Auntie Jean soon assured her that the sprain was not at all serious, and that the inflammation seemed to be going down already, but her heart was very heavy. She would not go sailing with the boys, nor sit under the rocks with the girls, and at last she buried herself in her next story for the Echo. A very tragic and mournful tale it was, of a naughty little girl, who was left in charge of her small brother, but who ran away, all by herself, up garret, to play, and when she went back she found her poor little baby brother had fallen into the bath-tub, which was left half full of water, and was drowned. Picturing the remorse of her heroine, and how they finally brought the baby back to life, although he had been in the water all the afternoon,—of course Cricket did not mind a little thing like that,—somewhat relieved her mind. By supper-time she had sufficiently recovered so that she could allow herself to smile.
Will came in from the post-office, waving a letter that finished the work. It was from Hilda Mason, saying that she could come on Friday next, as Cricket, with auntie's permission, had written, asking her to do, to spend a week.
"Goody! goody!" cried Cricket, dancing around, with her dimples quite in evidence again. "Won't we have fun! and she can write a story for the 'Echo,' too."
"What bliss!" remarked Archie, bringing all her curly hair over her face with a sweep of his arm.
"It's a great honour to be a contributor to a paper, Mr. Archie, so," shaking back her hair, and pulling his.
"Especially for one that pays so liberally as the 'Echo,'" teased Archie.
"You're a model of sarcasticity, I suppose you think," said Cricket, tossing her head. "Auntie, will you take us to Plymouth some day? I know Hilda will want to see Plymouth Rock."
"Watch her that she doesn't carry it off in her pocket," advised Archie.
"And all the other interesting things in Plymouth," went on Cricket, turning her back on him. "And we'll go over to Bear Island for a picnic, girls."
"Yes, if you'll promise—" began Edna.