Lydia of the Pines. Honoré Morrow
a hard job," Marshall interpreted the sigh quickly; "that's where the punishment comes in."
"Lydia'll do it. I'll see to it," said Amos.
"You keep out, Dudley. This is between Lydia and me. How about it,
Lydia?"
"If you'll boss her mother, I'll boss Margery and Kent," said Lydia, with a sudden laugh.
"It's a bargain." Marshall rose. "Good night, Dudley."
"Good night, Marshall."
Amos followed his caller to the door. As he did so Lydia heard Kent's whistle in the back yard. She joined him and the two withdrew to a bench behind the woodshed.
"I saw him through the window," said Kent, in a low voice. "What's he going to do to us? Dad's licked me, so that much is done."
Lydia told of their punishment. "Darn it," groaned Kent, "I'd rather had another licking. I certainly do hate that girl."
"So do I," agreed Lydia.
The two sat staring into the summer twilight. "Anyhow," said Lydia, "I hit her an awful smack in the face to-day. Of course, I had to, but that's why her nose bled so."
"I wish you'd busted her old snoot," grumbled Kent. "She's always turning it up at everybody. We saved somebody's life to-day, by golly, and you'd think we'd committed a crime."
Lydia sighed. "Nothing to look forward to but worry now. O gee, Kent, I've got two pennies! One's Patience's. But let's go spend the other at Spence's!"
"Gum or all day sucker?" asked Kent, who, in spite of the fact that he owned a second-hand bicycle, was not above sharing a penny.
"Gum lasts longer," suggested Lydia.
"What kinda gum, spruce or white or tutti-frutti?"
"You can choose."
"Spruce then. It makes the most juice. Come on, Lyd, before you're called in."
And thus ended the heroic day.
No one ever knew what Dave Marshall said to Elviry, his wife, but a day or so after, little Margery, in a fine white flannel bathing suit, appeared on the sand, about a quarter of a mile below the Willows. Here any bright day from the last of June to the first week in September, a dozen children might be found at play in and out of the water. There was usually a mother or an older sister somewhere about, but it was to be noted that Mrs. Marshall never appeared. Margery came and went with Lydia.
Kent was a quitter! After the rescue he decided to eschew the society of girls forever and he struck a bargain with Lydia that she could have the use of his bicycle one day a week till snow came if she would undertake the disciplining of the banker's daughter alone. For such a bribe Lydia would have undertaken to teach Elviry Marshall, herself, to swim—and so the bargain was struck.
Margery, it was quickly discovered, sousing in the water with the other children was quite "a common kid" herself and though there seemed to be an inherent snobbishness in the little girl that returned to her as soon as she was dried and clothed, in her bathing suit she mucked about and screamed and quarreled as did the rest.
Lydia's method of teaching was one employed by most of the children of Lake City when a new child moved into the town. She forced Margery to float face downward in the water, again and again, while she counted ten. After one afternoon of this, the banker's daughter had forever lost her fear of the water and the rest was easy.
In spite of the relationship Dave Marshall had established between the two children, Margery and Lydia did not like each other. One Saturday afternoon, after banking hours, Marshall was seated on his front porch, with Elviry and Margery, when Lydia appeared. She stood on the steps in her bathing suit, her bare feet in a pair of ragged "sneakers." Her face and hands and ankles were dirty but her eyes and the pink of her cheeks were clear.
"Come on, Marg," said Lydia, "and, Mr. Marshall, please, won't you come too and see how well she does it?"
"Run and get into your bathing suit, daughter," said Marshall.
"Elviry, want to come?"
"No," snapped Elviry. "Lydia, how do you manage to get so dirty, when to my positive knowledge, you're in the water an hour every day?"
Lydia blushed and tried to hide one ankle behind the other. "I think you're terrible impolite," she murmured.
Dave roared with laughter. "Right you are, Lydia! I guess I'll have to hitch up and drive us all over."
They drove to the Willows and Margery went through her paces, while her father watched and applauded from the shore. When they had finished and had run up and down to warm up and dry off and were driving home, Dave said,
"You'd better come in to supper with us, Lydia."
"No, thank you," answered the child. "Mr. Levine's coming to supper at our house and I have to cook it."
"Hum! What does John Levine do at your house, so much?"
"Oh, he's going into politics," answered Lydia, innocently, "and Dad advises him."
"Well, tell them you've done a fine job as a swimming teacher," Dave spoke carelessly. "I don't see why Levine wants to get into politics. He's doing well in real estate."
"Oh!" exclaimed Lydia, with a child's importance at having real news to impart, "he's going into politics so's to get some Indian land."
"Like hell he is!" exclaimed Marshall.
"Oh, Daddy!" Margery's voice was exactly like her mother's.
They were turning into the Marshall driveway and Marshall's face was a curious mixture of amusement and irritation. He kissed his little daughter when he lifted her from the buggy and bade her run to the house. Before he lifted Lydia down he paused and as he stood on the ground and she sat in the surrey, she looked levelly into his black eyes.
"I wish I had another little daughter like you, Lydia," he said. "I don't see why—but God, you can't get swans from barnyard fowl." He continued to study Lydia's face. "Some day, my child, you'll make some man's heart break, or lift him up to heaven."
Lydia squirmed.
"Well, Margery's taught now," she said hastily, "so I don't have to be punished any more, do I?"
Marshall scowled slightly. "What do you mean? Don't you want Margery to play with you?"
"Oh, sure, she can play, if she wants to, but I mean I don't have to go get her and bring her into our games."
"No," said Dave slowly, "but I think it would be nice of you to sort of keep an eye on her and get her dirty once in a while. There! Run home, child, you're shivering."
With puzzled eyes, Lydia obeyed.
The most important result, as far as Lydia was interested, of the talk between her father and Levine that night was that Amos decided definitely to move the following week. Lydia cried a little over it, reproached God in her prayers and then with a child's resignation to the inevitability of grown up decision, she began to say good-by to the neighborhood children and to help old Lizzie to pack.
Lydia did not see the new home until she rode out with the first dray-load of furniture. She sat in the high seat beside the driver, baby Patience in her lap, her thin, long little legs dangling, her cheeks scarlet with excitement and the warmth of a hot September morning. The cottage was a mile from the old home. They drove along the maple shaded street for the first half of the distance, then turned into a dirt road that led toward the lake shore. The dirt road emerged on the shore a half mile above the Willows and wound along a high embankment, crowned with oaks.
"Whoa!" shouted the driver.
"Oh, isn't it pretty!" exclaimed Lydia.
An old-fashioned white cottage, with green blinds and a tiny front porch, stood beside the road, its back to the lake. There were five acres or so of ground around the house, set off by