|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 13
"Was he drowned?" asked Twaddles fearfully.
"No, no one thought so," answered Father Blossom. "Mrs. Harley
said that he had been acting queerly all that Winter--that he
would go for days without speaking, and then fly into a rage if
any one asked him a question." "He was always so good to his
family," said Mother Blossom, smoothing Meg's hair absently. "He
must have been out of his mind, Ralph."
"I think so myself," agreed Father Blossom. "Anyway, Mrs. Harley
told me that one morning, a wet, cold day in March, he got up
before it was light, lit a fire in the kitchen stove and went out
of the house. They never saw him again. He had a rowboat and this
they found abandoned on the south shore of Sunset Lake, showing
that he must have rowed over to the mainland.
"The next summer, when I went to Apple Tree Island, I was told
that Mrs. Harley and the children had also disappeared," continued
Father Blossom. "She had gone, leaving no trace, and taking the
two little boys with her. I went to see the shack and she had left
it as neat as wax inside and not one scrap of paper anywhere to
give a clue as to what she intended to do."
"Polly saw her after that," Mother Blossom reminded him.
"Yes, that's so, she did," agreed Father Blossom. "She stopped
there one afternoon and Aunt Polly tried to keep her over night;
but she was anxious to begin her journey and would not even stay
to supper."
The hall clock struck eight.
"Oh, dear," sighed Dot. "Just as things get exciting we always
have to go to bed!"
"That's the whole story!" announced Father Blossom, pulling her
down into his lap for a kiss. "There's no more to tell, chicken,
if you should stay up till midnight to listen. No one knows what
became of the Harley family, and I believe their shack is slowly
falling to pieces. I haven't been to the Island for two summers--
not since Mrs. Harley went off, in fact. And now don't let Mother
have to tell you twice what time it is if you want to be invited
to ride in the front seat with me on the trip to Aunt Polly's."
"Wouldn't you like to know where they went?" sleepily murmured
Dot, toiling upstairs after Mother Blossom and Twaddles. "Wouldn't
you, Mother?"
"Very much," said Mother Blossom promptly. "Mrs. Harley was so
kind to me, always, and we liked the whole family. I only hope she
had relatives who could help her with the children."
The next morning Miss Florence came with her needle and thread in
the little leather case she always carried, and Dot, in the
importance of being fitted for a new frock, quite forgot to envy
Meg and Bobby, who hurried to school.
Father Blossom came home from the foundry early that afternoon,
and when Dot and Twaddles heard him tinkering in the garage, they
ran out to see what he was doing.
"What's the little gate for, Daddy?" asked Twaddles.
"To keep the suitcases on the running board," explained Father
Blossom, busy attaching the "gate" to the car.
"Don't we take a trunk?" Dot wanted to know, managing to tip over
the box of screws.
"We'll ship those by express," explained Father Blossom. "Look
out, Dot, you'll step in that can of grease next. What's that
hanging from you--here, turn around and let me see."
Sure enough, a long strip of white muslin was streaming from under
Dot's petticoat.
"Dear me," exclaimed that small person in surprise, "I guess
that's the petticoat Miss Florence basted a ruffle on. I must have
forgotten to take it off."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|