To the Highest Bidder. Florence Morse Kingsley

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СКАЧАТЬ was still thinking confusedly about the short-tailed horse and his owner, when he heard Barbara’s step behind him.

      The girl stooped, put both arms about the little boy, and laid her hot cheek on his. Then she laughed, rather unsteadily.

      “Kiss me quick, Jimmy Preston!” she cried. “I want to be loved—hard!”

      The child threw both arms fervently about his sister’s neck. “I love you,” he declared circumstantially, “wiv all my outsides an’ all my insides! I love you harder’n anyfing!”

II

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      For a long time (it seemed to Jimmy) after the last hoof-beat of the ill-tempered horse with the cropped tail had died away on the gravelled drive Barbara sat with the child in her arms, his curly head close against her cheek; her gray eyes bright with tears resolutely held in check.

      “Aren’t you gettin’ some tired of holdin’ me?” inquired Jimmy, with a stealthy little wriggle of protest. “You know I’m six, an’ Peg says I’m hefty for my age.”

      Barbara laughed faintly, and the little boy slipped from her arms with alacrity and stood before her, eyeing her searchingly.

      “I bought you a birfday present with my fi’ cents,” he said, “but you wouldn’t wait to see it.”

      “You bought me a birthday present?” cried Barbara. “Why, Jimmy Preston! Show it to me; I can’t wait a minute longer.”

      Jimmy walked soberly across to the table. The first glow of his enthusiasm had vanished, and he frowned a little as he untied the pink string.

      “Maybe you won’t like it,” he said modestly. “It’s a picture, an’—an’ it—sparkles. I fought—no; I mean I thought it was pretty, an’ that you’d like it, Barb’ra.”

      “Like it, boy! I should say so! It’s the most beautiful birthday present I ever had.” Barbara spoke with convincing sincerity and her eyes suddenly wrinkled with fun—the fun Jimmy loved. “I’d really like to kiss you six times—and one to grow on, if you’ll allow me, sir,” she said.

      Jimmy considered this proposition for awhile in silence. “You don’t kiss Peg,” he objected at last.

      “Mercy no! I should hope not!” laughed Barbara.

      She seized the child firmly and planted four of the seven kisses on his hard pink cheeks. “Now two more under your curls in the sweet place,” she murmured. “And the last one in the sweetest place of all!” And she turned up his round chin and sought the warm white hollow beneath like a homing bee.

      “I guess I’ll be some sweeter after I eat six popcorn balls,” observed Jimmy, disengaging himself. “The molasses didn’t spill much.”

      “Well, I’m glad of that!” cried Barbara. “I guess I’d better get to work. You run out and bring in some chips from the woodpile, and I’ll have that molasses boiling before you can spell Jack Robinson.”

      “J-a-c-k,” began Jimmy triumphantly; but Barbara chased him out of doors with a sudden access of pretended severity.

      “You’re getting altogether too clever for me, Jimmy Preston!” she said. Then her face clouded swiftly at the recollection of Stephen Jarvis’s parting words.

      “What do you propose to do with the boy?” he had asked.

      “Take care of him,” she had replied defiantly, “and save the farm for him.”

      It was then that Jarvis had risen, crushing his gray felt hat angrily between his hands.

      “You’re likely to find it impossible to do either the one or the other,” he said coldly. “The boy is a chip of the old block. As for the farm, I’ve been trying to make you understand for the last half hour that it does not belong to you, unless you can meet the payments before the date I set; and you’ve just told me you can’t do that.”

      “Let me pop the corn, Barb’ra!” begged Jimmy, sniffing ecstatically at the molasses which was beginning to seethe and bubble fragrantly in the little round kettle. “I like birfdays,” he went on sociably; “don’t; you, Barb’ra? I mean I like birthdays. Did I say that right, Barb’ra?”

      “Yes, dear,” said his sister absent-mindedly. She was drawing out the little round mahogany table. “I’m going to put on the pink china,” she announced, with a defiant toss of her dark head. The defiance was for the Honorable Stephen Jarvis.

      “It’s beginning to pop!” cried Jimmy excitedly, as he drew the corn-popper back and forth on the hot griddles with a busy scratching sound.

      “Don’t let it burn,” warned Barbara. “How would you like some little hot biscuits, Jimmy, and some strawberry preserves?”

      “Strawberry ’serves?” he echoed. “I didn’t know we had any ’serves.”

      “Well, we have. I’ve been saving ’em for—for your birthday, Jimmy.”

      “Oh, I’m glad!” cried the little boy, redoubling his efforts. “See me work, Barb’ra. Don’t I work hard?”

      “Yes, indeed, dear.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “You always will work hard; won’t you, Jimmy?”

      The child watched her gravely while she shook the crisp white kernels into a bowl. He was thinking of her question.

      “Do you think I’ll have to go to school much longer, Barb’ra?” he asked. “It takes such a long time to go to school.”

      The girl wheeled sharply about.

      “What put that notion into your head?” she demanded. “Of course you’ve got to go school till—till you’re educated—like father.” Her voice faltered a little, and a dark flush crept into her cheeks.

      The boy’s eyes were on her face.

      “Of course father was—he was sick, Jimmy, sick and unhappy. You don’t remember him as I do; but he——”

      “Yes, I know,” the child said simply.

      Then he threw his arms about Barbara and hugged her. He didn’t know why exactly, except that Barbara liked his rough boyish caresses. And he wanted to make her smile again.

      She did smile, winking back the tears.

      “I want you to study—hard, Jimmy,” she went on in a low tremulous voice; “and grow to be a good man—the best kind of a man. You must! I couldn’t bear it, if you——”

      “Well, I won’t, Barb’ra,” promised the child gravely. He eyed his sister with a sudden flash of comprehension as he added stoutly, “You don’t have to worry ’bout me. I’m growin’ jus’ ’s fas’ ’s I can, an’ I know mos’ all my tables, ’ceptin’ seven an’ nine an’ СКАЧАТЬ