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Page 12
"When can we begin to pack?" demanded the practical Bobby. "We can
do most of that for you, Mother."
Miss Florence folded up her measure.
"Your mother's going to have her hands full," she observed,
rising. "Well, it's most supper time and I must run. I'll be over
early in the morning, Mrs. Blossom. Here comes Mr. Blossom now."
"Tell us the story!" cried the four little Blossoms, falling upon
their father before he had brought the car quite to a stop. "Tell
us the story about Apple Tree Island, Daddy! Please!"
"With fresh asparagus for supper?" asked Father Blossom in great
surprise. "I couldn't think of it! After supper you shall hear all
about the island, chicks."
CHAPTER V
APPLE TREE ISLAND
"Now tell us, Daddy," begged Dot when, supper over, they were
gathered about the fireplace in the living room. "Tell us, 'fore
Twaddles and I have to go to bed."
"It isn't such a long story," began Father Blossom. "You can hear
it all before you have to go to bed. I don't know whether Mother
has told you, but when Bobby was a baby we spent a summer on Apple
Tree Island."
"It's funny I don't seem to remember much about it," remarked
Bobby anxiously.
"Well, old man, not so funny considering that you were about eight
months old," returned his father with a smile. "We rented a rather
pretty cottage very near the spot where Mr. Winthrop, a year or so
later, built his bungalow. Your mother started off for a walk one
day with Bobby, and she walked too far; he was heavy for a baby,
and she should never have tried to carry him. But she did, and she
walked as far as the other end of the island before her strength
gave out. Then what do you suppose she did, Meg?"
Meg looked serious.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe she cried?"
"Mothers don't cry," said Twaddles in fine scorn. "Do they,
Daddy?"
"I cried," confessed Mother Blossom, smiling at the astonished
Twaddles. "I'll never forget how I felt--so far from home and with
a heavy, fretting baby in my arms. I just sat down on a rock and
cried. And Bobby cried with me."
The four little Blossoms were too amazed to speak. To think of
Mother crying!
"Pretty soon some one came along the road," Father Blossom went on
with the story, "and, of course, they saw Mother and Bobby crying.
This some one was a woman in a gray wrapper, pushing a baby
carriage in which were two little children and a great many
packages. The children were two boys about three and four years
old, and the woman was their mother. She said her name was Mrs.
Harley and that she lived about a quarter of a mile further on.
She was very good indeed to Mother--made her little boys get out
and walk and put Bobby in with the bundles. Then she helped Mother
as far as her house, gave her hot tea and some bread and butter,
and kept her until Mr. Harley came home. He had a rickety old
buggy and a shabby horse and he harnessed up and brought Mother
and Bobby home in great style."
"That was nice," said Meg with satisfaction. "Can we go and see
Mrs. Harley when we get to Apple Tree Island?"
"There is no Mrs. Harley there now," answered Father Blossom
almost sadly. "She came to see Mother several times that summer.
Mr. Harley was shiftless and easy going, but extremely fond of his
family. They lived in a shack, but they loved each other devotedly
and that, you know, is much better than having a fine house. Well,
Mother never went to Apple Tree Island again--you youngsters kept
her too busy. But I went nearly every year because I've always had
to look after some property there for an invalid friend of Aunt
Polly's. I never went that I didn't see the Harleys and carry them
some message or gift from Mother. Four years ago Mrs. Harley met
me with the news that her husband had disappeared."
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