way."

Eleanor looked distressed. "Are you sure?" she asked.

The girl nodded. "I'll take you. Come 'long. Tossi can take us both."

"Oh, no, he's too little."

The girl laughed. "He's very strong. No, it won't hurt him. He loves me and I don't let him be hurt." She flung her arms around the neck of the pony and kissed the white star on his forehead.

Eleanor at last consented to mount him, sitting behind the girl and holding fast to her as they dashed up the road. Once she asked breathlessly: "Do you know where the butterman lives? His name is Mr. Snyder."

"I knows him," returned her companion laughing, but she did not stop till they came in sight of a group of gaudy wagons.

"Oh!" cried Eleanor. "Those are gipsies."

The girl jumped down. "My people," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Are you a gipsy?" Eleanor was quite taken aback.

The girl nodded in reply, standing with one arm over the neck of her little pony.

"But I want to go to Mr. Snyder's," said Eleanor helplessly, all the stories she had ever heard of gipsies coming to her mind.

The girl led the pony slowly along toward the wagons and Eleanor could see that beyond them, in a small enclosure, were many horses, and that in some of the wagons, with their red and yellow adornings, were women and children. "Please don't go on," she said. "I don't want to go there."

"Wha' for?" again said the girl.

"I want to find Mr. Snyder."

"He your papa?"

"No."

"You live there?"

"No."

"Then wha' for?"

"I want him to take me somewhere. Perhaps you know where Sylvy Johnson lives. She is a colored woman. I would just as soon go to her house as to Mr. Snyder's."

The girl shook her head. "Don't know. We had a little nigger girl not long ago. She went to the orspital, my brodder say. She was hurted." Then she suddenly looked up saying: "I like you. I wish you'd stay and see my big brudder. He have anudder pony like this one; he'll let you ride on him."

At this moment one of the dark, queer-looking women came from one of the wagons toward them and Eleanor took affright. "Oh, no, please,--I am very much obliged to you for letting me ride your pony; he is a darling, but I am afraid to stay. I'm not afraid of you, for you are a very nice, kind little girl, but I do want to go. I am so tired, and--and--please."

"Come on." The girl swung herself upon the pony, and giving the pretty creature a slap with her hand she made him turn around and they were soon dashing down the road again to the spot where Eleanor had been first seen by the gipsy girl.

Eleanor got down and looked up the lane. "Does Mr. Snyder live in there?" she asked.

"Don't know."

"But you said you knew where he lived."

"No, I says I know him, an' so I does."

"But you said he had gone out another way."

"Maybe. I don't know. No, he's comin' now. I see his wagon top. I said that because I wanted you to come and see my brudder and me."

"Are you going to be at that place long?"

"Don't know. P'r'aps. You want to buy a pony? My brudder will sell you a good one cheap."

"I'd like to have one like yours. Isn't he a beauty? I always wanted to ride a little pony like this, and I am glad I could do it. Did your father give it to you?"

"No, I haven't got no fadder."

"Your mother then?"

"No," the girl shook her head. "I haven't got no mudder; my brudder give him to me. What you got in your bundle?"

"Some clothes and my doll named Ada."

"I got a doll too; her name is--what's your name?"

"Eleanor."

"Her name is Eleanor like you."

"What is your name?"

"Zula."

"I think that is a pretty name. I'll name my next doll that."

"Come and see me and I'll show you my doll. My brudder bought it for me. I like your ribbon on your hair. Give it to me."

Eleanor hesitated. She didn't like to refuse and yet she did not know whether it was exactly right to give it to her, but finally she did take it off, for she thought Zula had really been very kind. "Here," she said, "you may have it."

Zula tied it around her black tresses and laughed. "Here comes Snyder," she said, "good-bye." And jumping on her horse she was off like a flash.

Eleanor watched her red jacket out of sight and then said to herself, "I wish I had asked her more about that little colored girl. I wonder if she was a servant or what. I'm glad Bubbles don't have to go traveling around the country with gipsies. She'll be glad to see me, and so will Sylvy. What a long time Mr. Snyder has been at that house."

_CHAPTER VI_

_Where is Bubbles?_

At last the man came driving down the lane. He drew rein as he saw the little figure by the gate. "Want a lift, little girl?" he asked cheerfully.

"Yes, please," Eleanor responded. And the man helped her up beside him.

"How far are you going?" he asked.

"To Sylvy's," Eleanor answered in all simplicity.

"To Sylvy's? You don't mean Sylvy Johnson's? No wonder you want a lift. What are you going away off there for? It is a long way for a little girl to go alone. Bless me!" He looked closer. "Bless my soul, if it isn't the little Dallas girl! Why, what does this mean? What's the matter at your house that they're running you off in this fashion?"

Eleanor's cough interrupted her speech for a moment, and the man tucked a warm cover closer around her. "See here," he continued, "I'll take you home with me, and we'll see what's to be done. I'm not in the notion of your going to Johnson's by yourself. How did you expect to get back?"

"I didn't expect to get back at all, at least, not till mamma comes home."

"Why, that's the queerest thing I ever heard. Did Mrs. Murdoch send you off there?"

"No," Eleanor confessed, "I am going of my own accord. Cousin Ellen doesn't know anything about it."

"Hm--hm." Mr. Snyder nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Mrs. Snyder will settle it. I can't take you back just at once, for I must go home and feed my horses, and get a bite myself, but if mother says so, home you go."

"Oh, no, please," begged Eleanor. "I want to go to Sylvy's."

"Well, you wait and see what my wife says. Mrs. Snyder'll know what's best. 'Tain't much further; only a couple of miles. Here, get up, Pete. Get up, Morgan." And the horses quickened their trot soon bringing them up to a substantial white house standing back some distance from the road. "Here we are," said Mr. Snyder, lifting Eleanor down. "Whoa there, Pete! I'd better fasten that horse; he's dead set on getting to the stable. He knows it's his dinner time."

A rosy-faced woman came to the side door. "Here, mother," said Mr. Snyder, "I've got company for you; Mr. Dallas's little girl. Run in, honey, out of the cold. It's blowing up, mother. Take the little girl in where it's warm, and I'll come as soon as I've fed the stock."

Into a clean warm kitchen Eleanor was led. There was an odor of fried ham and potatoes, and from an iron pot, bubbling on the stove, came a spicy smell. "Take off your things, honey," said Mrs. Snyder in a matter-of-fact way, as if the coming of a strange little girl to dinner were an everyday occurrence, and Eleanor obeyed, glad of the warmth and the welcome.

Mr. Snyder was not long gone, and when he returned he remarked, "This young lady wants to go to Johnson's, Almiry. What do you think of that?"

"Not to stay!" said Mrs. Snyder, pausing in the act of taking a pan of biscuits from the oven. "You wasn't meaning to stay, was you?" she asked Eleanor.

"Yes, till my mother comes home. You see, Bubbles is there, at least, I suppose she is. Didn't she come with you about two weeks ago, Mr. Snyder?"

"With me? No, indeed. Do you mean the little darky girl that lives at your house? Haven't laid eyes on her."

"Oh!" Eleanor's eyes grew big with anxiety, and her chin began to quiver. "Then she's lost, unless she is at Sylvy's. Won't you please take me there?"

"Why, child," said Mrs. Snyder, "that ain't a fit place for you; just a little two-story cabin with a loft. What on earth possesses you to want to go there? Hear the child cough, Ben. Sounds to me like the whooping-cough; mighty like it. I shouldn't be surprised if the child had it. She oughtn't to be running wild around the country in this way."

"Oh, do you think I really have it? I am so glad," Eleanor exclaimed in a satisfied tone.

Mr. Snyder laughed. "Funny thing to be glad about."

"Why, you see, they have all got it at my aunt's in the city and that is why I couldn't go there when mamma went away, and now maybe I can."

"But what put it into your head to come so far from home to-day?" Mrs. Snyder asked.

Eleanor hung her head. "Because--because, Don hung my doll, and I can't bear him, and they don't believe anything I say, and nobody loves me, and I was so lonely I just couldn't stand it."

Mrs. Snyder looked at her husband and then gathered Eleanor into her motherly arms. "Poor little thing! Homesick in her own home; mother sick, I reckon. Let us keep her here a bit, Ben. You told me a month ago that Mrs. Dallas had gone off to them Hot Springs and left the child with kinfolks. I remember, because you said you'd never had no complaint of your butter and eggs from that house in all these years, and you reckoned Mrs. Murdoch was kind of fussy. Ain't her name Murdoch?"

"Yes, that's it; Murdoch. She did say the butter was too salt and couldn't I bring her bigger eggs; these was too small; and I told her I'd call the hen's attention to it, and tell them they must keep their tape-measures in their pockets. She didn't half like that. Fact is, she told me she'd get some one else to serve her."

"And that house has been supplied by you ever since Mrs. Dallas went there a bride. Well, child, I guess your mother didn't know who she was leaving you with. I reckon you haven't been very well looked after. Here, set right up here and eat some dinner. She looks kind of blue around the mouth, Ben. I don't think she'd ought to go back to-day, in this cold wind."

"Then, I'll send word to Mrs. Murdoch by Lem. He can go some time before night; I'd as lief let her worry for a while. He can go 'round by Johnson's and see if the little darky is there. Very likely she's all snug with them. Some one else probably gave her a lift. I remember, now, I didn't go to town on Wednesday week. I went to that sale over by the crossroads, and I got Nat Gilam to go for me. No doubt she went with him to Johnson's. Don't you worry about her, honey. What you got bilin' in that pot, mother?"

"Suet puddin'. Seemed like the day for it. I'd as lief let her fuss for a while, that Mrs. Murdoch, I mean. Butter too salt, indeed."

"Give the child somethin' to eat, mother; she ain't scarcely touched anything."

"She's half sick," said Mrs. Snyder, regarding the child with kind eyes. "Don't you pester her, Mr. Snyder. I'll look after her. I've lost six," she said to Eleanor, "and it's mighty lonely sometimes. I'm glad enough to see a little child, once in a while."

"There, mother, there; don't let's talk about it now," said Mr. Snyder; "you'll be losin' your appetite next. I'm savin' a place for that suet puddin' myself."

Eleanor watched with wonder the huge amount of food which Mr. Snyder consumed, but she hardly tasted any herself, and after the good man had left the kitchen and Mrs. Snyder had washed the dishes and put them away, she took the child on her lap and rocked her in an old splint-bottomed chair which had a cozy squeak to it, so that, feeling very content, Eleanor fell asleep to the accompaniment of creaking chair and singing teakettle.

She did not awaken till the short winter day had ended. Once she stirred and was dimly conscious of being placed in a more comfortable position, and felt herself warmly covered up and a soft kiss imprinted upon her cheek; then she dropped into a sound sleep, to dream that her mother was near her; that it was soft spring weather and the birds were singing in the apple-tree by the kitchen door.

It was when Mr. Snyder came noisily into the kitchen that she sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering where she was. "There, now, Ben, you've waked the child, and she was sleeping so sweetly. I think she's got a little fever." Mrs. Snyder bent over her, looking much concerned. "How do you feel, my dear? Are you rested?"

"Oh, yes." Eleanor threw off the shawl which had covered her, and arose to her feet. "I feel very much rested, thank you, Mrs. Snyder."

"Bless her dear heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Snyder, hugging her up close to her.

Eleanor gave a sigh of satisfaction. "It was so nice to have you rock me to sleep," she said. "It made me feel as if I had mamma again."

"I went over to see about your little Bubbles," said Mr. Snyder, "but nobody's seen her. Sylvy showed every tooth in her head when she saw me, and I told her you were here with us. I could scarcely keep her from coming right over, but I told her you were too tired and were taking a nap. How far did you trot behind my wagon? All the way out from town to Murphy's, mother. That's where I met up with her. Sylvy says she will be here to-morrow, and I've sent word to your cousin that you are safe and sound, but that you've got the whooping-cough. That'll finish the business, I think, mother. Those precious children of hers are all made of gold studded with diamonds, and if there's any way to prevent your coming near them she'll agree to it." He nodded knowingly at Eleanor.

Two red spots were burning on the child's cheeks; her eyes were very bright, and her hands hot, so that Mrs. Snyder declared that she must go to bed early, and after supper, for which Eleanor had but little appetite, she was dosed with an herby draught and snugly placed between warm sheets in a clean little room where a wood stove roared and sent out a pleasant heat. "I shall be right in here," Mrs. Snyder said, "so don't you be scared. If your cough is bad in the night, I'll come in and give you something for it." She stooped to give a good-night kiss, and Eleanor reached out her arms from under the covers and clasped the good woman's neck.

"I do love you," she said. "Nobody has kissed me good-night since mamma went away. Where do you suppose poor little Bubbles is? Oh, Mrs. Snyder, I am so distressed about her. I'm afraid she might be the one that Zula, the gipsy girl, told me about. Why didn't I ask more about her? I never thought it might be Bubbles. I thought of course that she was safe with Sylvy."

"There, dear, there, Mr. Snyder'll see about it the first thing in the morning," said Mrs. Snyder.

But Eleanor kept repeating: "What has become of her? Poor little Bubbles!" She sobbed piteously, and for all Mrs. Snyder comforted her as best she could, it was a long time before she could go to sleep, and when she did her pillow was wet with tears.

Meantime, quite a stir was caused by Eleanor's long absence. Olive and Jessie returned home from school with the news that Eleanor had not been seen since eleven o'clock, when she was met by some of the girls on her way to Mrs. Wills'. Miss Reese had questioned the old woman who remembered that the little Dallas girl had been there. Yes, she had been there, and she had not stopped long; but Mrs. Wills said nothing about the bundle which Eleanor had left in her care and which she had taken away with her. The old woman had a very poor memory, at the best, and she was peculiar.

Miss Reese stopped to report the result of her inquiries to Mrs. Murdoch. "Just like the child," said the latter; "she delights to annoy me, and has taken this means of doing it. She probably wanted to play truant, and will be coming toward night, no doubt." Nevertheless, there was an undercurrent of anxiety, and some qualms of conscience regarding the child's real reason for going off in this stealthy way, and as the afternoon wore on and no Eleanor appeared, Mrs. Murdoch became more and more annoyed. "The child was left in my care," she said to Olive, "and her mother will censure me if anything happens to her. Do you and Donald hunt around the house and grounds for her, and I will send Jessie to the houses where she would be most likely to visit."

But after a thorough search, Olive, of course, reported that no Eleanor was to be found, and then, just as Mrs. Murdoch was really getting worked up into a state of nervous fear and dread, Miss Reese came in. "I have just received a little note from Eleanor," she said, "and she tells me that she has gone to find Bubbles." She handed the note to Mrs. Murdoch, who read it without a word, although under Miss Reese's quiet gaze, she flushed slightly.

"It is not always easy to understand children," said Miss Reese gently. "Often their little hearts are bleeding under an indifferent, and, often, defiant exterior. Eleanor has always had a life so full of love and sympathy that any lack of it would probably affect her more seriously than it would a less emotional child."

"I am sure I have tried to do my duty," said Mrs. Murdoch plaintively. "I have bathed her with my own hands more than once, and I have been most particular to see that she was properly clad, and I have seen to it that she had her study hour."

Miss Reese said only: "She is safe, at all events. I think that Dr. Sullivan goes out in that direction and perhaps, to-morrow, he will stop and bring her back with him. He is very fond of her, I know, and it would not be asking him to perform an unpleasant task. Shall I speak to him about it?"

"I shall be very much relieved if you will," returned Mrs. Murdoch, glad to see a way out of the difficulty; and Miss Reese departed. But next came word from Mr. Snyder that Eleanor was at his house, and that she was not well; Mrs. Snyder had a suspicion that she might be developing the whooping-cough. Perhaps she would best stay where she was till the truth could be learned from the doctor.

Therefore, much against his will, Donald was dispatched to take word to Miss Reese and to the doctor. "That child will be the death of me," complained Mrs. Murdoch. "I wish to heavens I had never undertaken the care of her. I know nothing about these people to whom she has gone."

But a call from the doctor reassured her. "She couldn't be in better hands," he said. "I'll stop there to-morrow and see how she is. Bless the little monkey! she ought to have come to me, if she was sick. She is a dear child, one of the sweetest I ever knew, and that is a good deal for a doctor to say." Mrs. Murdoch probably did not agree with him, but she did not say so.

But Eleanor, sleeping soundly, did not concern herself about any of this and little knew what the morrow had in store for her.

_CHAPTER VII_

_Uncle Heath_

The little girl's thoughts upon first awakening were concerning Bubbles. She slipped out of bed and as she jumped upon the braided mat which lay upon the floor the noise informed Mrs. Snyder that she was up and her pleasant face appeared at the door. "Scramble back again, honey," she said, "till I get this fire stirred up. The room will be warm in a jiffy if I put in a stick of wood and open the drafts. Mr. Snyder's gone to hunt up them gipsies; he'll be back by the time you're ready for breakfast. Can you dress yourself? If you want me to fasten any buttons, just run down to the kitchen. I've some bread in the oven and I must be looking after it."

Eleanor hurried to dress, for she was very anxious to hear if Bubbles had been seen by the gipsies, and she was at the kitchen window watching for Mr. Snyder when he drove up. He entered the room in his usual hearty blustering way. "Breakfast ready, mother?" he asked.

"All ready. I'm dishing up now."

"Hallo, little one!" Mr. Snyder drew Eleanor to his knee. "Well, I've been to the gipsy camp, and they've cleared out; every hoof. It is getting too late for them and they want to get south. I'm sorry but it don't seem to me that Bubbles could be with them; more likely she's with some of the darkies in town."

Eleanor shook her head. "No, she wouldn't go to any of them, 'cause she told me she meant to come out here to Sylvy, for Sylvy said when she left, if Bubbles couldn't get along with Cousin Ellen she could come to her. You see, she's known Bubbles all her life; ever since Bubbles was a baby, and it isn't likely she'd go to any one else."

"That's so." Mr. Snyder nodded thoughtfully. "And you say that little gipsy girl told you there was a colored child at the camp?"

"Yes," Eleanor answered.

"Those gipsies have been about here for a couple of weeks. I mind just when they came. Yes, it might be her. Well, Sylvy's coming over after a bit, and we'll see what she says about it. It seems to me if the child the gipsies had was Bubbles, that they would have let Sylvy know, or would have sent the child to her. Come now, breakfast is ready."

It was impossible, even with this anxiety of mind, not to enjoy Mrs. Snyder's delicious rolls and sweet butter, her honey and her country sausage, and Eleanor really ate heartily, although she was not feeling very well, and her cough troubled her. Mrs. Snyder suggested all sorts of queer remedies, chief among which was a decoction made from a hornet's nest which Eleanor rejected emphatically. "Oh, please, Mrs. Snyder, I shouldn't want that. It might make me feel a buzzy and stingy inside."

Mrs. Snyder laughed, and just then Sylvy came in. Eleanor greeted her joyfully. "Oh, Sylvy," she said, "I'm so glad to see you, but where do you suppose poor Bubbles is? I feel so dreadfully about her."

"Me too, honey," said Sylvy. "It on mah min' all de time. Tell me jes' how it happen she quit Miss Murdoch." And Eleanor related her woeful little tale which brought many "uh-uhms" and "dar nows," from Sylvy.

"I git mah fathah to go 'roun' an' fin' out what he kin," said Sylvy, after Eleanor had concluded, "an' if nobody ain't seen her I'll reckon she's the one the gipsy folks has. How long yuh gwine stay here, honey?"

"I wish I could stay here till I hear from mamma. I like Mrs. Snyder and she says I am to stay to-day, anyhow."

She seemed so much brighter that morning that Mrs. Snyder's fears that she might have a very ill child on her hands were allayed, and Mr. Snyder joked with her saying he believed it was a disappointment to his wife not to have secured some one needing her nursing.

"Now, father," Mrs. Snyder protested, "it isn't that, but I'd like to keep the child here."

"So you shall, till we hear what the doctor says. If she's got the whoops she can't go back to school and she'll not be very welcome at Mrs. Murdoch's, I'll venture to say."

It was about noon that the doctor's buggy drove up. Sylvy, who had been giving Mrs. Snyder a helping hand in the kitchen, caught sight of the doctor's white horse. "Hyar come Dr. Sullivan," she said. "I knows that white horse of his'n."

Eleanor ran to the window. "It is Dr. Sullivan, and he is coming here. There is some one with him; I wonder who it is."

"Miss Murdoch?"

"No, not Cousin Ellen; it is a man; I see his hat."

"Don't run out in the cold hall," Mrs. Snyder warned her. "The doctor will ride around to the side porch and I'll take him into the settin'-room. I'm glad there's a good fire in there, for it's snapping cold this morning."

Eleanor waited till she heard the doctor's hearty voice say: "I'll have you up for kidnapping, Mrs. Snyder. Where's that little girl of mine? Bless her heart, why didn't she come tell me her troubles? Here is somebody she'll be glad to see, if I'm not mistaken."

At this Eleanor ran in to see, not only her friend the doctor, but her dearly loved Uncle Heath. With a cry of joy she threw herself into the arms of the latter, forgetting every one else.

"Here, here," cried the doctor, "I want some of those kisses; don't give them all away. Look here, baby, what's all this row about, anyhow? What did you cut and run for?"

Eleanor hung her head, and then, by dint of questioning, they reached the root of the matter. The two men looked at each other, and the doctor said under his breath: "I'd like to have the dosing of that boy for about a week."

"Oh, Uncle Heath, you won't let me go back to Cousin Ellen, will you?" Eleanor said with entreaty in her tones.

He took her up in his lap and stroked her hair. "No, Miss Dimps, I have come on purpose to take you back home with me. On our way from California your Aunt Dora and I stopped to see your father and mother, and I have my pockets full of love for you." He did not say that Rock had sent his mother Eleanor's pitiful little letter and on account of this, more than anything else, Mrs. Heath Dallas and her husband had hurried home that Eleanor might come to them.

The little girl's hand stole into her uncle's pocket as if to gather up some of the love of which he spoke, and she nestled closer to him.

"Imagine my surprise when I called upon Mrs. Murdoch last evening to be told that you were not there," her Uncle Heath went on. "I was referred to our good friend, Dr. Sullivan, and here we are, ready to pick you up and carry you back with us."

"Weren't you s'prised not to see Sylvy or Bubbles come to the door at our house? And, oh, doesn't it look queer with the furniture in the parlor all switched around in a different way from that mamma used to have it?"

"I'm afraid those things made very little impression on me, for I was very anxious to see my little niece and didn't think of any one else. Now, how soon can you be ready to go back with me?"

A fit of coughing brought from the doctor: "Here, here, what is that? The child has the whooping-cough."

"Yes," said Eleanor between her gasps, "Mrs. Snyder told me so."

"Then, that settles it; you can't go back to Mrs. Murdoch. She'd sweep you out with a broom, and then go into hysterics for fear her children had caught the disease."

"Do you suppose they have?"

"I can't say; it is not improbable, but at all events, you'd best not go back there. Mrs. Sullivan will keep you till you are ready to take your journey, I am sure."

"Sylvy can go in with me," Uncle Heath said. "She knows where your traps are, I suppose, and she can help Mrs. Murdoch to get them ready for you. Your mamma said all your toys and such things of yours as might be in the way, were to be locked up in your little house in the yard."

"Oh,"--Eleanor exclaimed, and then stopped short.

"What's the matter?" asked her uncle.

"Why, Donald has that, and it's so dirty and battered up out there."

"How is that? What is Donald doing out there? Did your mamma say he was to use your playhouse?"

Eleanor explained, and Uncle Heath's eyes snapped as he said, "We'll let Sylvy go in and clean it up; then she can carry back your belongings and set them in place. I'll have a Yale lock put on the door and the windows boarded up. I have a letter from your mamma in which she tells exactly what is to be done, and there will be no trouble in carrying out her wishes, I think."

"Uncle Heath, you are a darling, but I wish you'd do just one thing more."

"And what is that?"

"Let Rock come home from boarding-school; he isn't having a bit of a nice time."

"I know it, and although boys aren't usually sent away from home to school to have a good time, he is coming away for the Christmas holidays and will not return. I suppose you'd like me to carry Sylvy, and perhaps the doctor, back with me," he said, pinching her cheek.

"Yes, I should like that."

"Leave me out," said the doctor, "I can't neglect my practice for any youngster's whims."

"But you will try to find Bubbles, won't you, Uncle Heath?" Eleanor asked wistfully. "Do you suppose she could be in Baltimore at the hospital? You know Zula said her brother had taken a little colored girl to a hospital."

"What do you think, doctor?"

"She might be in Baltimore or in Washington. I'll tell you what I'll do, Dimple; I'll telegraph to the different hospitals in both cities as soon as I get back home, and we'll find out I think without doubt. By the way, what is Bubbles' name?"

Eleanor looked at Sylvy. "It's Barbara, but I never thought about her having any other name."

"It's Markey," said Sylvy.

The doctor took out his notebook and jotted it down, and then repeated his assurance that he would use every effort to find out what had become of Bubbles.

Then it was settled that they should start the next morning. Sylvy went in bright and early and the little playhouse was made as clean as hands could make it, and it must be confessed that she took great satisfaction in turning out Master Donald and in re-establishing Eleanor's toys in their accustomed places. To be sure Donald blustered and was inclined to do battle for the possession of the house, but a few words from Mr. Heath Dallas settled the matter and his mother assuring him that he could now have Eleanor's room he was pacified.

"He's not really a bad boy," her Uncle Heath told Eleanor, "but he is spoiled, and has been made to believe that every one should yield to him, so he has become very selfish and cannot imagine any rights that conflict with his wishes."

"Rock isn't that way."

"No, he has a wise mother."

Rock was Mr. Heath Dallas' stepson. He and Eleanor were great friends, and she looked forward with great delight to seeing him again. She was planning many happy times with him and with her Cousin Florence who lived not far from Mr. Heath Dallas. She asked her uncle if he thought Rock had had the whooping-cough. "Suppose he hasn't," she said.

"To be sure, I hadn't thought of that. I am pretty sure he has though, and at any rate, we'll take it for granted, and if he hasn't we can settle the question before he gets home."

"I could go to Aunt Nellie's, you know."

"Yes, but I hope we can keep you with us till your papa and mamma return."

Eleanor gave a little satisfied sigh. Her uncle had driven out from town to take her back with him, and she was about to take leave of good Mr. and Mrs. Snyder. Ada, attired in her grey traveling dress, and carrying her muff, was ready to go, and Sylvy had pressed so many cakes, apples and such things upon the child that she had to leave half of them behind her. To Sylvy, even the shortest journey demanded a supply of eatables.