Lydia of the Pines | Page 8

'em over, now?"
"I don't know, child. The poor thing is dead now, anyhow. Folks is
always thoughtless about charity. Why I wasn't taught to sew, I don't
know. Anyhow, the bathing suits she got special for you two."
"You bet your life, I'm going to learn how to sew," said Lydia, rising to
untie the baby's bib. "I'm practising on Florence Dombey. Mother had
taught me straight seams and had just begun me on over and over,
when--"
"Over and over," repeated the baby, softly.
Lizzie put out a plump, toil-scarred hand and drew Lydia to her. "There,

dearie! Think about other things. What shall poor old Liz fix you for
lunch?"
The child rubbed her bright cheek against the old woman's faded one.
"You are a solid comfort to me, Lizzie," she said with a sigh. Then after
a moment she exclaimed, eagerly, "Oh! Lizzie, do you think we could
have a deviled egg? Is it too expensive?"
"You shall have a deviled egg if I have to steal it. But maybe you might
dust up the parlor a bit while I get things ready."
Lydia established little Patience on the dining-room floor with a linen
picture book, brought in a broom and dustpan from the kitchen and
began furiously to sweep the parlor. When the dust cleared somewhat
she emerged with the dustpan heaped with sweepings and the corners
of the room still untouched. She hung the coats and hats in the entry
and rubbed off the top of the table with her winter Tam o' Shanter, from
which the moths flew as she worked. She gazed thoughtfully at the
litter on the desk and decided against touching it. Then with a sense of
duty well done, she lifted little Patience and carried her up into the little
bedroom.
The bathing suits were pretty blue woolen things, and when the two
presented themselves to Lizzie in the kitchen the old woman exclaimed,
"Well, if ever I seen two fairies!"
"A thin one and a fat one," chuckled Lydia. "Push the baby carriage
down over the steps for me, Lizzie, and I'll prepare for our long, hard
voyage."
Patience was established in her perambulator with her linen picture
book. Florence Dombey was settled at her feet, with "Men of Iron."
The bits of cigar box and the knife packed in a pasteboard box were
tied to one edge of the carriage. Patience's milk, packed in a tin pail of
ice, was laid on top of "Men of Iron." The paper bag of lunch dangled
from the handle-bar and Lydia announced the preparations complete.
The way to the lake shore led under the maple trees for several blocks.

Then the board walk turned abruptly to cross a marsh, high-grown now
with ripening cat-tails. Having safely crossed the marsh, the walk
ended in a grass-grown path. Lydia trundled the heavy perambulator
with some difficulty along the path. The August sun was hot.
"'A life on the ocean wave--'"
she panted. "You are getting fat, baby!
'A home on the rolling deep. Where the scattered waters rave And the
winds their revels keep.'
Darn it, I wish I had a bicycle!"
"Ahoy there! Hard aport with your helm, mate!" came a shout from
behind her. A boy in a bright red bathing suit jumped off a bicycle.
"Hello, Kent!" said Lydia.
"Hello, yourself!" returned Kent. "Wait and I'll hitch to the front axle."
He untied a stout cord from his handle-bars and proceeded to fasten it
from his saddle post to the perambulator. Lydia watched him with a
glowing face. She was devoted to Kent, although they quarreled a great
deal. He was a handsome boy, two years Lydia's senior; not tall for his
years, but already broad and sturdy, with crinkly black hair and clear,
black-lashed brown eyes. His face was round and ruddy under its
summer tan. His lips were full and strong--an aggressive, jolly boy,
with a quick temper and a generous heart. He and Lydia had been
friends since kindergarten days.
"I'm going to stay in the Willows all day," said Lydia. "Don't go too
fast, Kent."
"Dit-up! Dit-up, horsy!" screamed little Patience.
"Toot! Toot! Express for the Willows!" shouted Kent, mounting his
wheel, and the procession was off, the perambulator bounding madly
after the bicycle, while Patience shouted with delight and Lydia clung

desperately to the handle-bars.
The path, after a few moments, shifted to the lake shore. The water
there lapped quietly on a sandy beach, deep shaded by willows. Kent
dismounted.
"Discharge your cargo!" he cried.
"Don't be so bossy," said Lydia. "This is my party."
"All right, then I won't play with you."
"Nobody asked you to, smarty. I was going to give you my deviled egg
for lunch."
"Gosh," said Kent, "did you bring your