So she hurriedly put away her breakfast dishes, tidied up her room, locked the door, hid the key, and started on her way to school. She crossed the field and came to the old house by a path through a grove of old trees. This side of the house was never used; the shutters were closed; and the trees grew so close to the house that their great branches scraped against the walls, causing a creaking, groaning noise when the wind blew, that had frightened the timid colored people away from the neighborhood.
Dolores put down her pail and books. She sat down a moment to rest in the shade, for the sun was hot. That resting-spell was the undoing of her good resolutions; for, glancing above her, she discovered a squirrel watching her, who began to chatter, as soon as he knew that she had seen him.
“Oh, you pretty dear, come down and I’ll feed you,” she said; and then she thought, “I wonder if he has a nest up there; I’m going to find out.” And soon she was among the lower branches of the tree, steadily working her way to the top.
The squirrel turned with a jerk and a squeak, and disappeared through an open window that the branches had concealed from below. Dolores, following, found that one shutter was gone, and that the wind, during some storm, had forced in the sash, while a limb had grown in through the window. She pushed her way in past the limb, in spite of the squirrel’s remonstrance, and found herself in a large attic, which extended over the entire unused wing of the house. The squirrel scampered up the side of the window-casing, and sat scolding her from above.
The attic was filled with a rich treasure-trove for Dolores. There were old spinning-wheels, broken chairs, an empty cradle, a great old four-posted bed, and a number of trunks and boxes to rummage in. That was as far as she could see in the gloom, but no doubt beyond her range of vision were more delights. What a lovely place in which to play! The cradle for her dolls, an old clock to take to pieces, and dozens of old garments to dress up in. Several wonderfully queer old bonnets hung against the wall. She put on one (after shaking off the layer of dust with which it was coated), and glanced in a broken mirror to see the effect. Her merry laugh echoed through the attic as she beheld her face framed by the bonnet. And then she heard a sharp exclamation from the room beneath her, the scurrying of feet, and the slamming of a door.
“Oh you pretty dear.”
Crouching down behind the cradle, she waited developments; but no one came; so in a little while she grew bold again.
“I think I won’t go to school after all. I reckon it’s too late, anyway; I’ll stay here to-day. But first, I must go back and get my dinner-pail and books. I can study up here just as well as at school.”
And soon Dolores, watched by the protesting squirrel, had slid down the tree, secured her books and dinner-pail in her apron, and was back again. And then began her delightful, if naughty, day. She wound up the clock, polished up the broken mirror, pulled the lighter articles of furniture here and there, tried the spinning-wheel, and finally settled down to the delightful task of exploring the boxes and chests.