And so with work and play, July wore itself away.
CHAPTER XII BETSY’S FIND
The Big Six—as the older children were now called—were returning from their swim. A shower, early in the morning, had delayed the bathing hour until afternoon. And their pent-up spirits had exploded in prolonged skylarking in the water. It was late afternoon when they came in sight of the Little House. They threw themselves under one of the twin elms on the front lawn, a little warm from their walk home. And as the Big Six languidly talked, the Little Six came, in single file, along the trail which led from House Rock.
“Where’s Betsy?” the sharp-eyed Rosie called.
“I sent her back for her dolly,” Molly explained gravely. “She forgot and left Hildegarde on House Rock. Hildegarde was all dressed up in her best clothes and I didn’t fink she ought to stay out all night long.”
“That’s right, Molly,” Maida applauded the little girl. “Take just as good care of your dollies as you do of yourselves. And then when you grow up, they’ll still be with you—like Lucy.”
Molly, heading the file turned suddenly and walked soberly over to Maida’s side. She knelt down on the grass beside her. “Maida,” she said, “when we first came down here, you said if we were very very good, we could play with Lucy some rainy day.”
Maida laughed up into the earnest little face. The key-note of Molly’s coloring was brown just as Delia’s was red, Betsy’s black, and the Clark twins pink-and-white. Molly’s serious little face, from which hung two tight thick little braids, had, even in her wee childhood, a touch of motherliness; and indeed she brooded like a warm little mother bird over the entire rest of the group.