A Little Florida Lady | Page 7

bird, added to the fascination trees had for her, was almost too much for so little a girl to resist. However, she put her fingers into her ears, and ran on. But, she did not escape temptation thus. Countless beds of roses, of geraniums, and of many other flowers tempted her to linger, and gather the fragrant blossoms, but, still she did not succumb, for there was greater beauty ahead. She beheld a lovely avenue formed of orange trees and red and white oleanders trimmed to a perfect archway. The winter had been a mild one. Not only did luscious ripe oranges cling to the trees, but green fruit was forming, and there was, also, a wealth of fragrant blossoms. The oleanders, too, were coming into bloom.
Beth stopped for a moment to draw in some of the wonderful fragrance that filled the air. No perfume is more delightful than that of orange blossoms in their native grove. The fruit, too, looks more tempting on the trees. The glistening green leaves are just the right setting for the golden yellow balls. Beth wished to stop and eat some of the fruit, but again she proved firm. She ran on and on under the shade of the archway that extended a quarter of a mile at the very least. She ran so fast that her breath shortened and her cheeks flamed.
At the end of the avenue was an arch of stone covered with climbing Cherokees spread in wild confusion. Beth did not stop to gather any of the pure, fragrant blossoms, for right in front of the arch was a wharf leading out on the beautiful St. Johns. The river was from one to two miles wide at this point. It glistened and rippled under the brilliant sunshine. As Beth ran out on the wharf, she thought she had never seen a sight more charming.
The wharf extended far out into the river, and near the end of it, Beth came suddenly upon a boy with a loaf of bread in his hand. She stopped undecided, and looked at the boy. He was, perhaps, three or four years older than Beth. His hair was as light as hers was dark. His eyes were blue, and his naturally fair skin was tanned. He looked up at Beth for an instant, and frowned.
"What are you doing here, little un? I don't like girls to bother me. Go away."
If there was one thing above another that made Beth's temper rise, it was to be called "little one," and to be twitted upon being a girl. She felt like making up a face at this boy, but, instead, she assumed as much dignity as she could command.
"I won't go away. This is my place. What are you doing here?"
The boy laughed incredulously. "Your place, indeed. The Marlowes own this place, and they are away. Good-bye."
This was too much for her. She stamped her foot in rage. "I won't go. My papa bought this place to-day."
He looked a little interested. "Indeed? What's your name?"
"Elizabeth Davenport;" she said 'Elizabeth' to be dignified, "and really my father owns the place."
"If what you say is so, I'd better go," he said somewhat sheepishly.
She relented. "Oh, I'll let you stay."
"I'm not sure I want to. I don't like girls. They're 'fraid-cats."
"I'm no 'fraid-cat," and her eyes snapped.
"How can you prove it, Elizabeth?"
"Don't call me that. I hate to be called Elizabeth."
"But you told me that was your name."
"Everybody calls me Beth. If you're nice, you may call me Beth."
"All right. How are you going to prove you're no 'fraid-cat, Eli--Beth?"
She pondered a moment. "'Fraid-cats cry when they're hurt, don't they?"
"Of course. So do girls."
"I don't cry when I'm hurt," and she looked triumphant as if that settled the matter. "Once when I was a little bit of a girl----"
"You're pretty small now."
"I'm a big girl, and you shouldn't interrupt. Well, once Marian----"
"Who's she?"
"She's my sister. Well, I wanted to light the gas, but Marian said I was too small, but I'd not listen. I jumped up on a rocker to light the gas. The chair rocked and, I fell against the windowsill. Marian screamed, 'Beth's killed. She's covered with blood!'"
"Were you really?"
"Yes." Beth felt she was arguing her case well. "Mamma thought I just had the nose bleed, but what do you s'pose? I had two mouths."
The boy's eyes grew big. "Two mouths--how jolly. How did it happen?"
"The window-sill had cut me right across here," she pointed to the space just below her nose. "The doctor took five stitches, and when it healed, took them out again. It hurt very much, but I didn't cry a bit."
"Didn't it leave a scar on your face?"
She threw back her head.
"There, do you see that little white line under my nose? You can hardly see