“Oh, what do you want, Bert,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “Can’t you see I am studying my lessons?”
“I just wanted to say that I am much obliged to you for being so decent about that mouse business. I told Miss Jewett that it was my doings.”
“Oh, Bert, and what did she do?”
“Oh nothing. I told her I wouldn’t bring any more to school.” Then Bert sauntered out with the air of having disposed of a very trifling matter. But Elizabeth understood.
CHAPTER XII
The Artist
IT was one afternoon early in March that Elizabeth started out to look for pussywillows. She went alone, for she wanted to be the one to make this first spring offering to her teacher. She could not, like Betsy, supply her with flowers from a conservatory, nor had she such a weekly allowance as Bess, who could, once in awhile, commission Hal to send violets from town, but these firstlings of the year were hers for the gathering, if only she could find them. She thought she knew a place where some of the brave little furry buds might have put out sooner than their neighbors and to this spot she took her way.
It was the first day which had suggested a promise of spring. There was a pleasant warmth in the air, a smell of fresh earth. Under the brown leaves were tiny green growths beginning to push up.
Some patches of snow still lingered in northbound corners, but the little streams had broken from their bonds and were murmuring along singing of all sorts of pleasant things to Elizabeth, who had a knowledge of their speech and could interpret what they were saying. It was all about spring and green grasses, birds’ nests and flowers. The ground was soft in places, but, for a wonder, Elizabeth had put on rubbers and sprang over the marshy spots without getting over the tops of her shoes. She loved to scour the woods and fields with Betsy, but once in awhile she revelled in being alone, and today she especially enjoyed it. She stood still once or twice to listen to a bluebird and by keeping very quiet at last caught sight of the flash of blue which told of his presence.
“I see you,” she called as he flew away, “and I know what you are singing about. I know what the brook says, too. It is a spring song, and I am so glad, so glad. I am happy, you bluebird! I am happy, you brook,” she sang. “It’s a gladsome day in this quiet nook! That is my song. I made it up. I am an improvisatrice. Oh!”
After the exclamation she stopped her song and dashed through the bushes, regardless of how briars snatched at her and muddy pools splashed her frock. “There you are! you dear things,” she cried. “I thought I would find you out. I will not take all of you, but I will take enough to make a company so you will not be lonely. I hope you like to go, and maybe you will like it better when you get there, for the schoolroom is really very pleasant, and you will have the honor of standing on Miss Jewett’s desk; that should compensiation for all else. You are not so very far out yet, but if you are put in water in the warm room you will soon show more fur. I know just the vase Miss Jewett will put you in, and you will look lovely. You are the very first, the very first, and I found you.”