“That seat’s ez tight as a drum, now,” said ’Gustus John, finally, preparing to lift the girls in.
“Wait a minute,” said ’Manda; “I must tidy them up a bit, now. Look at Cricket’s hat,” and she straightened the crooked hat, patted down the flying locks, and pulled their dresses around. “Ain’t it warm enough to take off them shawls, now? There you be!” with a final pat to each.
Then they mounted again and settled in their places, while the horses, wondering at all this delay, started off again at a swinging pace, which took them over the ground so fast that it was not long before they crossed the long bridge, and were fairly in town.
It was only a little after ten, when they turned into the home-street, and drew up before the familiar house. Mamma, seeing their arrival from an upper window, came hurrying down to meet them, as glad to see her little daughters as if they had been separated a year, instead of a few days.
Then after mamma had warmly thanked ’Gustus John and ’Manda for bringing such rosy-faced little maids home, Eunice and Cricket said good-by to them also, and ran in to the house, feeling now that the lovely summer at Kayuna was fairly over.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CRICKET’S SHORT MEMORY.
The household settled into their town-life very quickly, and in three days’ time they almost felt as if their lovely summer had been a dream. Only the children’s sunburned faces and hands, and their overflowing health and spirits, remained as proof positive that they had not been in town all summer.
“How strange it is that Marion Blair does not call for me,” said Marjorie, one day, turning away from the window, where she had been standing in hat and coat, for half an hour. “She said she would be here at three, and it is nearly four now. I’m afraid we’ll lose the chrysanthemum show altogether.”
“Oh, Marjorie!” cried Cricket, penitently. “I’m so sorry. I met Daisy Blair on the street this morning, and she asked me to give you this note from Marion.”
Marjorie read the note hastily.