CHAPTER II
The Troubled Whale
MR. BLACK, his fine dark eyes sparkling with pleasure; his crisp hair, plentifully sprinkled with white, standing upright from his broad, benevolent brow, looked with approval at his party as he packed his merry guests very carefully into his big touring car.
Jean, who was tall and not particularly wide for her fourteen and a half years, was attractive because of the serene loveliness of her expression; one knew at a glance that she was a good child. One guessed, just as quickly, that Henrietta was sometimes naughty, for an impish light danced in her long-lashed black eyes and there was a mischievous dimple in the dusky crimson of her cheek. Next to Jean in height and age, she seemed older and yet less responsible—one couldn't be quite sure of spirited Henrietta Bedford.
Marjory, two years younger, was both short and narrow for her age; and so very fair that one had to guess at her eyebrows. But she, too, was a pretty child, for her small features were pleasing and her pale golden hair was quite wonderful. Like Henrietta, she was quick and graceful in all her movements.
Bettie, also between twelve and thirteen, was now mostly eyes; big, velvety brown ones that played pranks with one's heart-strings; particularly with those of Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane. She had lost all her short, curly brown hair during her illness; it was now coming in, shorter and curlier than ever.
Mabel, the youngest of the group, was also the broadest. But her undeniable plumpness did not detract from her looks. One couldn't help liking her honest brown eyes, the wholesome red and white of her rounded countenance, her sturdy, childlike figure, and the rich bronze of her abundant—and frequently untidy—hair.
Mrs. Crane, brown as to skin, black as to eyes, stout, elderly, and warm-hearted, was very like her brother, except that she sometimes worried. Mr. Black never did.
Finally all these good people, with a coat or sweater for each girl, with two big hampers of food from Mr. Black's home, with several baskets of picnic lunch from the other houses, were stowed away in the capacious car. Mr. Black called his automobile the "Whale," because once, for a few weeks, it had been driven by Jonah Higginsworth, who, however, was so frequently cast forth by this modern whale, owing to dangerously reckless driving, that Mr. Black had been obliged to discharge him.
"We are seven," said Mr. Black, taking the chauffeur's seat. "I'm going to drive this car myself; they say the road's a bit rough—isn't used much. Seven's a good number."