Part 2

“No more school for you yet a while, miss,” he said. “I can’t spare Sam just now for I am a man short, and it won’t hurt you to stay at home for a week while we plan what is to be done next. I pinned my faith on Ezra, but now that he is out of the question we shall have to think of some other way of doing.”

So the next day Jessie stayed home from school, and not only the next, but for several days she was free to wander about the place and do pretty much as she pleased. “She’s had a bad fright,” said Mr. Loomis to his wife, “and she is a nervous, imaginative little thing, so she’d better stay out-of-doors all she can till she gets over this. I don’t think we need let her bother with lessons for a while yet.”

The first day Jessie amused herself near the house; the next she wandered as far as the mountain cherry-tree; the third found her down by the brook, and there she saw Polly Willow waiting for her.

“I’ve just got to have somebody to play with,” said Jessie, looking at Polly Willow’s funny head. “I think maybe you’ll do for a playmate, Polly. There’s one thing about it; you can’t run away and you’ll always be here when I want you. Of course you are pretty big, but so are the other people in your family. You are much the smallest of any of them, so I don’t suppose you are any older than I. I think the first thing I do must be to get you a hat. I know where there is one I think I can have.”

She ran back to the house and up to the attic where she found an old straw hat. On her way down she stopped at the door of her mother’s room to poke in her head and say: “May I have this, mother?”

“What is it?”

“An old hat. I want to play with it.”

Her mother glanced at the hat. “Yes, you may have it. Where are you playing?”

“Down by the brook.”

“Don’t get your feet wet. So long as you have your rubbers on and are in the open air, I am satisfied.”

With the hat in hand Jessie ran back to the brook. The fallen leaves already dappled its surface with red and yellow, but goldenrod and asters made a gay fringe along the sides. Sitting down on a fallen log she proceeded to trim the hat with flowers. A plume of goldenrod decorated one side; a bunch of asters the other, and when it was finished, Jessie stood on tiptoe and stuck the hat on Polly’s big head. “It’s rather small for you,” she said as she gravely regarded the effect, “but it makes you look more like a little girl. Now, Polly, we’ll play. I’m going to live over there.” She waved her hand in the direction of a large rock a short distance away. “I see Mrs. Mooky is coming to see me, so I shall have to go, but I’ll come over again after a while. Good-bye, Polly.”

A pretty fawn-colored cow was grazing near the big rock. This was the person Jessie called Mrs. Mooky. The little girl was not in the least afraid of cows, of this one in particular, for she had been accustomed to seeing Mrs. Mooky ever since she was a little calf which had fed from her hand. So now she approached her boldly, saying, “Good-morning, Mrs. Mooky. I’m very glad to see you. I am sorry I was not at home when you called just now, but I had to run over to Polly’s. She has a new hat that she wanted me to see.”

The cow lifted her head and gave a gentle “moo.”

“I understand,” Jessie went on. “You’ll come again some other day. Very well. Good-bye.” And the cow moved on. “I’m going to ask mother if I can’t have a tea-party here with Playmate Polly. No, I won’t say with Playmate Polly; she might laugh. A grown person couldn’t exactly understand how nice it is to have a Playmate Polly for a friend. I’ll bring one of the dolls, and--oh, dear, I wish the gray kitten were big enough. Mother says I can’t have it till it is quite able to do without its mother, so I’ll have to wait, and I shall have to get Charity.”

Again she went back to the house, this time to get the doll which had been bought at a bazaar in the city by Jessie’s aunt who had suggested the old-fashioned name of Charity for her, since it was a charity bazaar at which she had been bought, and because the doll was dressed in a very old-fashioned costume to represent a Colonial Dame. She had now a long cloak to cover her brocade frock, a cloak that Jessie had made from a piece of gray flannel, and in consequence of her having this warm garment, Jessie thought her better prepared for outdoor play than the other dolls.

“May I have something for a party? I’m taking Charity with me down to the brook,” she said to her mother whom she found in the kitchen.

“Why, yes,” said her mother, “what do you want?”

“What is it that smells so good?”

“Peach marmalade, I suspect. We’re making some.”

“I’d like some of that on some bread.”

“It’s hot,” said Minerva, “and it isn’t done yet, but I reckon it will taste good and it will soon cool off in the open air. What will you have it in? Oh, I know; one of those little jars the beef extract comes in. There are some in the pantry on the shelf behind the door.”

Jessie set Charity on one of the kitchen chairs, and went to the pantry for the little jar which Minerva filled with marmalade. She then cut a couple slices of bread, buttered them and put them wrapped in a napkin, into a small egg basket, adding the jar of preserves and an apple. “Be careful how you carry it,” she warned Jessie. “You don’t want to smear that sticky stuff all over the basket, and be sure to bring it and the jar back when you come. Now, don’t forget.”

“I’ll remember,” said Jessie. “Thank you, Minerva. I shall have a lovely time.”

“Here, come back,” cried Minerva, as Jessie went out. “I didn’t put in any spoon. Would you rather have a spoon or a knife?”

“A spoon, I think,” said Jessie, “for then if I want to eat any preserves I can do it easier, and a spoon will do to spread with, too.”

“One of the kitchen spoons, Minerva,” said Mrs. Loomis. “We don’t want the silver lost at the bottom of the brook.”

Jessie was quite satisfied with a kitchen spoon and went happily on her way, holding the little basket and her doll, carefully. “We’re going over to Playmate Polly’s, Charity,” she informed her doll. “You don’t know her, but she is a very nice little girl, just the kind I like. She knows all about the flowers and birds and such things, for she lives right down by the brook where they live. She told me this morning that she is very intimate with the birds especially, and now that they are going south for the winter she would be very lonely if I didn’t play with her. I think she will be glad to see you, too, for I am sure she doesn’t have much company these days. Mrs. Mooky comes pretty often, but then she is not a little girl like me, and that makes a great difference.”

Talking thus to her doll, she went on her way and soon reached the brook. The marmalade was still warm, but when it was spread on the bread which Jessie laid out on the red doily, it soon cooled, and if Jessie was obliged to eat both Polly’s and Charity’s share by proxy, she did not have to eat for the birds, who were glad of the crumbs, and who, when the last speck had vanished, came near enough to look inquiringly with their bright eyes as if to ask, Is that all?

“Now, Polly,” said Jessie, “I’m going to ask you to take care of Charity for me a little while. She isn’t very well this morning, and I want to see the doctor about her. You know Dr. Bramble, of course.”

Polly, answering in Jessie’s voice, said she knew Dr. Bramble very well indeed, that he was a sharp sort of person, and often very disagreeable, but that he was a good doctor and his cordial fine stuff.

So, leaving Charity in Polly’s care, Jessie went to hunt up Dr. Bramble. She was obliged to stay quite a while for when she reached his house she found that Mrs. Bramble had a few belated blackberries for her, and they were so tempting that Jessie was obliged to gather them all. “They’ll do finely for pills for Charity,” she said, “or maybe I’d better make medicine of them; I can mash them in the jar with the spoon and give her a teaspoonful at a time!”

The berries were rather hard and could not be easily crushed, but finally Jessie accomplished the work and Charity was given her first dose, though she cried a good deal over it and insisted that she could not take it. “But you must, my dear,” said Jessie firmly, “or you will not get well. Do you want to be ill and not have any more of the nice marmalade Minerva is making?”

Charity deciding that she preferred marmalade to illness, at last took the medicine by means of Jessie’s mouth, and was then put to bed and covered up with leaves. Then Jessie amused herself a long while with Playmate Polly. They talked about many things; the birds, the fishes, the flowers, the gray kitten and of Charity’s illness, and the time went so pleasantly that when the dinner horn sounded Jessie had no idea that it was so late. She had enjoyed her morning hugely, and had come to have a great affection for her new friend, Playmate Polly.

_CHAPTER III_

_The Neighbor of the Yellow House_

_CHAPTER III_

_The Neighbor of the Yellow House_

Every morning after this Jessie went down to the brook to play with Playmate Polly. Charity soon recovered from her illness, Dr. Bramble’s medicine being the very thing for her, and she was able to enjoy her share of the scrapings of marmalade which Jessie ate for her from the big preserving-kettle. Mrs. Mooky called frequently, and so did other persons. Jessie made the acquaintance of a lively cricket which lived under the big stone that she was accustomed to call her house, and she also had several conversations with a fat toad which would come out and blink at her on mild days. Still it was Playmate Polly whom Jessie liked the best. She kept the knowledge of this queer friend a secret from everybody, and for that very reason probably enjoyed her the more.

One afternoon, however, when she and Polly had been having a particularly interesting talk, Jessie heard a laugh from the other side of the brook, and looking up quickly she saw a little girl with very black hair and eyes, astride a fallen log. “Hello!” said the little girl.

Jessie looked at her interestedly. “Hello!” she responded. She had never seen the little girl before;--not at church, nor on the road, nor anywhere, and she wondered who she could be. “Who are you?” she asked presently, “and how did you get over there?”

“I’m Adele Pauline Falaise Hallett,” was the reply, “and I got here by walking.”

“Goodness! what a long name,” said Jessie. “Do you live near here?”

“Yes, I live in the yellow house this side the bridge.”

“Oh, I know now,” returned Jessie; “you’re the new people. Did you come through the woods or by the road?”

“Through the woods. What’s your name?”

“Jessie Loomis.”

“Who was it that you’ve been talking to all this time? I looked and listened for ever so long and I couldn’t see anybody.”

“I was talking to my doll, Charity, part of the time,” said Jessie, after a little hesitation. She did not want to tell her secrets to a stranger.

“Who is Polly Somebody? You kept saying Polly this and Polly that. Hare you a parrot over there?”

“Dear me, no,” returned Jessie. “I was talking to a make-believe friend of mine.”

“What kind of friend? Can’t you see her truly?”

“Yes, I can see her. She’s this tree.” Jessie laid her hand affectionately on Playmate Polly’s rough bark.

Adele laughed. “That’s a mighty funny sort of friend. I’m coming over to you. Where can I get across?”

“There’s a log higher up,” Jessie told her. “I cross that way sometimes, and in summer when the brook is very low I can cross on the stones.”

“It isn’t so very low now.”

“No, and so you’d better try the log. I’ll show you where it is.” She took the path on one side the brook, Adele following that on the other, and pretty soon they came to a log thrown across the stream.

“It’s a little wobbly,” said Jessie, “so you’d better be careful.”

With some small shrieks and exclamations Adele managed to cross the bridge without mishap. “Now show me where you play,” she said somewhat commandingly, Jessie thought, and therefore she led the way silently to her favorite spot.

“This is Playmate Polly,” she said as if introducing a friend.

Adele laughed. “What do you call it that for?”

“Because it is her name,” rejoined Jessie stoutly, as she turned toward the big stone near by. “This is my house,” she went on; “it is where Charity and I live. Charity is my doll.”

Adele, without answering, picked up Charity and looked her over. “She wears mighty queer clothes,” she remarked after a moment.

“That’s because she is a Colonial Dame,” returned Jessie in a superior tone.

“Oh,” said Adele, setting down Charity carefully. She did not know just what a Colonial Dame was and did not want to show her ignorance. “What do you call her Charity for?” she asked presently.

“My Aunt Lucy bought her at a charity bazaar, and she said as Charity was one of the old-fashioned names, she thought it would suit an old-fashioned doll. I like it,” she added with decision.

“I knew a girl once named Temperance,” remarked Adele. “They used to call her Tempy.”

“Where was that?”

“In New Orleans where I lived before we came here; before--” she hesitated, and then added in a low voice, “before I lost my mother.”

“Oh!” Jessie gazed at her with sympathetic eyes. She had never known, before this, any little girl who had not a mother. “Was it very long ago?” she asked softly.

“A little over a year,” Adele told her. “I have six dolls,” she went on, changing the subject. “How many have you?”

“Five, but I like Charity the best. She is the biggest and prettiest, too. I have one a little smaller named Lucy, and a little China boy-doll I like very much; he is about so high.” She measured a height of four inches or so. “I bring him down here because he is so little that I can put him most anywhere.”

“What is his name?” asked Adele.

“Peter Pan,” returned Jessie. “Then I have a baby in long clothes and a German doll my uncle brought me when he came from Europe.”

It seemed a very interesting family to Adele who said regretfully, “My dolls are so much alike I don’t care much more for one than another. Some are newer than others; that’s all. Will you show me all your dolls some day?”

“Why, certainly,” returned Jessie warmly, adding, “I’m awfully glad you live near. There’s no one this side the bridge at all. Effie Hinsdale is the nearest, but she lives across the railroad track.”

“Aunt Betty won’t let me cross it,” said Adele.

“I used to do it every day; that was before Ezra had rheumatism. I don’t go to school now. Do you go to the Hill school?” Jessie asked, then added, “Oh, no, of course you don’t, if you can’t cross the railroad track.”

“No, I don’t go anywhere,” returned Adele. “I am going to have a governess next week.”

“Shall you like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like Miss Eloise. She is a friend of my aunt’s and she is very nice and kind, at least she is now.”

“I thought governesses were always cross,” said Jessie as if it were a well-known fact.

“Maybe she will be when she gets to be a governess,” Adele remarked. “I hope she will not. I believe I’d rather not have her anyway. I hate lessons.”

“So do I,” returned Jessie delightedly. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I was so pleased when I knew I could stay at home for a while.”

“Are you going to stay away from school always?” asked Adele.

“Oh, I am sure I don’t know. I suppose we have to have educations, but it is very disagreeable. I don’t see why educations can’t come like teeth, when you’re ready for them, or an easier way still would be to wake up some morning and find you could do every example in the arithmetic, and another morning you could speak French, and another you would know all the rivers and capitals and mountains and things. Wouldn’t that be fine?”

Adele laughed. “I wake up every morning and know I can speak French.”

“Oh, do you?” Jessie looked at her half incredulously. “I didn’t know any little girls could do that unless they were real French children who couldn’t speak English. How does it happen?”

“My grandmother was French. I am named after her,” Adele told her, “and my mother spoke French as well as English. I always had a French nurse, too, so I learned French at the same time I did English.”

Jessie looked at her admiringly, then she sighed. “Well, I don’t know a word of French or anything except ‘Guten Tag.’ We had a German to work for us once and he taught me that much.”

“Don’t let’s talk about such stupid things,” said Adele suddenly. “What is behind those branches piled up against that place in the bank here?”

Jessie looked at her quickly. It seemed as if Adele’s quick eyes and ears would discover all her secrets. “You won’t tell?” she asked after a minute’s pause. “Cross your heart you won’t? It’s a secret, you see. Playmate Polly is a secret, too. Not even mother or Minerva know about her.”

“I promise,” said Adele readily. “Who is Minerva?”

“Our girl. She is as nice as she can be. I’m awfully fond of her.”

“Show me what is behind the branches.”

Jessie led the way to the spot where the bank dropped three or four feet. She carefully removed the branches, saying mysteriously: “It is a cave, a grotto.”

Adele knelt down and peeped in to see where the bank, shelving in, made quite a little hollow. The floor of the small grotto was paved with pebbles upon which lay rugs of green moss. A piece of looking-glass set in the earth served for a tiny lake. The sides of the grotto were hung with another kind of moss. At one end two small candlesticks, bearing red candles, were set up and in a chair between them was the little china doll.

“This is where Peter Pan lives,” said Jessie. “I’ll light the candles and you can see the lake better. That pile of moss over there is Peter Pan’s bed. I haven’t any table for him yet. I am hunting for a nice little square block of wood, or a smooth round stone would do. I haven’t really finished the grotto yet Don’t you think it is right pretty?”

“It is perfectly beautiful,” said Adele enthusiastically. “I don’t see how you did it. Oh, won’t you let me come and play with you sometimes?”

Jessie felt that she was very generous to be sharing her secrets with a stranger, but when she remembered that Adele was motherless she felt that anything she could do to give her pleasure would be a small thing, so she responded cordially, “Why, of course.”

“I haven’t any little doll like Peter Pan,” Adele went on, “but maybe a paper doll would do till I could get the right kind.”

“A paper doll would do very well and you could call her Wendy,” said Jessie with satisfaction.

“Why?”

“Oh, don’t you know Peter Pan? I thought every one did,” said Jessie in surprise.

“Please tell me.”

“All right, I will. I know all about him. When I went to see Aunt Lucy last winter she took me to see Peter Pan, and oh, it was the loveliest thing you can imagine. Sit down here and I will tell you.” Adele did as she was told and Jessie launched forth into her story, Adele listening attentively.

But before the story was finished a shrill whistle sounded from the house. “Oh, dear,” said Jessie jumping up, “I must go. That is for me.”

“How do you know it is for you?”

“Mother has a little whistle that she blows whenever she wants me to come home.”

“Can’t you just stay long enough to finish the story?” said Adele coaxingly. “Please do.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t. There is a lot more, and mother doesn’t like me to stay out too late.”

“She won’t mind just this once.”

Jessie hesitated and glanced toward the house. Again the whistle sounded.

Hastily gathering up Peter Pan and Charity she made ready to return home.

“I think you are real mean,” cried Adele. “You just get into the most interesting part and then you stop. I don’t like you one bit. I’m just going home and you can talk to your old dumb Polly after this.” She stalked away indignantly while Jessie slowly made her way toward the house, looking back every little while over her shoulder. She knew she was doing right, but she did wish Adele had not gone off in a huff. After all, perhaps Playmate Polly was more satisfactory, for she never quarreled with her. This thought made her turn and run back a few steps to call out: “Good-night, Polly.”

Just then she heard a scream and some one crying out: “Jessie, Jessie!” in tones of distress. For only a second Jessie hesitated and then she rushed to the spot from which the voice came to find Adele splashing about in the brook.

“I slipped off the log,” she cried. “I’m all wet and drownded and there is a cow coming!”

Fortunately the brook was not very deep, particularly at this point. Jessie laid down her dolls, and went to the bank near the log, reaching out her hands and calling to Adele, “Come up here.”

Adele cast a frightened look over her shoulder at Mrs. Mooky, who was taking an evening drink from the stream. “She won’t hurt you, will you, Mrs. Mooky?” said Jessie encouragingly.

The cow lifted her head and looked fixedly at Jessie, moving a few steps nearer.

“Oh, she’s coming! She’s coming!” cried Adele frantically trying to scramble up the bank.

“No, she isn’t,” Jessie assured her. “Give me your hand. There now, you are safe, but you are awfully wet. Come right home with me and get some dry clothes.”

“No, no,” protested Adele, “I’ll go home.”

“It’s further to your house. You’d better come,” said Jessie decidedly.