“It’s warm in the carriage. Don’t you think so?” struck in Eunice. And then mamma, to take up their minds, began to talk brightly about some funny occurrence that she had seen that morning while she was marketing, and the children almost forgot their respective woes.
When they arrived at the Drayton’s, most of the children were already there. The lovely house presented a gay scene. Emily greeted Eunice and Cricket rapturously.
“I was so afraid that something had happened, and you weren’t coming,” she said. “We are just going to play ‘Quack,’ and Cricket is always so funny in that. Come over here.”
The classic game of “Quack” was started. All of you know it, do you not? A large circle is formed, and one person, blindfolded, stands in the middle with a cane in her hand. The circle moves slowly around till the person in the centre thumps the cane as a signal to stop, and then it is pointed at some one. This person takes the other end of the cane, and the blindfolded one asks any question, which must be answered by the word “Quack,” uttered in a disguised voice. The one in the centre must guess the speaker, and is allowed three questions.
Cricket was always in demand for the centre, because her quick wits supplied her with funny questions. To-night, however, she rather lost her reputation, for her tired little brain could concoct nothing more original than, “What is your name?” “Do you like butter?” and all the other stupid questions that everybody asked. One game succeeded another, but somehow nothing went very briskly. Presently Mrs. Drayton drew Mrs. Ward aside, anxiously.
“What is the matter with these children? It is so hard to get them started at anything. They don’t seem to be having a good time.”
“I’ve noticed something wrong,” said Mrs. Ward, looking about her. “I never knew it so before, especially at this house. I’ve been watching my own two pretty closely, and something is certainly wrong.”
“See!” said Mrs. Drayton, “that is the eighth child that has dropped out of that game, and it is so with everything we have started.”
“There is something in the air,” Mrs. Ward said to her friend. “And look! there is Cricket actually sitting all alone behind that palm, with her head in her hand. I asked her a few minutes ago what is the matter, but she insists there is nothing. Why not hasten supper?”
“That’s always a good suggestion,” answered Mrs. Drayton. “Will you set them to playing ‘Going to Jerusalem,’ then they will be all ready to march out. Mrs. Fleming will play for them.”