“Oh, these dear, real people!” she said to herself, as they all turned homeward together, leaving the darling House in the Woods to its invisible neighbors and companions of the night. “They are all so—so folksy, as Grandma Brown says. It really does begin to seem as if I belonged!”
CHAPTER VI
A WILD WEST PERFORMANCE
“Oh, Doris, darling! how can I bear it? The very meanest, disappointingest thing that ever happened in this world! Oh, oh!” and poor Sin threw herself face downward on the grass in Doctor Brown’s back yard and sobbed tumultuously. All of her friend’s blandishments were of no effect, and she remained dead to the world until Scotty’s cold nose poked inquisitively into her ear aroused her at last. Springing to her feet, she rebuked him with energy, and only then consented to retail her woes.
“Buffalo Bill’s coming to Westwood next week, and will you believe it, mother won’t take me! Says it’s too hot, and circuses and such things always give her a headache. And you know it’s been the dream of my life to see Buffalo Bill! There now, Doris Brown, see if you wouldn’t cry!”
“Um, um,” was all Doris said, for she was a maid of action rather than of many words. The case, as it seemed to her, was by no means hopeless, but she reserved her judgment.
Having had her cry out and relieved her feelings, Cynthia was soon engaged in a boisterous game with Sir Walter and an old tennis-ball that he had rooted out of some hiding-place or other, while canny Doris slipped into the house and shortly returned with a plate full of Mother Brown’s famous raisin cookies, and a piece of news that quite electrified her impulsive friend.
“Mother says, if your mother’ll let you go with us, she’ll take a party to Westwood to the matinee—you an’ me an’ Stella an’ Ethan an’ Miss Morrison too, if she wants to go,” she calmly stated.
And so it fell out that on the appointed Saturday afternoon in July, a radiantly happy party of six occupied seats in the big tent; the three girls looking their prettiest in simple white frocks, Ethan solemn as an owl in glasses and a natty linen suit, and good Mrs. Brown sweltering in the inevitable black dress of village propriety, but all alike absorbed in the stirring spectacle.