“Bless me!” cried Miss Jule, rubbing her lips and finger-tips with her handkerchief. “Run up to my medicine closet, Anne, and bring the bottle labelled ‘Lead water and alcohol,’ and a wad of cotton. Letty, child, you will be sure to be poisoned with all those brier scratches on your wrists.”
“I saw the pretty, shining vine growing up those trees and over the stone fence by the stables and I thought it was American ivy,” stammered Miss Letty, looking ready to cry. “How can it poison us, Aunt Julie? we haven’t eaten any.”
“It’s the juice bites your skin,” interrupted Tommy, promptly, “and then it all blubbers up and gets wet and sticky, and you scratch and scratch, but it doesn’t do any good.”
After Anne, whom poison ivy never harmed, had brought the antidote, and fingers and lips were bathed, they went out under the trees, for no one cared for the berries except Tommy, who crept into the kitchen and washed his vigorously with soap and water, and devoured them with relish.
“Miss Letty is my pretty sweetheart; don’t you wish she was yours?” said Tommy to Mr. Hugh very abruptly, as he was being swung into the wonderful Mexican saddle to try the new horse around the lawn.
“No, I don’t, Tommy; pretty people are all very well, but useful ones with common sense are better,” was the answer.
Miss Letty, coming down the steps as the pair passed by, heard and said to Anne, who was behind her: “I hate your Mr. Hugh. I think he is a bear,” which remark coming out of a seeming clear sky, Anne could not understand.
A diversion, however, was caused by the return of the dogs with much barking and orders of “down” and “to heel,” for they were wet, muddy, and did not smell like roses.
Mr. Wolf bore a muskrat, and Colin brought up the rear with something that had once been a shoe, which he laid at Miss Jule’s feet, with much tail-wagging, as if to say, “It’s merely a trifle, but better than nothing.”
“Hamlet—is—not—with—them,” said Miss Letty, slowly, with almost a sob in her voice.