Chapter FOUR: Cubby’s Adventure

It looked as if the fairies had been at work, for there under the spreading willow-tree were five tiny tents, each big enough to hold a family of dolls with comfort.

With cries of delight, all four friends and Cubby danced round and round, exclaiming: “Where did you get them? Aren’t they cunning?”

While the children were enthusing, Grandma, Mother, and Aunt Elsie settled themselves comfortably with their embroidery, and smiled at the children’s raptures.

“Do you like them?” asked Aunt Elsie.

“Indeed we do. We never saw dolls’ tents before,” chorused the girls.

“I know you’re ’mused about something by the ’spression around your mouth, Aunt Elsie. Please be a dear good auntie, and stop teasing us and tell us where you got them?” implored Wiggles, dancing up and down in her excitement.

“Yes, pretty please,” begged Jeannette. “You have a wicked twinkle in your eyes.”

“Oh, oh, let me see it!” demanded Cubby, approaching on a run, and peering at her aunt’s eyes with interest. “Does it hurt you, Aunt Elsie?”

“Does what hurt?” asked Aunt Elsie, catching up the wee bear to give her a hug and a kiss.

“The--the thing that Jet said was in your eye. You know, the ‘squinkle,’” explained Cubby, hunting through her mind for the word and bringing it out triumphantly.

“Oh, oh, Mother, she thinks it’s something like having a cinder in the eye,” shrieked Wiggles, much amused.

Cubby was much offended by the mirth her remark caused. She hated to be laughed at by the older girls. “It’s not polite to laugh,” she told them with dignity, her very curls bristling with indignation. “You just wait till you’re a itty bit of a gurrl and I’m a big grown-up lady, and then see how you feel when I laugh at your ‘steaks.’”

“So you shall,” replied Wiggles good-naturedly. “You shall look at me like this,” and she gave a condescending glance down toward her feet. “And you may laugh at my ‘steaks’ as much as you want,--and my chops, too,” she finished with a giggle.

“And what will you do?” asked Cubby breathlessly, all dignity gone before this absorbing by-play.

“Oh, I’ll shrink, and shrink, beneath your withering stare, until I shrivel up like a dried leaf, and blow away. Now Auntie, do tell us where you got the tents.”

“Well, those ‘disgustable’ boys made the framework,” replied Aunt Elsie demurely, “and Mother and I made the cotton squares to cover them. We thought your dolls might enjoy tenting for a change.”

“I’ll never call those boys ‘disgustable’ again,” puffed Wiggles, rushing back and forth like a busy little beaver, and carrying dolls’ furniture and dishes with which to arrange the tents. “They’re just perfect pets,” she finished.

It was to be doubted as to whether or not the boys would have enjoyed being called “pets.” Perhaps it was just as well that they did not hear.

“It’s the loveliest picnic that I ever saw,” declared Alice positively, arranging a tiny bed with covers and pillows. “Let’s pretend that this is a girls’ camp on a big lake.”

The idea was seized with enthusiasm, and Jeannette rushed to get the “invalids,” who were still resting on their mossy beds.

“They are here for their health,” she announced importantly, “as their doctor told them they needed to go to a health resort.”

“What shall we name the camp?” demanded Marion, arranging a table, out on the mossy “lawn,” with tiny dishes and cups. “They must eat out-of-doors, for that’s the way they do at Maine camps.”

Marion had spent part of one summer in the Maine woods, and so the children considered her an authority on camping.

“Pine Grove,” suggested Jeannette. “Oh, I forgot there aren’t any pines near by.”

“Pebbly Brook Camp,” suggested Wiggles, which was declared just the thing.

“It seems to me,” said Mother, who had been watching the camp with much interest, “that you need some hammocks out under your trees. Don’t your dolls enjoy swinging?”

“Oh,” said Marion earnestly, “we had lots and lots of hammocks when we were at camp in Maine, but I don’t see how we could fix any here.”

“How would these do?” asked Mother, holding up the cunningest little cocoon-shaped hammocks that she had been busy making from scraps of muslin and string. “Cubby, you rascal, what have you done with my scissors and thread? Somebody rescue them. Quick, catch her!”

The advice came too late. Splash, splash, went the scissors into the brook, and Wiggles rescued them with difficulty by going out on the stepping-stones and teetering there while she fished for them. Of course she fell in. If there was an inch of water, Wiggles always landed in it. So off had to come the pink gingham dress and be hung on the bushes to dry, while, wrapped in an old apron which, fortunately, Grandma had brought to protect her dress while dishing out ice-cream, Wiggles serenely went back to her play, unmindful of the funny spectacle she made, wound about in a lavender percale apron, fastened with safety-pins.

The hammocks were hung before fleur-de-lys plants, and the campers greatly enjoyed using them. Ting-a-ling-a-ling rang Alice, using the bell on Boots’ collar for a dinner-bell, and causing him to open one indignant eye at being so rudely disturbed. “Come to the camp dinner.” So all the campers in swimming, and those boating or comfortably resting in hammocks, hurried out to the dinner-table, and partook of violet soup, sweet-grass salad, chocolate,--made by mixing mud and water,--and many other such delicacies. Then trays were made from big leaves and carried to the two invalids, who were now allowed to recline in the hammocks under the “trees.”

“Gracious,” said Alice, looking at her prize clock that was wagging its pendulum merrily, “it’s almost time for them to go fishing or the fish won’t bite.” So, making rods from pieces of twig, to which were fastened bits of thread from Mother’s embroidery bag, the doll-families hastened to the river to catch a fish for dinner.

“My Clementine,” said Jeannette, naming the invalid doll, “feels that a bit of fresh salmon with egg sauce would tempt her appetite for dinner.”

“So does Muriel,” declared Alice, tenderly tucking the poor child under a heavy quilt. “She feels very low, and I think salmon is the only thing that will save her. She’s getting worse and worse by the minute.”

“Put hot-water bags at her head, and ice-bags at her feet,” ordered Dr. Jeannette Eaton hastily; “and I’ll catch a salmon and she may eat it all for dinner.”

“Is your poor itty dolly derry derry sick?” asked Cubby, making a grieved lip and unwinding yards of Mother’s white cotton in her earnestness.

“She’ll be better soon,” said Wiggles cheerfully. “She has the ‘epizoodic’ and needs a specialist’s care. Don’t you want to play with us, and with your cunning little tent?”

“No,” replied Evelyn positively. “I wants to pick some booful flowers up dere,” pointing with a dimpled finger at the vivid azalea bushes at the edge of the woods where they had eaten their luncheon.

“All right, Baby,” said Mother; “you pick me a big bunch of flowers, only don’t go any farther away than where we had our lunch.”

So Cubby scurried off in delight, and the other children dropped dolls and fishing-lines when told by Aunt Elsie to choose a turtle apiece from the stream for a turtle race.

“What’s a turtle race?” demanded the children in a breath, pelting down the bank in search of the turtles that inhabited the crystal-clear brook.

“I just know it will be fun,” said Alice happily, bearing her dripping captive toward Aunt Elsie. “What shall I do with this, now that I have it?”

“Put it on the ‘race-track,’” replied Aunt Elsie, laughing at the curiosity shown in each eager face, as she pointed to a space on the ground marked with two chalk-lines.

“Are these race-horses?” inquired Jeannette, much diverted at this novel idea. “Mine’s a blue-ribbon racer, named ‘Rubber,’ and he’s a long-distance champion.”

“Mine is ‘petty-greed,’” announced Wiggles, who hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about. “His name is ‘Elastic,’ and he’s won fourteen gold cups, all hand-engraved.”

“My, he is some racer,” laughed Grandma. “What is the name of your race-turtle, Marion?”

Marion placed her pet gingerly on the ground. “Let me see,” she said undecidedly. “His name is ‘Marmaduke,’ and his picture appears in all the best papers and magazines. He’s particularly noted for his speed, and has been nicknamed ‘Lightning.’”

“He looks it,” giggled Alice. “My turtle’s name is ‘Whiz.’ Note his jaunty air and his speaking countenance. He’s a high jumper, and is confident of victory in this race.”

“On the line,” said Aunt Elsie, “ready, set,--go!”

It was the funniest race of all. Wiggle’s turtle absolutely refused to move at all, and Alice’s racer strayed far from the track. So Aunt Elsie declared that Marion’s “Marmaduke” was the winner of the first prize, with “Rubber” a close second. And after the “race-horses” had been returned to the stream, two more interesting tissue-paper packages appeared, and were unwrapped with many “ohs” and “ahs” of delight.

Jeannette received a carpet-sweeper not much bigger than her little finger, while Marion beamed with pleasure at beholding a tiny doll-carriage, so small that it sat on the palm of her hand, and held with comfort the “littlest camper.”

“Isn’t it just too scrumptious to think each one of us won a prize?” smiled Wiggles. “Now we can fix up our doll-houses, and all the dolls may take music-lessons on my little piano.”

Cubby had appeared several times among the azalea bushes with her chubby hands full of blossoms, and had brought down a few for Grandma before returning for a “dreat big bunch.” Being of a venturesome disposition, she started on an exploring trip by herself, dragging after her Auntie’s scarlet “payasol,” as she called Aunt Elsie’s sunshade, for which she cherished a deep affection.

There were so many things to look at as she trudged along. It was so exciting to chase the yellow butterflies, and dart after the sleek gray squirrels that kept chattering at her from the tree-tops.

“’Spect those ‘quirls’ are glad to see me,” she murmured to herself as she wandered farther and farther away on her quick little feet into the meadows on the other side of the grove, where she had a faint recollection of finding some wild strawberries one day when walking with her daddy.

Naughty little Cubby. Well enough she knew that Mother and the rest believed her safely gathering wild blossoms; but she said to herself, “I wants to pick some ‘trawberries’ for my dear ‘Mayma’ (Grandma).” Over the shallow brook and through the pasture-bars she crept, pulling Auntie’s sunshade along behind her.

“Sun’s hot,” said she aloud, mopping off her flushed face with the hem of her frock. “Dess I’ll put the booful payasol over me.”

Strange to relate, her strong little fingers actually snapped it into place, and much pleased with herself, and nearly hidden by its scarlet folds, she trotted on. Finding a few strawberries, she decided they were so good that she would eat them herself, wiping the red stains on her clean white frock, and adding a few smears to her rosy face. “Muvver’ll be s’prised,” she tried to soothe her uneasy conscience, “when she sees my ‘trawberries.’” She fully expected to pick many more to take back with her, but they proved so tempting that she quickly popped each one into her own eager mouth as soon as plucked.

Now Farmer Brown owned the meadow where she had wandered, and in it, as grown-ups could well see, by the big signs fastened to the trees, was a big savage bull.

Little cared Cubby for boards with “Beware of the Bull” on them. She was too small to read, anyway, and so she puffed along under the big parasol, getting nearer and nearer the vicious animal.

“Just like a lady, I is,” she said to herself, tossing her curls with glee. “Wish somebody could see me with this booful big payasol over me. Guess Billy wouldn’t say then, ‘Look at itty Miss Snippets under my feets.’ No indeedy. He’d think, ‘My, what a dreat big gurrl is a-coming along; must be Jet.’” “Jet” was the nearest that Cubby could get to “Jeannette.” “Then my Pampa and Mayma (Grandpa and Grandma) wouldn’t say, ‘If here isn’t babykins.’”--For it was a sad blow to the little one to be so much younger than her greatly admired sisters, and she always wanted to tag along with them, and do everything they did, regardless of the difference in age.

But no one was in sight to admire the vain baby, until under a gnarled apple-tree Cubby spied the bull.

“There,” said she with pleasure, “is a nice bossy cow. Guess I’ll show bossy my payasol.”

Nearer and nearer she crept, singing “Hey! diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon,” and wondering in her baby mind if this could be the very cow that jumped.

“See my booful red payasol, bossy,” she murmured sweetly, poking the sunshade under the bull’s nose.

It was lucky for wee Evelyn that she sang, for the clear sweet voice attracted the attention of a young man, who, fishing-rod in hand, was just passing the pasture-bars. What he heard was Cubby saying, “Bossy, pretty bossy, just look at my booful red payasol,” and then he saw the golden-haired baby wave a brilliant scarlet sunshade before the infuriated bull.

How Robert Burnett ever leaped the pasture-bars and seized the indignant child, he does not remember. Fortunately she dropped the parasol and it flew in the bull’s face, or else I guess the wee Cubby bear would have been gored to death.

Back under the willow-tree the turtle-race had proved so absorbing that Cubby’s continued absence had not been noticed, until several calls had failed to bring the usual response. At first they all thought that she was mischievously playing hide-and-seek, but when no baby could be found, a search began in earnest, and the entire picnic-party arrived at the pasture-bars in time to see the rescue.

It was a white and trembling young man that placed an angry youngster in Mother’s arms, for all Cubby would say was, “My booful payasol, all lost!”

“Oh, my baby, my baby!” cried Mother and Grandma in a breath, while Aunt Elsie cried as she looked in the field and saw the wreck of what had once been a parasol, and thought of what might have happened to the wee bear.

Of course they could not even begin to thank Mr. Burnett, and he was cordially invited to dinner that evening, where Daddy and all the others tried to tell him a little of their appreciation, and thank him over and over for their darling’s life.

Cubby was the calmest of them all, but absolutely refused to make friends with her rescuer, associating him in her mind with the loss of her beloved sunshade, and the scolding she had received for running away.

“Hasn’t it been the greatest day?” said Wiggles, as she consumed enormous quantities of bread and butter. “First, we had such a lovely time, and then we had such a scary time. Why, it was like a thrilling movie, where the hero rescues somebody.”

They all shouted at Wiggles’ description, although Mr. Burnett blushed.

“You do me too much honor, Miss Wiggles,” he said gravely. “Never in my wildest dreams have I imagined being compared to a moving-picture hero.”

“Well,” said Polly Wiggles honestly, “you’re so tall, you do look something like one. Only it ought to have been Aunt Elsie you rescued instead of Cubby, ’cause she’s a young lady, and then you could have married her and I would have been flower-girl at the wedding, just like they do in the movies,” she finished in one breath.

“And I don’t see,” she told Jet indignantly, as they were busy undressing for bed a few minutes later, “why they rushed us off to bed in such a hurry. Do you?”