"Any crown. No, she had just a little dark blue hat the very color of her dress, some brown gloves and oh! the smoothest shoes. They fitted her feet just like skin and she had stockings—"
"Aw, cut out her clothes," said Michael. "What did she eat?"
School had started. Jeanne knew it because on her last trip to the library she had met a long procession of boys and girls hurrying homeward; chattering as only school children can chatter. But still Mr. Duval had said nothing to Jeannette about going to school. The home lessons went on as usual, and the wondering pupil hoped fervently that she was not outgrowing that hidden wardrobe. That would be too dreadful.
The following Saturday evening, Mr. Duval shopped again. This time, he went alone; returning with more bundles. These, too, were concealed. The wharf afforded many a convenient hiding place under its old planks; and this time, even Jeanne failed to suspect that anything unusual had happened during the evening. There were never any lessons Saturday night; and this particular evening she had been glad of the extra time. She was finishing the extra dress she had started for Annie, the red and white striped calico. Mollie was in bed and asleep, Mrs. Shannon was dozing over the stove, Jeanne sat close to the lamp, pushing her needle through the stiff cloth.
"There!" breathed Jeanne, thankfully. "The last button's on. Tomorrow I'll dress Annie up and take her to call on Old Captain. He'll like her because she'll look so much like the American flag."
CHAPTER IX
THE FLIGHT
Tuesday had been a wonderful day. Never had the lake or the sky seemed so softly blue, the air so pleasant or the green bushes so nearly like real trees. The two boys had been good all day and Annie and Patsy had been sweet. There had been a late wild rose on the bush near Old Captain's freight car—a deep rose streaked with crimson. The Captain, heavy and clumsy, had scrambled up the bank to pluck it for Jeannette, who had placed it carefully in a green glass bottle on her father's little table.
Her lesson the night before had been a queer one. Her father had taught her how to dress herself in the new garments. Also, he had given her an obviously new brush and comb, and had compelled her to use them to reduce her almost-curly hair to a state of unaccustomed order. That had taken a very long time, because, when you have been using a very old brush and an almost toothless comb your hair does get snarled in spite of you.