LITTLE SALLY WATERS

THE MERMAID (page [60])

Little Sally Waters

BY
ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
EDITH F. BUTLER

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1926

COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

Drawn by Edith F. Butler

Little Sally Waters

∵

CHAPTER I
SALLY’S GARDEN PARTY

Once upon a time, and not so long ago, there lived a little girl named Sally Waters.

She was a merry, laughing little girl, with a lively twinkle in her bright blue eyes, a neat pair of dimples—one in each red cheek—and the sauciest little nose that has ever been seen.

Indeed, sometimes her father called her ‘Saucy Sally.’ But that was only his way of saying that he loved her better than any one else in the world, except, of course, Sally’s mother.

One bright summer morning Sally sat out on her doorstep in the sun. At her feet, half asleep, lay Buff, Sally’s plump, yellow pussy-cat. Beside her sat Tippy, her little brown dog, his ears cocked, his nose in the air.

But this morning Sally was not smiling. She looked so sober that Tippy watched her carefully with his shining brown eyes. She looked so very sober that Tippy was almost afraid that Sally was going to cry.

What ailed little Sally Waters, who was usually so merry and full of fun?

The truth is, Sally felt lonely. Not five minutes ago she had waved good-bye to Father and Mother as they started off for a day in the city. And as Sally remembered what a long, long day this was sure to be before she saw Father and Mother again, it really did seem as if Sally were going to cry.

She quite forgot that she was to spend the day with Aunt Bee just next door. She quite forgot that Father had promised to bring her a present from the city. She quite forgot that she had whispered to Mother, with her very last hug, that she would be as good as gold all day long.

All Sally remembered was that Father and Mother had left her. And a big round tear had squeezed itself from the corner of each eye and was actually rolling down her cheek when Tippy sprang up in the air with such a sudden, such a comical sneeze that Sally laughed out loud. Buff opened his sleepy eyes with a look of surprise that made Sally laugh again, while Tippy, seeing Sally’s smiling face, jumped up and down on the doorstep, barking merrily the while.

After her laugh Sally felt better, much better.

‘We must go straight to Aunt Bee’s, Tippy,’ said she, drying her cheeks with the hem of her frock. ‘She will be watching for you and me, I expect. Good-bye, Buff. Take good care of the house, unless you would like to come with us, too,’ she added politely.

Sally knew that Buff usually chose to stay at home alone. So she was not at all surprised to see her pussy settle himself in a sunny spot and prepare to take a comfortable morning nap.

‘Good-bye, Buff,’ said she again. ‘Be a good pussy.’

And with a farewell pat, she and Tippy were off.

Sally might have gone to Aunt Bee’s through the garden and over the hedge. But instead she and Tippy walked down her front path and up Aunt Bee’s just as if she were real company come to spend the day.

As Sally had said, there was Aunt Bee waiting for them in the doorway.

‘Come in, Sally,’ she began briskly, ‘and help me make a cake. Tippy may stay out in the garden and chase the butterflies.’

‘Will you really let me help?’ asked Sally, smiling at the very thought and holding fast to Aunt Bee’s hand on their way out to the kitchen. ‘What can I do to help, Aunt Bee?’

‘You can beat eggs, and butter pans, and watch,’ was Aunt Bee’s answer, as she fastened an apron on Sally that reached from her neck to her heels.

So first of all, Sally buttered pans with might and main. Then she spun Aunt Bee’s little egg-beater round and round and round until her bowl of eggs was as white and frothy as cream.

‘Better than I could do it myself, Sally,’ said Aunt Bee with a smile.

Last of all she watched Aunt Bee mix the batter, and pour it into the pans, and shut it in the oven. She watched her make the icing, chocolate icing, too.

Then Sally stopped watching because she was scraping, scraping the bowls and eating what she scraped. She ate a whole spoonful of cake batter and more than a spoonful of icing.

‘You have scraped the bowls so clean I am afraid you won’t be able to eat your luncheon,’ said Aunt Bee.

But that was not true. Sally did eat her luncheon, running out to the pantry only twice to see whether the icing on the cake had grown quite hard.

For the cake was to be used at a party later that afternoon.

‘We will carry a little table out into the garden, Sally, under the black-cherry tree,’ said Aunt Bee. ‘You would like that better than going down to the rocks this afternoon, wouldn’t you?’

Sally, you must know, lived by the sea, and almost every day went down to play on the rocky shore. A garden party would be much more of a treat, and Sally said so, with her arms about Aunt Bee’s neck in a tight, tight squeeze.

‘I thought you would like a party,’ said wise Aunt Bee. ‘You shall set the table with the dishes I had when I was a little girl, and then you and I will sit down like ladies at tea and have the party.’

Sally pressed her hands together hard and smiled all over her round little face.

‘This is the very nicest time I have had since—since Christmas,’ said Sally with a gay little hop. ‘I think you are just as good as Santa Claus, Aunt Bee.’

Then Sally had a thought.

‘Won’t Tippy have any of the party?’ asked Sally.

‘Tippy? He shall have a bone,’ was Aunt Bee’s answer. ‘That is the kind of a party he will like, you know.’

So Sally went into the garden to tell Tippy all about the party. And as Tippy was still chasing butterflies, Sally in turn chased Tippy round and round, in and out the garden beds, until at last she and Tippy could run no more and sat themselves down on the doorstep to cool off and rest.

Now the street upon which both Sally and Aunt Bee lived was a narrow street, a narrow, crooked little street that ran downhill to the sea with many a twist and turn. And across the way from Aunt Bee and Sally there stood a little house on the slope of the hill in which lived their friend Miss Neppy Lee.

Miss Neppy was a little old lady who lived all alone, with not even a cat or a dog to keep her company. But early every summer Miss Neppy put a sign in her front window, a card that read ‘Rooms,’ and every summer Miss Neppy had a paying guest or two who stayed until the flowers had gone and the wind grew cold and autumn and winter were close at hand.

Sally was always interested in Miss Neppy’s ‘Roomers,’ as they were called. Very often the ‘Roomer’ would be a tall young man or a pretty young lady who, every day, with paint box and easel, would go down to the rocks at the end of Sally’s street to paint pictures of the sea. They usually nodded and waved their hands at the little girl over the way who smiled at them from her doorstep in such friendly fashion. ‘Roomers’ seemed pleasant people to Sally, and she wished with all her heart that Mother and Aunt Bee would put signs in their front windows and take ‘Roomers,’ too.

Now, as Sally sat in Aunt Bee’s doorway, she glanced over at Miss Neppy’s window, where last night the sign ‘Rooms’ had gleamed in all its black and white. And in a twinkling, Sally saw that the sign ‘Rooms’ was gone. Even more, as she looked, she saw Miss Neppy’s front door open and a little girl slip out and seat herself on the doorstone.

She was a small girl, not quite so tall as Sally. Her eyes were brown, a gentle brown, while Sally’s were bright and blue. Her brown hair curled softly about her face, not at all like Sally’s yellow mop that had to be brushed and brushed before it would even think of lying down.

The little girl looked over at Sally and Sally looked over at the little girl. Then Sally smiled and the little girl smiled back. Next Sally waved her hand, and after waiting a moment as if to make sure that Sally meant her, the little girl waved her hand, too.

Aunt Bee came round the corner of the house and Sally sprang off the doorstep to meet her.

‘Aunt Bee,’ whispered Sally in a loud voice, ‘look over there. See that little girl on Miss Neppy’s doorstep!’

Aunt Bee looked over at the strange little girl who was watching every motion Sally made.

‘She must have come to Miss Neppy’s last night or this morning,’ said Aunt Bee. ‘She looks as if she were about your age, Sally.’

Sally was silent for a moment. Then she caught her aunt’s hand in a sudden squeeze.

‘Aunt Bee, oh, Aunt Bee!’ exclaimed Sally. ‘Do you think that little girl could come to our party?’

‘Why, I think so,’ said Aunt Bee, laughing at Sally’s eager face. ‘I will go over and speak to Miss Neppy about it.’

So over the way stepped kind Aunt Bee, and back she came, in a moment or two, leading the strange little girl by the hand.

‘Sally, this is Alice, Alice Burr,’ said Aunt Bee, ‘and she has come with her mother to spend the summer here at Miss Neppy’s house. Now if you little girls will set the table, I will bring out the refreshments for our party.’

The two little girls soon made friends as they spread the cloth over the low table set in the cool shade of the black-cherry tree.

‘Don’t you think my Aunt Bee’s dishes are beautiful?’ asked Sally, setting out cups and saucers in a series of gentle thumps.

Alice was putting round the plates, but she stopped to admire the gay pink-and-white china with her head tilted on one side.

‘It is the prettiest set I have ever seen,’ said she earnestly. ‘I always like pink flowers best of all.’

‘Now Tippy must have his bone,’ said Sally, when the table was set and they were ready to sit down. ‘And I think I will run home for Buff and bring him over to have a saucer of milk. It is too bad he should miss the party just because he is not very sociable.’

So Buff was coaxed through the hedge to join the party, and Tippy was placed the other side of the tree to gnaw his bone. The cake was cut and passed about. Milk was poured from a tall amber pitcher into the delicate pink-and-white cups. And Sally and Alice and Aunt Bee smiled at one another as they said over and over again what a pleasant party they were having under the black-cherry tree.

‘It won’t take us a moment to clear away,’ said Aunt Bee, when the pitcher was empty and the cake half gone. ‘I think, Sally, that you and Alice will have time to play in the garden.’

And so they did.

First Sally showed Alice all about Aunt Bee’s garden, and then they squeezed through the hedge into Sally’s yard.

‘Here is the robin’s nest up in the maple tree,’ cried Sally, pointing up among the leafy green boughs. ‘Can you see, Alice? Can you see the birds in the nest? And here on the edge of the path is the hole where the old toad lives. He comes out for a walk every night when the sun goes down. And here is my swing, Alice. Do you like to swing?’

Yes, Alice liked to swing.

And it was while they were playing happily together that Sally heard Aunt Bee’s voice calling,

‘Sally! Sally! Here come Mother and Father up the street!’

Sally could scarcely believe it. It seemed such a short time ago that she had watched them out of sight on their way to the city. How quickly the long, long day had passed!

‘I was good, Mother,’ called Sally, dancing up and down and then running forward to fling her arms about Mother’s neck. ‘I was as good as gold. Did you bring me a present, Father? The present you promised you would?’

Of course Father had brought Sally her present, a pretty, white wooden dove, whose wings flapped merrily to and fro in the wind.

Father fastened him outside the window in Sally’s room where the breeze from the sea blew all day long.

When bedtime came Sally went to the window for a last peep at her little white dove, and there across the way in Miss Neppy’s window stood Alice, in her nightgown, too, ready like Sally to creep into her little white bed.

‘Good-night, Alice,’ called Sally across the narrow street. ‘Come and play with me to-morrow, with my bird and dolls and everything.’

‘Mother,’ said Sally solemnly, as she turned away from the window, ‘I don’t know what I would do if Alice hadn’t come to stay at Miss Neppy’s this summer.’

CHAPTER II
WHAT HAPPENED TO TILLY MAUD

The first thing Sally heard the next morning when she opened her eyes was a splash and a drip, a drip and a splash.

‘It is raining,’ said Sally. ‘My new little dove will be drowned.’

But when Sally ran to the window, her little white dove didn’t seem to be minding the rain in the least. His coat glistened in the wet like silver, his black eyes looked blacker, his yellow bill more yellow, while his wings whirled briskly about in the damp wind as if the gay little fellow were really enjoying the rainy day.

‘I believe he likes the rain, Mother,’ said Sally, ‘and so do I, if I may have Alice over to play with me.’

Sally’s playroom was up in the attic. At one end were trunks and boxes and bundles. These belonged to Mother and were not to be touched. But the other end was Sally’s own, and here were gathered all her toys and treasures, large and small.

So up the steep attic stairs this rainy morning climbed Sally, followed by Alice from over the way, who held under one arm a gay picture book and under the other a plump, if somewhat dingy, rag doll.

‘I thought I would bring my picture book,’ Said Alice, out of breath at the top of the stairs, ‘and my dolly, too. Her name is Tilly Maud. But let me see your toys first.’

Sally was only too glad to walk about her end of the attic, pointing out her toys and telling the name and history of each one.

‘Here is my rocking horse,’ said she, patting a shabby gray pony, who had lost most of his tail, but whose eyes still glistened brown and bright. ‘His name is Dapple Gray. And here are three of my children. They live in this shoe-box. Their names are Dora and Nora and Flora, and no one can tell them apart but me.’

Dora and Nora and Flora were three little black-haired dolls with china heads and sawdust bodies. One was dressed in pink, and one in blue, and one in green. They sat in a stiff row and smiled sweetly up at Sally and Alice with their tiny red mouths. They all had shining, black eyes and round, red cheeks and black boots painted on their china feet.

‘They look just alike to me,’ said Alice. ‘I don’t see how you ever know them apart.’

‘I will tell you,’ answered Sally, ‘only remember it is a secret.’

She leaned forward and spoke softly in Alice’s ear.

‘I know them by their clothes,’ whispered Sally. ‘Dora wears pink, and Nora wears blue, and Flora wears green. Isn’t that easy? Now come and see my other dolls. They are asleep in the cradle.’

Sally led the way to a low, old-fashioned wooden cradle, quite large enough to hold a real baby or two, and with a push set it swinging sleepily to and fro.

‘It is a really-truly cradle,’ explained Sally with a nod of her head. ‘It was mine, and it was Mother’s, and it was Grandmother’s, too. But I use it for my dolls because we have no baby who needs it now.’

‘We have no baby, either,’ volunteered Alice, ‘only Mother and me.’

‘This is Nancy Lee,’ went on Sally, lifting from the cradle a doll dressed in a white middy blouse and dark blue bloomers. ‘She is made of wood. Captain Ball down the street made her. He has a little shop. See, she can bend her arms and legs, and she will never, never break.’

Nancy Lee was a sturdy, strong little doll made of wood from head to foot, with eyes of ocean blue and a neat row of yellow curls. Her back was as stiff as a poker, quite different from the floppy rag doll whom Sally now lifted from her bed.

‘Here is Paulina,’ said Sally, trying to straighten the dolly’s drooping head. ‘She is as old as I am, and almost as worn-out looking as your Tilly Maud. But I love her even if she is dirty and old.’

‘They are the best to sleep with,’ said Alice soberly. ‘I have a white bed for my dolls at home. But all my toys are packed away, and I have only Tilly Maud with me here.’

‘This is my stove, and here is my doll-house,’ went on Sally, moving round the room. ‘Father made the house for me out of a big box last winter. And this sofa has a broken leg. It can’t stay downstairs. So sometimes I play it is a ship, and sometimes a train. It is anything I like. Now what shall we play this morning, Alice? You tell first what you want to play.’

‘I would like to play “house,”’ said Alice promptly. ‘I like “house” best of all. Tilly Maud is sick. She ought to go to bed.’

‘So is Paulina,’ returned Sally, well pleased with this idea. ‘See how red her face is! She has measles, I think. And Dora and Nora and Flora ought to go to bed, too. Don’t you think their faces are too red, Alice, to stay up any longer?’

It was quite true that the cheeks of Dora and Nora and Flora were as red as the reddest cherries that ever grew on a tree, and Sally and Alice were of one mind in thinking that these dollies must be very ill indeed.

‘Let us put every one of them to bed together on the sofa,’ suggested Alice.

So all in a row the sick and suffering children were placed on the old sofa and tenderly covered from the chill of the rainy day.

On the end lay Tilly Maud, and next to her came Paulina, both of them long and limp and shabby, with toes that would stick out from under the coverlet no matter how often their nurses patted them down or tucked them snugly in.

‘We will put Nancy Lee to bed, too,’ decided Sally, ‘because she is sure to catch measles from the other children, even if she hasn’t them now.’

So Nancy Lee, stiff and stubby, was snuggled down beside her sister Paulina.

Then came the rosy Dora and Nora and Flora, still smiling sweetly in spite of being put to bed in high black boots and the only dresses they owned in all the world.

‘Now they must have medicine,’ said Sally with spirit. ‘Here are spoons. But we haven’t any bottles. What shall we do?’

‘One can take a cup,’ answered Alice, who had been examining the stove and the little tin cupboard above it, ‘and the other can use this little pail.’

So up and down the row of sufferers went Sally and Alice, armed with their spoons and pail and cup.

‘They must have medicine every two minutes by the clock,’ said Sally, taking from the doll-house the little grandfather clock and setting the tiny pendulum a-swing.

‘It is very thick and black medicine,’ said Alice, stirring round and round in her empty pail. ‘I think thick and black medicine is the best, don’t you?’

‘Always,’ was Sally’s answer, as she lifted poor Paulina to take her tenth dose.

‘See how nicely Tilly Maud drinks her medicine! She doesn’t even make a face,’ said Alice, smiling proudly down on helpless Tilly Maud, who looked as miserable as a dolly could.

‘Paulina is not so good, I am afraid,’ said Sally, with a frown and a severe wave of her spoon. ‘She doesn’t want to open her mouth for me. Perhaps I shall have to hold her nose, next time.’

‘How can you,’ asked Alice, ‘when she hasn’t any nose?’

‘S-s-sh-sh!’ said Sally. ‘I only said that to make her behave. I don’t think these children are getting well fast enough, Alice. You ride Dapple Gray for the doctor, and I will go downstairs for Tippy to come up and be the doctor for us.’

So Alice climbed on Dapple Gray and away she rode at a great pace to fetch the doctor, while Sally sped downstairs in search of Master Tip.

Presently back came Sally dragging with her sleepy Buff.

‘I couldn’t bring Tippy,’ she explained, ‘because he has been out all morning in the wet and Mother wouldn’t let him come in the house with his muddy feet. He wanted to come. He is jumping and barking at the back door now. But Buff will have to do instead.’

So Buff was marched up and down the sofa and made to look each sufferer in the face. But before he had time to say whether he thought his patients better or worse, there came a loud scratching of feet, a rush up the attic stairs, and across the room whirled Tippy, wet and muddy, to land with a thump on the sofa on top of the whole family of dolls.

‘Mi-e-ow!’ cried Dr. Buff in a fright, and took refuge on the window-sill.

‘Come down, Tip, come down,’ called Sally, stamping her foot; while Alice pressed her hands together in distress as she saw the pretty coverlet and the row of clean dollies spattered and spotted from one end to the other with mud.

‘Come down, come down!’ cried Sally again.

But Tippy had not finished his morning’s fun.

He did jump down from the sofa. But as he jumped, he seized in his teeth poor plump Tilly Maud who lay on the end of the row, and with the dolly in his mouth, ran round and round the room.

At this dreadful sight Alice hid her face in her hands. Sally called and stamped her foot. But Tippy cared not at all. He thought only of his fun.

Now he stopped to thump Tilly Maud up and down on the floor. Now he threw her from him only to pounce upon her again. He ran to and fro, round about, with a look on his face ‘just as if he were laughing’ Sally said afterward, when she told Father all about it that night.

Then Sally started downstairs to call Mother.

When Tippy saw this, he rudely pushed past Sally on the stairs, and with Tilly Maud still in his mouth rushed like a whirlwind down through the house and out of the back door into the wet grass.

Mother could scarcely believe her eyes when Tippy, shaking Tilly Maud, flew past her, followed by Sally, with a very red face, calling out,

‘Mother! Mother! Stop him! Mother!’

Last of all came Alice, running very fast, her eyes filled with tears, but not speaking a single word.

‘Sally, what is it?’ asked Mother, catching Sally by the arm and bringing her to a stand-still. ‘You mustn’t go outdoors in the wet grass. What has Tippy in his mouth?’

‘He has Tilly Maud, Alice’s doll,’ gasped Sally, her eyes big with excitement and her hair standing out all round her head. ‘Stop him, Mother, won’t you? He has Alice’s doll.’

‘She is all I have,’ wailed Alice, finding her voice. ‘She is all the dolly I have. My other dolls are packed away at home.’

Out on the back porch they all three hurried, only to see naughty Tippy racing round and round in the grass, flinging Tilly Maud up in the air, dragging her along the ground, and then running as hard and fast as ever a little brown dog could run.

Mother stepped inside and back she came with a broom. Tippy rolled his eye up at the porch. He saw the broom.

With one great fling he tossed Tilly Maud up in the air, and then off rushed Tippy and out of sight before you could say ‘Jack Robinson.’

At a nod from Mother down the steps darted Sally, but, oh! what a sad dolly it was that she brought back and laid on the porch at Mother’s and Alice’s feet.

Dirty, wet, bedraggled, torn!

Tears sprang to Sally’s eyes and tears rolled down Alice’s cheeks as they looked at poor, miserable Tilly Maud lying there.

Even Mother’s face grew sober for a moment. Then she stooped and tenderly raised Tilly Maud from the ground.

‘The first thing to do is to dry Tilly Maud,’ said Mother. ‘It may be, when she is dry and cleaned, that she will be fit to play with again. And the next thing to do is to put on our hats and coats and rubbers and go down the street to Captain Ball’s.’

‘Captain Ball’s? What for?’ asked Sally.

Alice, winking away a tear, listened to what Mother had to say.

‘To buy a new doll for Alice,’ was Mother’s answer.

‘A Nancy Lee?’ cried Sally, spinning round on one toe. ‘Mother, will you buy Alice a Nancy Lee?’

‘If that is the doll Alice wants,’ said Mother, with a smile at Alice’s April face.

‘Do you?’ asked Sally, catching her friend by the arm. ‘Do you want a Nancy Lee like mine?’

And Alice, with shining eyes, answered, ‘I would rather have a Nancy Lee than any other doll in all the world.’

CHAPTER III
JOLLY JACK TAR

Captain Ball kept a toy shop, and all he had for sale were dolls and ships.

He fashioned the toys himself, carved out of wood by his keen jack-knife and painted to suit his own fancy, while his sister, Miss Betsy Ball, made the clothes for the dolls and the sails for the ships quite as well as any dressmaker or sailmaker in town.

Captain Ball’s dolls and ships were popular with the children of Seabury. Almost every little boy owned a ship. Almost every little girl owned a doll.

So the Captain was not at all surprised when Sally and Alice, followed by Mrs. Waters, stepped into his front room, which was toy shop and work room in one.

‘Well, Sally,’ said the Captain, laying down the paint-brush with which he was putting a pair of pretty red lips on a doll; ‘well, Sally, and how have you been this summer?’

‘I have been well,’ answered Sally, shaking hands with the Captain, ‘but this is Alice, and she isn’t well at all, because this morning Tippy ruined her doll. It is the only doll Alice has with her here, so we have come down to buy a Nancy Lee for her, just like mine.’

‘Too bad, too bad,’ said the Captain, shaking his head over naughty Tip, ‘but such accidents will happen. Now, I have three Nancy Lees this morning for Alice to choose from, one with brown hair, one with black hair, and one with yellow curls. And here is a brand-new little Jack Tar, finished only yesterday, in case she would like a boy doll for a change.’

The Captain waved his hand toward a low shelf where the dollies sat in an orderly row, and turned to talk to Mrs. Waters, while Alice and Sally made their choice.

As the Captain had said, there was a Nancy Lee with brown curls, a Nancy Lee with black curls, and a Nancy Lee with golden curls like the one Sally had at home. Each wore a spotless white middy blouse with trimmings of blue and a pair of dark blue bloomers. There was also one boy doll with a yellow crop of boyish curls and the same blue eyes with which the Captain had graced all the Nancy Lees. He was dressed very much like the girls, except that a tiny handkerchief peeped from a mannish pocket in his blouse.

‘Which do you like best?’ whispered Sally.

Alice whispered back, ‘I don’t know.’

But after a pause she said, ‘I think that I like the boy best, because I never have had a boy doll. Have you?’

‘No,’ returned Sally, ‘I never have. And, if we play together, it will be much better if you have a boy and I have a girl, instead of having them just exactly alike.’

‘I think his name is pretty, too,’ said Alice thoughtfully. ‘Jack Tar.’

‘That means a sailor,’ said Sally, who was wise in ways of the sea. ‘And Nancy Lee means a sailor girl, you know. There is a song about her. Father whistles it.

‘“See, there she stands

And waves her hands

Upon the quay,

And every day

When I’m away

She’ll watch for me,”’

sang Sally. ‘That is the song about Nancy Lee.’

‘His clothes are just as pretty as Nancy’s,’ said Alice, whose heart was plainly set upon jolly little Jack Tar. ‘Aren’t they?’

‘Every bit as pretty,’ agreed Sally. ‘And I will tell you something. If ever you wanted him to have different clothes, you could just put them on him and turn him into a girl, and I don’t believe he would ever know the difference. Only don’t let him hear us talking about it.’

And Sally put her finger to her lip and looked the other way for a moment, in case Jack Tar should have been trying to hear what she said.

JACK TAR

So Jack Tar was chosen to go home with Alice, and once the choice was made, the girls felt free to wander about and look at the Captain’s ships, of which there were every kind and color that a little boy would care to own.

There were sail-boats and row-boats, yachts and schooners, fishing smacks and dories, even a little warship and a tiny submarine. They ranged in color from gayest red and blue and yellow to the sober gray of the small man-o’-war.

Before they were halfway round the room, Sally and Alice had almost begun to wish that they were little boys.

‘I could sail a boat as well as a boy,’ said Sally in a low voice.

‘So could I,’ returned Alice, ‘but I don’t want to. I would rather play with Jack Tar.’

‘Of course,’ agreed Sally in haste, ‘so would I. But perhaps some day Father will buy a ship for me, too.’

The rain had ceased. A watery sun was shining and patches of blue sky were showing here and there.

As they stepped out of the Captain’s shop they could hear the noise of the sea rushing up among the rocks at the back of the Captain’s house. ‘Let us go home along the shore, Mother,’ begged Sally. ‘Alice came only yesterday and she hasn’t seen the ocean yet at all.’

So Mother and Sally and Alice, carrying Jack Tar, walked home along the rocky shore. The sea breeze blew their hair about their ears. The waves thundered up among the rocks and broke into creamy foam. The boats in the harbor danced up and down and bobbed about on the tossing gray water.

Then, suddenly, the sun shone out, warm and golden, and turned the whole world into blue and white. Blue sky, blue waves, white boats, and great white clouds!

‘Oh, look, look!’ cried Alice, standing quite still in pleasure at the beautiful sight.

‘When the tide goes out and we can climb down among the rocks, we find all sorts of things in the little pools, don’t we, Mother? Seaweed, and periwinkles, and little crabs, and jellyfish. Sometimes we go to the beach, and play in the water and dig in the sand and find shells, pink and lavender and blue. Oh, I am so glad that you have come to stay!’

And Sally squeezed Alice’s arm so violently in her gladness that Jack Tar was only just saved from a tumble to the street.

Once home, Mother went over the way to call on Miss Neppy and to meet Alice’s mother, she said.

So Sally with Nancy Lee, and Alice with Jack Tar walked up and down and up and down the street.

Aunt Bee passed by on her way home from market, and stopped to hear all that had happened that day.

She learned of Tippy’s wrongdoing, of poor Tilly Maud’s fate. She admired Jack Tar and agreed that he might be turned into a girl at a moment’s notice, and without the least harm to his feelings, too.

‘Really the most boyish thing about him is his hair,’ said Aunt Bee. ‘And if he wore a little cap or a ribbon I don’t believe Captain Ball himself could tell whether he were Jack Tar or Nancy Lee.’

‘But I like him to be a boy,’ said Alice. ‘I like a boy baby and a boy doll just as well as girls.’

‘And so do I,’ said agreeable Aunt Bee.

Presently the dolls grew sleepy, or so their mothers said, and down on the doorstep, now dry in the sun, sat Sally and Alice, to give the children a nap.

‘There is Buff,’ said Sally in a low voice, ‘up on the window-sill asleep in the sun.’

‘I wonder where Tippy is,’ inquired Alice, whose tender heart held no wrath against Tip, especially now that little Jack Tar lay sleeping in her lap.

‘I wonder, too,’ said Sally.

‘Tippy! Tippy!’ she called softly.

There was no answer. Tippy did not hear. So putting Nancy Lee down on the edge of Alice’s dress, Sally tiptoed off round the corner of the house.

Alice heard her calling, ‘Tippy! Tippy! Tip!’

But back came Sally, shaking her yellow head.

‘He isn’t anywhere. He doesn’t answer,’ said she. ‘I wonder what Mother will say when she comes home.’

What Mother said was that she thought Tippy was probably taking a nap.

‘Or else he has gone off to play somewhere,’ said she. ‘He knows he was a naughty dog. He will be back at dinner time. Wait and see.’

But the long day passed and still Tippy did not come.

Father came home, dinner was over, bedtime drew near.

‘Do you think he is lost, Father?’ asked Sally for at least the tenth time.

‘No, I don’t think he is lost,’ answered Father patiently. ‘I think he will come home again.’

‘What do you think, Mother?’ asked Sally, as Mother at last tucked her in bed. ‘I don’t feel as if I could go to sleep and not know where Tippy is. Mayn’t I stay up and watch for him, Mother?’

But at this idea Mother shook her head.

‘Set your little white dove to watch for him,’ suggested she. ‘He can see so far up the street that he would know the moment Tippy turned the corner.’

‘I will,’ said Sally, springing out of bed. ‘I am glad you thought of that, Mother.’

‘Now, Snow White,’ said Sally in the window, for so she had named her little white bird, ‘you watch for Tippy, and when you see him you give the loudest Squawk! you can to wake me up. Will you do that, Snow White? Do you promise?’

And to her great delight the dove winked his shining black eyes and nodded his little white head.

‘At least I think he did,’ said Sally to Mother, as she climbed back into bed.

CHAPTER IV
TIPPY GOES VISITING

Mother was quite right in saying that Tippy knew he had been a naughty little dog. When he rolled his eye up at the porch and saw Mother with the broom in her hand, Tippy knew that it was time for him to drop Tilly Maud and to keep out of sight for a while.

So with a jump, and a whirl, and a push through the hedge Tippy dashed across Aunt Bee’s garden, round the corner, and up the narrow, crooked street.

Tippy felt lively this morning, as we already know. The wind blew his ears back flat against his head. His glistening little black nose smelled all kinds of sweet odors—flower gardens, wet grass, damp sticks and leaves. His shining brown eyes saw many sights—puddles, and men, a lady or two, birds catching worms, a butcher’s boy, with a basket, whistling a tune.

Though the ground was wet and the sky was still gray, to Tippy it was the gayest kind of a morning.

‘I could run and run and run forever,’ said Tippy to himself.

And that is just what he did do, run and run and run, until at last, when Tippy stopped to draw a long breath, he stood in a strange street where he had never been before. He didn’t know in the least where he was nor how to get home to Sally’s house again.

But Tippy didn’t mean to go home for a long, long while. He meant to stay away until Sally had forgotten all about Tilly Maud or until he had forgotten about Tilly Maud himself.

At any rate he meant to stay just where he was until he found out what was the matter with the little boy who at this moment flung open the door of the house before which Tippy was standing and ran with a scream straight down the path to the street.

The little boy’s face was red and he flung his arms about as he ran, and when he reached the street he turned around and ran right back to the porch steps again. There he jumped up and down, screaming all the while, and ran his fingers through his hair until it stood out all round about his head.

This was a tantrum, Tippy knew, because Sally sometimes had them, just like this. She, too, screamed and jumped up and down and even ran her fingers through her hair.

‘I shan’t leave here until I find out what this tantrum is about,’ thought curious little Tip.

And slowly, very slowly, he crept through the half-open gate and over the grass toward the wide porch steps.

Now the little boy’s mother had come out to him, and in the doorway, half hiding behind the door, there stood a tall, tall man.

‘Andy, stop crying and let me speak to you,’ said the little boy’s mother.

But Andy only screamed the louder and began to whirl himself round like a top.

‘Oh, Andy, stop, stop,’ said the little boy’s mother again. ‘Oh, what shall I do with you?’

Tippy knew very well what Sally’s mother would have done, but he wouldn’t have told, if he could. He didn’t want to see Andy whisked off to bed, even though it would have cured the tantrum in a trice.

But just then Andy found his voice.

‘I won’t be sick!’ shouted Andy, still flinging his arms about. ‘I won’t go to bed! I won’t take medicine! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!’

When he heard this, the man behind the door poked his head out and spoke to Andy’s mother.

‘Tell him he won’t have to go to bed,’ he called in a loud voice. ‘Tell him that he won’t have to take medicine, and that he won’t be sick.’

‘There, Andy, listen to what the Doctor says,’ said Andy’s mother. ‘You won’t have to go to bed, you won’t have to take medicine, and you won’t be sick.’

At this good news Andy stood still and stopped screaming.

In the quiet the Doctor called again, ‘Keep him away from other children for a few days and tell him to forget that he has chicken-pox. Tell him to play with that nice little dog standing there at his feet.’

Then the Doctor disappeared, and Andy’s mother followed him into the house.

Andy looked down at Tippy and Tippy looked up at Andy, and that is how Andy and Tippy knew one another.

Next, Andy sat down on the steps, and after Tippy had barked two or three times just to show that he was friendly, he snuggled up close to Andy’s side.

‘Good doggie!’ said Andy, patting Tip. ‘Good doggie! Good dog!’

This was very pleasant for Tip to hear. Sally surely would not call him ‘good doggie’ this morning, if he were at home.

So wagging his tail as hard as ever he could, Tip made up his mind that he would pay Andy a little visit.

‘I won’t stay too long,’ thought Tip to himself, ‘just long enough to make Sally glad to see me when I do go home.’

Now Tippy meant only to spend the afternoon. He didn’t have a notion, I am sure, of staying all night and sleeping out of his little basket, lined with a shawl, that stood on Sally’s back porch. If you had told him that it would be four whole days before he would see Sally’s friendly, rosy little face again, he would have been the most surprised little brown dog that ever wagged a tail.

But this is how it happened. To begin with, as they sat on the porch steps, Andy told Tippy why he had had a tantrum. And when Tip knew all about it, he wagged his tail and looked up into Andy’s face as if he would say that really you could scarcely blame Andy after all.

‘We came here to the country yesterday,’ said Andy, gently pulling Tip’s ears, ‘and I have a pail and shovel, and a bathing-suit, blue-and-white. I am all ready to play and dig in the sand. Mother and I were going down to the beach this morning the very first thing. But when I woke up I was covered with little red spots like this.’

Sure enough, there were the red spots, ever so many of them. Andy eyed them rather proudly and then went on with his story.

‘So Mother sent for the doctor, and when he said I had chicken-pox I just couldn’t stand going to bed now when I want to play. But if I don’t have to go to bed you and I can have some fun together, Bounce. I am going to call you Bounce. Perhaps we can go to the beach. Let’s go and ask Mother. Here, Bounce! Here, Bounce!’

And Andy and Tip, who didn’t at all mind being called Bounce, ran into the house to see whether they might not go down to the beach.

But though Andy need not go to bed and might play as much as he wished all day long he was not permitted to leave his own front yard. And as Andy would not allow Tippy out of his sight, it followed that Tippy was forced to stay inside the front yard, too. There was a tall, white fence all about the yard, over which Tippy could not jump, and at night he slept on the floor beside Andy’s bed.

He did not forget Sally. Oh, no! But the days slipped by as he romped and played and tumbled about with Andy, who would never have known that he was ill with chicken-pox if it had not been for the little red spots.

But now the red spots were disappearing fast, and one morning Andy’s mother, whose name was Mrs. Thomas, said that Andy might leave the front yard and go down into the town with her if he liked.

‘And Bounce? Bounce must come, too.’

So Bounce, or Tippy, was fastened to a string, and pulling and tugging in a way that made Andy run far more than he walked, the little brown dog led the way down into the town. For as soon as Tippy had walked along a street or two, he knew where he was and felt at home. And the farther they walked and the nearer they drew to Sally’s house, the more at home he felt. Until, as Andy and his mother and Tip were walking through a quiet, narrow little street, Tip began to run and jump and pull at his string so that Andy could scarcely hold him back. Then, suddenly, he halted, with a jerk, before a gray house that stood on the side of the hill in the midst of a gay flower garden, and opened his mouth in the loudest, sharpest bark that Andy had ever heard him give.

‘I have come home,’ is what Tippy’s bark said, though no one understood him at the time.

And the next moment Tippy was racing around the house to the back porch and then to the front of the house again, barking all the while.

‘It is Tippy! It is Tippy come home! Mother, here is Tippy come home!’ cried Sally, flinging open the front door and darting down the steps only to bump into Andy, who had run all the way round the house after Tip, as fast as he could run.

But Sally was too excited to notice a bump. She sat flat on the ground and took Tip into her lap for one great hug. Tilly Maud was completely forgotten. No one gave her a thought.

Then Sally stood up and looked at Andy, and Andy looked at her, while Tip jumped about and barked and rushed at Sally to lick her hands and then at Andy to lick his hands.

‘I do hope you will be friends,’ was what Tippy’s face said as he jumped from one to the other and barked and barked again.

Sally didn’t understand it. She only knew that Tip had come home. Andy didn’t understand it. He only saw that the little brown dog, of whom he was so fond, now found himself among old friends.

But as Mrs. Waters and Mrs. Thomas talked together, they understood what had happened without any trouble at all.

Poor Andy! His face grew doleful as his mother explained that Tip was Sally’s dog. He winked and blinked and swallowed hard.

But a moment later he was able to say quite cheerfully, ‘Anyway, my spots are gone and I am going to the beach this afternoon.’

‘So am I,’ cried Sally, ‘so am I. Mother said so. Didn’t you, Mother? Bring your pail, Andy, and we will dig together in the sand.’

‘I will. I will bring my pail and shovel,’ promised Andy.

‘Perhaps Tippy will come with us, too,’ called Sally, as Andy and his mother started down the path.

And from the back garden, where he was joyfully digging up an old bone, Tippy answered for himself.

‘Bow-wow-wow!’ said Tippy.

CHAPTER V
ANDY AND THE MERMAID

Tippy did not go to the beach that afternoon, but Sally and Alice did.

And no sooner were their shoes and stockings taken off and they were comfortably settled in a pleasant place to dig, than along came Andy, with such a happy, smiling face that it made Sally and Alice smile, too, only to look at him.

No wonder Andy was happy, for not only did he carry a gay blue pail and shovel, but in his arms he bore a sail-boat, a brand-new sail-boat, fresh from Captain Ball’s shop not half an hour ago.

‘I am late,’ said Andy, smiling the broadest kind of a smile. ‘I am late because we went to a funny little shop to buy my boat. Isn’t she a beauty? Did you ever see a boat like her before?’