Chapter 5

"Don't whip me," he pleaded in a trembling voice. "Don't whip me, teacher; and I'll give you f-i-v-e thousand dollars!"

As he offered this modest sum to save himself from her wrath, the little teacher nearly laughed aloud, Henry did not know it, however; her face was hidden behind a book.

"What made you think, you silly boy, that I was going to punish you?" she asked as soon as she could find her voice. "Have you done something wicked?"

She spoke in a low tone for his ear alone, but he writhed under it as if it had been a blow.

"I--don'--know."

"He is the thief," thought Kyzie. "Oh, Henry, if you've done something wrong you must know it. Tell me what it was."

"I--can't!"

She put her lips nearer his ear. "Was it you and Joseph Rolfe together? Perhaps you _both_ did something wicked?"

"I--don'--know."

"Was it last Friday?"

"I--don'--know!"

"Will you tell me after school?"

Henry was unable to answer. Worn out with contending emotions he put his head down on the seat and cried.

This did not seem like innocence. Joseph Rolfe was looking on from across the aisle, as if he wished very much to know what she and Henry were talking about.

"I'll make them tell me the whole story, the wicked boys," thought Kyzie, indignantly. "But I can't hurry about it; I must be very careful. I think I'll wait till to-morrow."

So she calmed herself and called out her classes. Katharine was a "golden girl," and had a strong sense of justice. She would say nothing yet to her father, for the boys might possibly be innocent; still she went home that afternoon feeling that she had almost made a discovery.

"Good evening, Grandmother Graymouse," said Uncle James, as they were all seated on the veranda after dinner, "do I understand that you are hunting for a watch?"

"I'm hunting for it, oh, yes," replied Kyzie, trying not to look too triumphant; "but I haven't found it yet. Just wait till to-morrow, Uncle James."

"I don't believe we'll wait another minute!" declared Mr. Sanford, looking around with a roguish smile. "I see the Dunlee people are all here, Jimmum, Lucy, and all. Attention, my friends! The thief has been found!"

"What thief?" asked Mrs. Hale and Mrs. Dunlee.

"Why, _the_ thief! The one we're looking for! The one that stole the watch!"

"Do you really mean it?" asked the ladies again. "Did he bring it back?"

"Come and see," said Uncle James, leading the way upstairs.

"Of course it's Joe Rolfe," thought Kyzie. "I suppose he was frightened by what I said to Henry Small."

"Is the thief in your room, Uncle James?" said Jimmy. "Why didn't you put him in jail?"

"Ah, Jimmum, do you think all thieves ought to go to jail? I once knew a little boy who stole a chimney right off a house; yet I never heard a word said about putting _him_ in jail!

"But here we are at the chamber door. Stand behind me, all of you, in single file."

X

THE THIEF FOUND

"I don't know so much as I thought I did," said Kyzie to herself. "Joe Rolfe wouldn't be in this room."

For Uncle James was knocking at the door of Number Five.

"Walk right in," said Mrs. McQuilken, coming to meet her guests. She had her knitting in one hand. "Come in, all of you. Why, Mr. Templeton, are you here too? You wouldn't have taken me into your house if you'd known I was a thief; now would you, Mr. Templeton?"

And laughing, she put her right hand in her apron pocket and drew out a gold watch and chain.

"If this belongs to anybody present, let him step up and claim his property."

Mr. Dunlee came forward in amazement, while Jimmy gave a little squeal of delight.

"This is mine, thank you, madam," said Mr. Dunlee, looking at the watch closely. It seemed very much battered.

"Dreadfully smashed up, isn't it, sir? I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Mr. Dunlee shook it, and held it to his ear.

"Oh, it won't go," said Mrs. McQuilken. "The inside seems worse off, if anything, than the outside. 'Twill have to have new works."

"Very likely. But it is so precious to me, madam, that even in this condition I'm glad to get it back again. Pray, where has it been?"

"Right here in this room. Didn't you understand me to confess to stealing it? Why, you're shaking your head as if you doubted my word."

They were all laughing now, and the old lady's eyes twinkled with fun.

"Well, if I didn't steal it myself, one of my family did, so it amounts to the same thing. Come out here, you unprincipled girl, and beg the gentleman's pardon," she added, kneeling and dragging forth from under the bed a beautiful bird.

It was her own magpie, chattering and scolding.

"Now tell the gentleman who stole his watch? Speak up loud and clear!"

The bird flapped her wings, and cawed out very crossly:--

"Mag! Mag! Mag!"

"Hear her! Hear that!" cried her mistress. "So you did steal it, Mag--I'm glad to hear you tell the truth for once in your life."

"Did she take the watch? Did she really and truly?" cried the children in chorus.

"To be sure she did, the bad girl. She has done such things before, and I have always found her out; but this time she was too sly for me. She went and put it in my mending-basket; and who would have thought of looking for it there?"

Mag tipped her head to one side saucily, and kept muttering to herself.

"Well, I happened to go to the basket this afternoon and take up a pair of stockings to mend. They felt amazingly heavy. There was a hard wad in them, and I wondered what it could be. I put in my hand and pulled out the watch. Yes, 'twas tucked right into the stockings."

"I wonder we didn't any of us mistrust her at the time of it," said Mr. Templeton; "those magpies are dreadful thieves."

"Well, I suppose you thought 'twas my business to take care of her, and it was. I'm ashamed of myself," said Mrs. McQuilken. "I was looking out of the window when the boys shied over that roof, but my mind wasn't on jewelry then. All I thought of was to run and call for help."

Yes, and it was her screams which had aroused the whole neighborhood.

"And at that very time my Mag was roaming at large. No doubt she saw the watch the moment it fell; and to use your expression, Mr. Templeton, she jumped at it like a dolphin at a silver spoon."

The landlord laughed. "But the mystery is," said he, "how she got back to the house without being seen. She must have been pretty spry."

"O Mag, Mag, to think I never once thought to look after you!" exclaimed Mrs. McQuilken, penitently.

The bird was scolding all the while, and running about with short, jerky movements, trying her best to get out of the room; but the door was closed.

"Pretty thing," said Edith. "What a shame she should be a thief!"

"She is pretty, now isn't she?" returned her mistress, fondly. "My husband brought her from China. You don't often see a Chinese magpie, with blue plumage,--cobalt blue."

"She's a perfect oddity," said Mrs. Hale. "See those two centre tail-feathers, so very long, barred with black and tipped with white."

"Yes," said Mr. Dunlee, "and the red bill and red legs. She's a brilliant creature, Mrs. McQuilken."

"Well, you'll try to forgive her, won't you, sir? I mean to bring her up as well as I know how; but what are you going to do with a girl that can't sense the ten commandments?"

"What indeed!" laughed Mr. Dunlee.

"You see she's naturally light-fingered. Yes, you are, Mag, you needn't deny it. Those red claws of yours are just pickers and stealers."

Here Edith called attention to Mag's nest on the wall, and they all admired it; and Mrs. McQuilken said the canary liked to have Mag near him at night, he was apt to be lonesome.

"I wish you'd come in the daytime," said she. "Come any and all of you, and hear him sing. He does sing so sweetly, poor blind thing; it's as good as a sermon to hear him."

On leaving Mrs. McQuilken the children went to Aunt Vi's room and Jimmy kept repeating joyously:--

"We've found the watch, we've found the watch!"

"Yes," said Aunt Vi; "but what a wreck it is! Your papa will have to spend a deal of money in repairing it."

"Too bad!" said Lucy, "I 'spect 'twould cost him cheaper to buy a new one."

"'Twouldn't cost him so much; that's what you mean," corrected Jimmy. "But I'm going to pay for mending it anyway."

"How can you?" asked Kyzie. "All you have is just your tin box with silver in it."

"Well, but don't I keep having presents? And can't I ask folks to stop giving me toys and books and give me money? And they'll do it every time."

"But that would be begging."

Jimmy's face fell. Yes, on the whole it did seem like begging. He had not thought of that.

"Why can't it ever snow in this country?" he exclaimed suddenly. "Then I could shovel it. That's the way boys make money 'back East'"

Then after a pause he burst forth again, "Or, I might pick berries--if there were any berries!"

"It's not so very easy for little boys to earn money; is it, dear?" said Aunt Vi, putting her arm around her young nephew and drawing him toward her. "But when they've done wrong--you still think you did wrong, don't you, Jimmy?"

"He knows he did," broke in Lucy. "My papa lent me the watch."

"She wasn't talking to you," remonstrated Jimmy. "Yes, auntie, I did wrong; but Lucy needn't twit me of it! I won't be _characteristic_ any more as long as I live."

Aunt Vi smiled and patted his head lovingly.

"No, dear, I think you'll be more thoughtful in future. But now let us try to think what can be done to pay for the watch."

"I'll let him have some of the money I get for teaching. I always meant to," said Kyzie.

"Very kind of you," returned Aunt Vi; "but we'll not take it if we can help it, will we, Jimmy? I've been thinking it over for some days, children; and a little plan has occurred to me. Would you like to know what it is?"

They all looked interested. If Aunt Vi had a plan, it was sure to be worth hearing.

"It is this: mightn't we get up some entertainments,--good ones that would be worth paying for?"

"And sell the tickets? Oh, auntie, that's just the thing! That's capital!" cried Edith and Kyzie. "You'd do it beautifully."

"I'm not so sure of that, girls. But we might join together and act a little play that I've been writing; that is, we might try. What have you to say, Jimmy? Could you help?"

"I don't know. I can't speak pieces worth a cent," replied the boy, writhing and shuffling his feet. "Look here!" he said, brightening. "Don't you want some nails driven? I can do that first rate."

Aunt Vi laughed and said nails might be needed in putting up a staging, and she was sure that he could use a hammer better than she could.

Jimmy-boy, much gratified, struck an attitude, and pounding his left palm with his thumb, repeated the rhyme:--

"Drive the nail straight, boys, Hit it on the head; Work with your might, boys, Ere the day has fled."

"There, he can speak, I knew he could speak!" cried Lucy, in admiration.

It was settled that they were all to meet Wednesday morning, and their mother with them, to talk over the matter.

"That's great," said Jimmy.

The watch was found and the world looked bright once more. True, he was deeply in debt; but with such a grand helper as Aunt Vi he was sure the debt would very soon be paid.

XI

BEGGING PARDON

Next morning Jimmy walked to school with "the little two," whistling as he went. Lucy had tortured her hair into a "cue," and

"The happy wind upon her played, Blowing the ringlet from the braid."

"I've got the snarling-est, flying-est hair," scolded she. "I never'll braid it again as long as I live; so there!"

"Good!" cried Jimmy. "It has looked like fury ever since we came up here."

Here Nate overtook the children. He had not been very social since the accident, but seemed now to want to talk.

"How do you do, Jimmy?" he said: and Jimmy responded, "How d'ye do yourself?"

The little girls ran on in advance, and Jimmy would have joined them, but Nate said:---

"Hold on! What's your hurry?"

Jimmy turned then and saw that Nate was scowling and twisting his watch-chain.

"I've got something to say to you--I mean papa wants me to say something."

"Oh ho!"

"I don't see any need of it, but papa says I must."

Jimmy waited, curious to hear what was coming.

"Papa says I jollied you the other day."

"What's that?"

"Why, fooled you."

"So you did, Nate Pollard, and 'twas awful mean."

"It wasn't either. What made you climb that ridge-pole? You needn't have done it just because I did. But papa says I've got to--to--ask your pardon."

"H'm! I should think you'd better! Tore my clothes to pieces. Smashed a gold watch."

"You hadn't any business taking that watch."

There was a pause.

"Look here, Jimmy Dunlee, why don't you speak?"

"Haven't anything to say."

"Can't you say, 'I forgive you'?"

"Of course I can't. You never asked me."

"Well, I ask you now. James S. Dunlee, will--you--forgive me?"

"H'm! I suppose I'll have to," replied Jimmy, firing a pebble at nothing in particular. "I forgive you all right because we've found the watch. If we hadn't found it, I wouldn't! But don't you 'jolly' me again, Nate Pollard, or you'll catch it!"

This did not sound very forgiving; but neither had Nate's remark sounded very penitent. Nate smiled good-naturedly and seemed satisfied. The fact was, he and Jimmy were both of them trying, after the manner of boys, to hide their real feelings. Nate knew that his conduct had been very shabby and contemptible, and he was ashamed of it, but did not like to say so. Jimmy, for his part, was glad to make up, but did not wish to seem too glad.

Then they each tried to think of something else to say. They were fully agreed that they had talked long enough about their foolish quarrel and would never allude to it again.

"Glad that watch has come," said Nate.

"So am I. It has come, but it won't _go_," said Jimmy. And they laughed as if this were a great joke.

Next Jimmy inquired about "the colonel," and Nate asked: "What colonel? Oh, you mean the mining engineer. He'll be here next week with his men."

By this time the boys were feeling so friendly that Jimmy asked Nate to go with him before school next morning to see the knitting-woman's pets and hear the blind canary sing.

"Do you suppose the magpie will be there?" returned Nate. "I want to catch her some time and wring her old neck."

"Wish you would," said Jimmy. "Hello, there's Chicken Little crying again. He's more of a baby than our Eddo."

Henry was crying now because Dave Blake had called him a coward. So very, very unjust! He stood near the schoolhouse door, wiping his eyes on his checked apron and saying:--

"I'll go tell the teacher, Dave Blake!"

"Well, go along and tell her then. Fie, for shame!"

Henry, a feeble, petted child, was always falling into trouble and always threatening to tell the teacher. Kyzie considered him very tiresome; but to-day when he came to her with his tale of woe, she listened patiently, because she had done him a wrong and wished to atone for it. She had "really and truly" suspected this simple child of a crime! He would not take so much as a pin without leave; neither would Joseph Rolfe. Yet in her heart she had been accusing these innocent children of stealing her father's watch!

"Miserable me!" thought Kyzie. "I must be very good to both of them now, to make up for my dreadful injustice!"

She went to Joe and sweetly offered to lend him her knife to whittle his lead pencil. He looked surprised. He did not know she had ever wronged him in her heart.

She wiped Henry's eyes on her own pocket handkerchief.

"Poor little cry-baby!" thought she. "I told my mother I would try to make a man of him, and now I mean to begin."

She walked part of the way home with him that afternoon. He considered it a great honor. She looked like a little girl, but her wish to help the child made her feel quite grown-up and very wise.

"Henry," said she, "how nice you look when you are not crying. Why, now you're smiling, and you look like a darling!"

He laughed.

"There! laugh again. I want to tell you something, Henry. You'd be a great deal happier if you didn't cry so much; do you know it?"

"Well, Miss Dunlee,"--Kyzie liked extremely to be called Miss Dunlee,--"well, Miss Dunlee, you see, the boys keep a-plaguing me. And when they plague me I have to cry."

"Oh, fie, don't you do it! If I were a little black-eyed boy about your age I'd laugh, and I'd say to those boys: 'You needn't try to plague me; you just can't do it. The more you try, the more I'll laugh.'"

Henry's eyes opened wide in surprise, and he laughed before he knew it.

"There! that's the way, Henry. If you do that they'll stop right off. There's no fun in plaguing a little boy that laughs."

Henry laughed again and threw back his shoulders. Why, this was something new. This wasn't the way his mamma talked to him. She always said, "Mamma's boy is sick and mustn't be plagued."

"Another thing," went on the little girl, pleased to see that her words had had some effect; "whatever else you may do, Henry, _don't_ 'run and tell,' Do you suppose George Washington ever crept along to his teacher, rubbing his eyes this way on his jacket sleeve, and said 'Miss Dunlee--ah, the boys have been a-making fun of me--ah! They called me names, they did!'"

Henry dropped his chin into his neck.

"Never mind! You're a good little boy, after all. _You_ wouldn't steal anything, would you, Henry?"

This sudden question was naturally rather startling. He had no answer ready.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't! But sometimes little _birds_ steal. Did you hear that a magpie stole a watch the other day?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Well, here's some candy for you, Henry."

The boy held out his hand eagerly, though looking rather bewildered. Was the candy given because George Washington didn't "run and tell"? Or because magpies steal watches?

"Now, good night, Henry, and don't forget what: I've been saying to you."

Henry walked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, but enjoying the candy nevertheless. If his pretty teacher didn't want him to tell tales, he wouldn't do it any more. He would act just like George Washington; and then how would the big boys feel?

He did not forget his resolve. Next morning when Dave Blake ran out his tongue at him and Joe Rolfe said, "Got any chickens to sell?" he laughed with all his might, just to see how it would seem. Both the boys stared; they didn't understand it. "Hello, Chicken Little, what's the matter with you?"

Henry could see the eyes of his young teacher twinkling from between the slats of the window-blinds, and he spoke up with a courage quite unheard-of:--

"Nothing's the matter with _me!_"

"Hear that chicken," cried Joe Rolfe. "He's beginning to crow!"

Henry felt the tears starting; but as Miss Katharine at that moment opened the blind far enough to shake her finger at him privately he thought better of it, and faltered out:--

"See here, boys, I like to be called Chicken Little first rate! Say it again. Say it fi-ive thousand times if you want to!"

"Oh, you're too willing," said Joe. "We'll try it some other time when you get over being so willing!"

The bell rang; it sounded to Henry like a peal of joy. He walked in in triumph, and as he passed by the little teacher she patted him on the head. She did not need to wipe his eyes with her handkerchief, there were no tears to be seen. He was not a brave boy yet by any means, but he had made a beginning; yes, that very morning he had made a beginning.

"Don't you tease Henry Small any more, I don't like it at all," said Katharine to Joseph Rolfe.

And then she slipped a paper of choice candy into Joe's hand, charging him "not to eat it in school, now remember." It was a queer thing to do; but then this was a queer school; and besides Kyzie had her own reasons for thinking she ought to be very kind to Joe.

"How silly I was to suspect those little boys! I'm afraid I never shall have much judgment. Still, on the whole, I believe I'm doing pretty well," thought she, looking proudly at Henry Small's bright face, and remembering too how Mr. Pollard had told her that very morning that his son Nate was learning more arithmetic at her little school than he had ever learned in the city schools. "Oh, I'm so glad," mused the little teacher.

Mrs. Dunlee thought Kyzie did not get time enough for play. And just now the little girl was unusually busy. They were talking at home of the new entertainment to be given for Jimmy-boy's benefit, and she was to act a part in it as well as Edith. It was "Jimmy's play," but Jimmy was not to appear in it at all. Kyzie and Edith together were to print the tickets with a pen. The white pasteboard had been cut into strips for this purpose; but as it was not decided yet whether the play would be enacted on the tailings or in the schoolhouse, the young printers had got no farther than to print these words very neatly at the bottom of the tickets:

"ADMIT THE BEARER."

XII

"THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM'S EARTHQUAKE"

There were only ten days in which to prepare for the play called "Granny's Quilting." The children met Wednesday morning in Aunt Vi's room, all but Bab, who was off riding. So unfortunate, Lucy thought; for how could any plans be made without Bab?

The play was very old-fashioned, requiring four people, all clad in the style of one hundred and fifty years ago. Uncle James would wear a gray wig and "small clothes" and personate "Grandsir Whalen"; Kyzie Dunlee, Grandsir's old wife, in white cap, "short gown," and petticoat, was to be "Granny Whalen" of course.

A grandson and granddaughter were needed for this aged couple. Edith would make a lovely granddaughter and pretend to spin flax. Who would play the grandson and shell the corn? Jimmy thought Nate Pollard was just the one, he was "so good at speaking pieces." They decided to ask Nate at once, and have that matter settled.

Aunt Vi showed a collection of articles which "the knitting-woman" had kindly offered for their use; a three-legged light stand, two fiddle-backed chairs, and a very old hour-glass.

"I should call it a pair of glasses," said Edith, as they watched the sand drip slowly from one glass into the other.

Aunt Vi said it took exactly an hour for it to drain out, and our forefathers used to tell the time of day by hour-glasses before clocks were invented.

"What _are_ forefathers?" Lucy asked Edith.

"Oh, Adam and Eve and all those old people," was the careless reply.

"And didn't they have any clocks?"

"Of course not. What do you suppose?"

There was a knock at the door. Nate had come to find Jimmy and go with him to see the blind canary.

"We were just talking about you," said Aunt Vi. "Are you willing to be Katharine's grandson in the play?"

Nate replied laughing that he would do whatever was wanted of him, and he could send home and get some knee-buckles and a cocked hat.

Aunt Vi said "Capital!" and gave Jimmy a look which said, "Everything seems to be going on famously for our new play."

Jimmy led the way to Mrs. McQuilken's room, his face wreathed with smiles.

"Ah, good morning; how do you all do?" said the lady, meeting the children with courteous smiles. "I see you've brought your kitten, Edith."

"Yes, ma'am; will you please look at her wounds again?"

"They are pretty well healed, dear. I've never felt much concerned about Zee's wounds. She makes believe half of her sufferings for the sake of being petted."

"Does she, though? I'm so glad."

"Yes; that 'prize tail' will soon be waving as proudly as ever. But I suppose you all came to see the canary. Mag, you naughty girl," she added, turning to the magpie, "hide under the bed. They didn't come to see you. Here, Job, you are the one that's wanted."

Little Job, the canary, was standing on the rug. He came forward now to greet his visitors, putting out a foot to feel his way, like a blind man with a cane. Then he began to sing joyously.