CHAPTER X

PETER

Martha was cleaning house; rugs were hanging in the kitchen yard and clouds of dust testified to the strength of her arm. Indoors all the chairs were turned over, and white sheets covered the rest of the furniture. Janet and Boru fled to the "widow's walk" to escape.

"I hate house cleaning," Janet complained; "if I ever have a house of my own I will go away on a trip and not come back until there's enough dust to make things look comfy again." Boru, who had a marked respect for Martha's broom, folded his paws over his nose and looked sympathetic.

"I wonder what will happen to-day," Janet went on; "everything has been so exciting for the last few weeks that I love to wake up in the morning. I wonder if it wasn't all a dream about Mrs. Todd and that absurd little man and Peter. I don't really believe that I ever paddled that canoe yesterday at all."

A whistle interrupted her musings, and she leaned over the railing and saw Harry Waters at the garden gate.

"What do you want?" she called.

It was a little time before Harry could locate her, but when he did he beckoned.

"Come on down."

"All right, wait a minute,"--Janet sighed. Harry was not the form of excitement she would have chosen for the day, but he was better than talking to Boru or listening to Martha's beating the rugs.

"Hello," she greeted when she had joined him in the garden. "How's Roy?"

"Oh, he's all right. He caught a rabbit the other day." Harry bragged as though the credit were his.

"I think that was horrid of him. That's just the trouble with those hunting dogs,"--Janet flared up--"they are always catching some poor little animal that never did anybody any harm. If Boru ever did such a thing I would whip him good and hard, I can tell you." Boru hung his head; no doubt the memory of countless innocent rabbits weighed heavily on his doggish conscience.

"Ah, shucks," Harry grumbled; "that's just like a girl. They make a fuss and even kiss a dog if it gets a splinter in its paw, but the minute one does something worth while they want to whip it."

"Well, I don't like to think of a little dead bunny. They're so soft and snuggly,"--Janet defended herself; "and I don't care who knows it."

"Scared!" The word was hardly out of Harry's mouth before he regretted it.

Janet eyed him with so much scorn that words were unnecessary.

"If I were you, Harry," she said at length, but Harry interrupted her.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking of, but that's different," he protested; "my mother says so. Anyway, I didn't come over here to argue," he finished crossly.

Janet wanted to ask him what he had come over for, but she was just a little ashamed of the way she had been acting. After all, Harry was an old friend of hers, and it wasn't his fault that he was fat and always complaining. She gave herself a little shake and smiled.

"It is silly to scrap; let's go for a walk," she suggested.

"All right, if you want to," Harry agreed, "but I came over to tell you that there's a letter for you at the post office, and Miss Clark says you haven't been for mail for over a week, and there are some letters for your grandmother and a newspaper. I'd have brought them to you but the old crosspatch wouldn't let me. She said I'd lose them on the way, and she was responsible for the U.S. mail. I don't think much of Miss Clark any--" Harry stopped rambling, and stared at Janet. "Now what have I done!" he demanded.

Janet marched off down the road, and he followed.

"Gee, but you're queer lately!" he grumbled.

Janet stopped to look at him. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes danced with excitement.

"Harry Waters," she said, "if I were a dog I think I'd bite you."

The rest of the way to the village Harry had hard work keeping up with her.

At the post office, Miss Clark insisted on asking innumerable questions about Mrs. Page.

"You didn't come for the mail for such a long time that I said to my sister last night, 'I wonder if Mrs. Page has had a turn,' so this morning I told the Waters' boy to tell you that there were several letters in your box--"

"May I have them, please,"--Janet tried politely to stem the tide, but Miss Clark did not even notice the interruption.

"Time was when one letter a week was all most folks looked for, but, lands sakes, nowadays with all these advertisements and picture postcards, your box is full before you know it. Did you say your grandmother was sick?"

"No, she is quite well, thank you. Er--may I--?" Janet tried again, and Miss Clark did walk over to the box.

"Well, that's a blessing," she said over her shoulder. "I do think that when a body must lie abed all day that they ought to have good health except for that. Now when my aunt Lucy-- Why, I do declare--" Miss Clark interrupted herself this time--"I clean forgot to tell you there was a letter for you. It's from your brother. Now that seems odd; he always writes to your grandmother, but this certainly is for you. I can't imagine why it slipped my mind. I've been thinking about it all week."

"May I have it, please?" Janet held out her hand, and with apparent reluctance Miss Clark gave her the little bundle of letters. She took them, said a hasty thank you, and escaped from the post office before there was time for any more conversation.

She studied the envelope with its Arizona postmark and made sure that it was directed to her. Then she tore it open to find a penciled note inside that read:

"_Dear little Firebrand sister of mine:_

"I am almost everything that you accused me of being, except my appearance, and that is a little better than you feared. To prove it to you I am going to come in person to see you and then we can talk over all those worrying things you spoke of. Until I get there please try and think a little better of me than you have through all your short, little life, and please believe that I am heartily ashamed of myself, but that I solemnly promise to make up for it in the future.

"Your affectionate big brother, "TOMMY."

Janet read the letter over three times and then she sat down on the carriage block and read it again.

Harry watched her and shook his head. He had no doubts now that Janet was anything but an ordinary, and by ordinary he meant queer and unreasonable, girl.

"Now, what's the matter!" he asked again, this time very forlornly.

"Matter?" Janet's laugh rang out happily. "Not a single thing in all this wide wide world, Harry!" she exclaimed.

"Then what are you crying about?" he demanded.

Janet brushed away the two big tears that had filled her eyes, and jumped up.

"I'm not crying, silly," she denied hotly. "Anyway you wouldn't understand. I'm going home. Good-by."

"Well, I'm darn glad I can't," was Harry's parting, and he walked off in the opposite direction.

Janet read her letter all the way home. It was such a surprise, for she had quite given up all hopes of ever finding the letter she had written a month before. She had never entertained the idea of receiving an answer, and such an answer, full of every sort of promise. And he was coming, and coming soon. She consulted the postmark and found that the letter had been in the post office six days.

The sight of Martha still patiently beating rugs was unbearable. She hurried into the house and took the rest of the mail to her grandmother. As she handed them to her, she saw to her surprise that one of them was from her brother. Perhaps he was writing to tell her that he was coming home, and that would make it unnecessary for her to mention her letter.

"A letter from your brother," Mrs. Page said solemnly. "Please wait, Janet, and I will read you what he says." She opened the letter with her customary precision and read it first to herself. Apparently she thought better of her promise to read it aloud, for she folded it up and put it back into its envelope.

"Your brother is well," she said at last, "and he is coming home. This letter is a week old so that I imagine he will be here before long. Please tell Martha not to make so much noise in the hall and don't say anything to any one about Thomas's proposed visit."

"But, grandmother, why in the world not!" Janet could not help saying.

"Because I dislike gossip," Mrs. Page snapped. "When he comes all the village will know it; that will be soon enough."

"Yes, grandmother." Janet left the room, but she forgot to tell Martha not to make so much noise. The house was unbearable, and she decided that even if she could not share her secret with Mrs. Todd, it would be a comfort to go and see her and talk about the Enchanted Kingdom.

She was hardly on her way with the idea fixed in her mind when she heard horse's hoofs coming toward, and after a minute she saw Mrs. Todd in her carriage. She stopped her horse at sight of Janet, and beckoned to her.

Janet jumped in beside her.

"I was just coming to see you," she said. "Have you been over to your house this morning!"

Mrs. Todd was plainly upset about something. She was frowning, and there was not a spark of fun in her eyes.

"No, child, I haven't," she answered. "I went over to find Peter early this morning, and the Blunts told me he had gone away. They said he had told them that he was going west and that he could not leave any address, but he left a letter addressed to Dr. Peabody in Boston. Now I happen to know Jack Peabody. He was a very dear friend of my husband. Of course I haven't seen him in years but I am going up to Boston this afternoon and give him Peter's letter, and between us we ought to be able to find the boy. It's dreadful to think of his hunting for work and with no money."

"I think it's splendid," Janet said shyly.

"That's because you are a silly, romantic child with your head full of story-book nonsense," Mrs. Todd said briskly. "What I wanted to see you about was to ask you if that foolish boy gave you any hint as to where he was going."

"No, indeed, he didn't," Janet said. "I didn't even dream he was going. Oh, Mrs. Todd, do you think you really can find him!" she asked suddenly.

"There, there, child, don't worry your head about it," Mrs. Todd comforted. "Of course we can. Peter's hair is too red to allow him to run away unnoticed."

Janet tried to smile, but it was difficult. The more she thought of Peter's going, the more she realized how much she would miss him, and half the joy in her brother's return was lost when she realized that she could not introduce him to Peter.

"Do you think you could manage Clinker,"--Mrs. Todd was speaking--"if you do I wish you would drive over to Simpsons' this afternoon and give him a letter for me."

"Why, I think I could drive him," Janet replied. "I'll just let him walk and I'll be awfully careful of him."

"Very well, then, that's settled." Mrs. Todd spoke with her usual briskness, and a little of the laughter returned to her eyes as she added, "It will be a sorry dose for our friend the ex-sheriff, but I think it will do him good."