The Major. Ralph Connor
young lady, isn't she?”
“Oh, I don't know what you mean, Papa. She says she may go down, but I don't think she likes going with a lot of kids. You know she has her hair up. She has to have it up in the store. She says the man would not have her behind the counter if she had not her hair up.”
“Oh, that's it. I thought perhaps the maturity of her age made it necessary.”
“I don't know what maturevy means, but she is awfully old. She is going on sixteen.”
“Dear me, as old as that?” inquired her father.
“Yes, but she said she wanted to see that circus car. That's what she calls Mr. Gwynne's car. And she says she wants to see the elephunts perform. There are not any elephunts. There's only Rosie and Rover. But she may get off. She can get off if she can fool her boss, she says. So we're all going down and we may bring Larry home with us, Mrs. Sleighter says. Though Mrs. Gwynne says there's not any room, they're so filled up now. And I said Larry could come here and Joe, too. But I am not so sure about Sam. I think he must be awfully queer. Mr. Gwynne thinks he's queer.”
“It is quite possible, indeed probable, my dear,” assented her father.
“Yes, Mr. Gwynne said he looked like a third-rate how-do-you-feel performer.”
“A what, exactly?”
“A how-do-you-feel performer.”
“Oh, a vaudeville performer.”
“Yes, a fodefeel performer. I don't know what that means, but he must be queer. But I think Larry would be all right, and Joe. You see, we know THEM.”
“Oh, do we?”
“Yes, certainly, Papa. Larry is Nora's brother. He's awfully clever. He's only fifteen and he passed the Entrance in Ontario and that's ever so much harder than here. He passed it before he was fourteen.”
“Before he was fourteen!” replied her father. “Amazing!”
“Yes, and he plays the mouth organ and the tin whistle and the fiddle, and Mr. Gwynne says he has learned some stunts from Sam. I think he must be awfully nice. So I said he could come here. And Mrs. Gwynne thanked me so nicely, and she's just lovely, Papa.”
“I have not seen her,” said her father, “but I have heard her voice, and I quite agree with you. The voice always tells. Have you noticed that? The voice gives the keynote of the soul.”
“I don't know, Papa. There's Mrs. Sleighter's voice. I don't like it very much, but I think she's nice inside.”
“Ah, you are right, my dear. Perhaps I should have said that a certain kind of voice always goes with a beautiful soul.”
“I know,” replied his daughter. “That's like Mrs. Gwynne's voice. And so we'll go down to the car and bring Larry home with us, and perhaps his mother will let him come here. She did not say she would and you can't tell. She's quiet, you know, but somehow she isn't like Mrs. Sleighter. I don't think you could coax her to do what she didn't want.”
“And Mrs. Sleighter—can you coax Mrs. Sleighter?”
“Oh, yes, the girls just coax her and coax her, and though she doesn't want to a bit, she just gives in.”
“That's nice of her. That must be very nice for the girls, eh?”
“Oh, I don't know, Papa.”
“What? don't you think it is nice to be able to coax people to do what you want?”
“It is nice to get what you want, but I think REALLY, REALLY, you'd rather you could not coax them to do it just because you coax them.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Yes; you see, you're never really quite sure after you get it whether you ought to get it after all.”
“I see,” said her father; “that rather spoils it.”
“Yes, but you never do that, Papa.”
“Oh, you can't coax me, eh? I am glad to know that. I was afraid, rather.”
“Well, of course, I can coax you, Papa, but you usually find some other way, and then I know it is quite right.”
“I wish I was quite as sure of that, Jane. But you are going to bring Larry home with you?”
“Yes, if Mrs. Gwynne will let him come. I told her we had four rooms and we were only using two, and they are all crowded up in Mrs. Sleighter's, two girls in each room, and Tom's room is so tiny, and I don't think Larry would like to go in Tom's room. And we have two empty rooms, so we might just as well.”
“Yes, certainly, we might just as well. You might perhaps mention it to Anna.”
“Oh, I did, Papa, and she said she would have it all ready.”
“So it is all arranged. I was thinking—but never mind.”
“I know you were thinking, that I ought to have asked you, Papa; and I ought to have. But I knew that when a little boy had no home to go to you would of course—”
“Of course,” replied her father hurriedly. “You were quite right, Jane. And with those two rooms, why not bring them all, Joe and Pete—Pete, is it?”
“Sam, Papa. I am not so sure. I think we should leave Joe and Sam. You see Joe won't mind staying in the car. Nora says he lives in just a shack at home, and Sam—I am a little afraid of Sam. We don't know him very well, you see.”
“I see. We are quite safe in your hands, little woman. You can do just as you and Mrs. Gwynne arrange.”
As the father watched the little, trim, sturdy figure stepping down the street he muttered to himself, “That child grows more like her mother every day.” He heaved a great sigh from the depths of his heart. “Well, God keep her, wise little woman that she is! I wish I were a wiser man. I must be firm with her; it would be a shame to spoil her. Yes, I must be firm.” But he shrugged his shoulders and smiled at himself. “The worst of it is, or the best of it is,” he continued, “the little witch is almost always right, God bless her, just like her mother, just like her mother.” He hastily wiped his eyes, and went off to his office where Mrs. Dean awaited him and her little girl with the burned hand. And the mother wondered at the gentleness of him as he dressed the little girl's wounded hand.
It followed that the scouting party included not only Miss Hazel Sleighter, but also her big brother Tom, who, being temporarily in the high school, more perhaps because of his size and the maturity of his bearing than by virtue of his educational qualifications, was at the present moment most chiefly concerned in getting into form his baseball team for the match the following Saturday in which the High School was to meet All Comers under eighteen. The freight shed being on his way to the practice ground, Tom deigned to join the party and to take in the circus car as he passed. The car dwellers were discovered on the open prairie not far from the freight shed, keeping guard over Rosie, who was stretching her legs after her railway journey. The boys were tossing a baseball to each other as Tom pedalled up on his wheel.
“Hello, there, here you are,” he shouted to Sam, holding up his hands for a catch.
The ball came with such impact that Tom was distinctly jarred, and dropped the ball. With all his force he threw the ball back to Sam, who caught it with the ease of a professional and returned it with such vigour that again Tom dropped it.
“Let's have a knock-up,” he said, hitting a long fly.
Sam flew after the ball with amazing swiftness, his scarecrow garments fluttering and flapping in the air, and caught it with an upward leap that landed him on his back breathless but triumphant.
“Say, you're a crackerjack,” said Tom; “here's another.”
Meanwhile Larry was in the hands of his sisters, who had