Babs put down her head again and listened while Elizabeth sang in her small childish voice. But the hymn did not prove as convincing as Elizabeth hoped, for when she had finished Babs lifted her head again. “Is it all dead?” she asked. “Can’t it walk?”
“Of course it is dead,” Elizabeth told her; “it is as dead as a door-nail, although I don’t know why they say that. It can’t walk nor fly nor do anything, and it is locked up in Jim Powers’s blacksmith shop so it couldn’t get out if it wanted to.”
This assured Babs somewhat, but she could not go to sleep till Elizabeth lay down by her and told her a funny story about a wee, wee little fairy that lived in a chestnut burr. She finally grew so sleepy in the telling that she dropped off into slumber herself and was not roused until her mother came up to bed, when she was helped in undressing and cuddled down at last, hearing drowsily her mother say: “Good-night, dear little girl. Your mother is very thankful she has you safe.”
Elizabeth half lifted her arm to give her mother a hug, but it fell back again before she could raise it to her mother’s neck, and the next thing she knew it was broad daylight, the sun shining in her window and Babs was tickling her to waken her up.
CHAPTER VII
Winter Doings
AS the heroine of such an adventure, Elizabeth was the admiration and envy of the whole school while Bert was a close second. Being at the boastful age, Bert was not slow in discoursing upon how “we” did thus and so; “We” chased the lynx—“We” shot him—“We” carried him to Jim Powers’s shop. “Yes, sir, I tell you he came mighty near to springing on me,” was his greatest boast.
As for Elizabeth, she bore herself more modestly, but nevertheless was willing to tell of her experience with all the thrilling details she could think of while the boys and girls gathered around in breathless attention.
Big Phil Selden, who had never taken the least notice of Elizabeth, secretly placed a huge red apple on her desk. Leonora Stayman offered her a ring set with a blue stone. Maria Black asked if she couldn’t walk home with her. As these were all two or three years older than Elizabeth and counted her among the little girls, she considered herself much complimented.
The mild weather suddenly gave place to a sharp frost, which was followed by the first snow, and Elizabeth became much in demand for coasting. Not a boy that was not willing to drag her uphill for the sake of coasting down again in her company; not a girl who would not have done the same if Elizabeth had allowed it. This did all very well for awhile, but finally she grew tired of having honor thrust upon her and, moreover, found that however popular she might be with the boys she was losing favor with the girls; even her own Betsy and Bess once or twice walked home without her. Elizabeth was quick-tempered upon sudden provocation, but was long-suffering where her friends were concerned, so she did not resent these slights until she overheard Bess say: “Humph! I suppose we’re not old enough for her to care for. Well, let her go with the big girls if she wants to!”
“You’d better say boys,” replied Betsy. “She went down on Phil Selden’s sled three times yesterday afternoon.”