The Outdoor Girls of Deepdale | Page 6

hips, and with skirts that so circumscribe the steps that fast walking is impossible, Grace fitted in perfectly. She was artistically tall and slender, which fact none knew better than she herself.
But Grace was not vain. She did pose at times, but it was done naturally and without undue thought. She just could not help it.
Her brother Will made no end of fun about her--even at this date, but Grace had sufficient composure to ignore him now, and only smiled sweetly, remarking:
"You only show how little you know, Billie-boy. Run along now and play ball!"
Then Will, trying to think of some cutting thing to say, would hasten to join his bosom friend Frank Haley, perhaps remarking as they tramped off:
"Hanged if I can understand girls anyhow."
"Why, what's up?"
"Oh, Grace is such a primper. She's got a new dress and some sort of fancy dingus on it doesn't mix in right. She says it makes her look too stout, and she's going to have it changed."
"Hum! I think your sister is a mighty stunning-looking girl."
"I'll tell her you said so."
"If you do I'll rub your nose in the mud!" and then, as they thought, philosophising further on the queerness of girls in general, the boys departed to the ball field.
The father of Grace and Will Ford was a lawyer with more than a local reputation. He was often called on to handle big cases of state-wide interest, and had made a modest fortune in the practice of his profession.
Of Mollie Billette--"Billy" to her chums, I hardly know what to say. Aged fifteen, the daughter of a well-to-do widow, Mrs. Pauline Billette, Mollie seemed older than either Betty or Grace, though she was a year younger. Yet she did not assume anything to herself by reason of this seeming difference in years; and the difference was only seeming.
Perhaps it was that bit of French blood making her so quick-tempered--so vivacious--so mature-appearing--that accounted for it. And it was, very likely, that same French blood that gave her a temper which was not to be admired, and which Mollie tried so hard to conquer. But her friends knew her failing, and readily forgave her. Besides Mollie there were the comical twins--Dora--never called anything but Dodo--and Paul, aged four. They were always getting into mischief, and out again, and were "just too sweet and dear for anything," as Betty put it. Betty, being an only child, rather hungered for brothers and sisters.
And now we come to Amy Stonington. Poor Amy! There was something of a mystery about her. She realized something of it herself when she was old enough to know that she was not in physical characteristics at all like her parents--at least she regarded Mr. and Mrs. John Stonington as her parents. And yet she could not understand why she was not more like them in type, nor why, of late, she had often come upon them talking earnestly together, which talk ceased as soon as she entered the room. In consequence of which Amy was not very happy these days.
Yet the most that she feared was that her parents were mapping out a career for her. She was talented in music, playing the piano with a technique and fire that few girls of her age could equal. More than once, after a simple concert in the High School, at which she played, teachers had urged Mr. and Mrs. Stonington to send her to some well-known teacher, or even abroad to study.
"But if that's what they're planning I just won't go!" said Amy to herself, after one of those queer confidences she had broken up. "I'd die of loneliness if they sent me away."
So much for our four girls.
Dear Deepdale the girls always called it--Dear Deepdale! They always spoke affectionately of their home town, the only residence place any of them had ever really known, for though some of them had lived as children in other places, their years, since they were old enough to appreciate localities, had been spent in Deepdale.
And certainly it was a town of much natural beauty, to which a certain amount of civic pride added, had made for local enjoyment in parks, memorials and statues. Though there were only about fifteen thousand residents, there was a spirit about Deepdale that many a fair-sized city might have envied--a spirit of progress.
Deepdale was situated on the Argono river, which gave a natural advantage, and provided a setting that could not be improved upon. The stream ran around two sides of the place, the waters curling gracefully around a bend which had been laid out in a little pleasure park.
There were some who protested against this "waste" of good and valuable dockage facilities, but the town committeemen, wisely ignoring objections, had, at some cost, acquired the land, and made what was