the women were too busy to take any notice of the children when they returned except to ask them if they had a good swim.
“i feel like reading,” maida said with a determined air. she marched into the library. “there’s a book here i haven’t read for a long time, at the back of the north wind.” she went on as though talking to herself. “it’s one of the loveliest stories i ever read. i don’t know but what it’s my favorite of all. i feel like reading it now. it’s so cool ... there’s a great beautiful woman in it ... the north wind....” her voice melted into silence, as her hand seized a worn brown book. she dropped into one of the big chairs; seemed to forget entirely about her companions.
the others—partly because there seemed nothing else to do—followed her example.
“oh, here’s a journey to the centre of the earth!” dicky announced joyously. “i haven’t seen it since maida took it to europe.” he absorbed himself in the big thick volume.
rosie and laura contented themselves respectively with little men and little women, and harold began for the third time kidnapped. but arthur found a newly published book describing the exploration of africa in a flying machine. he pored over it; gradually became absorbed.
it had been late afternoon when they returned. nearly an hour drifted by. that coolness, which announces the approach of dusk, set in.
“well,” maida said at last, breathing a long relieved sigh, “i’ve got rid of my temper. if i hadn’t taken a book when i did, i’m sure i’d have burst into pieces. if everybody has read all he wants to, let’s try the tennis court.”
they tried the tennis court (although only maida and the two lathrops played tennis) but to such good effect and with so great a fascination that they returned to it after supper. arthur, as was to be expected with his coolness and game sense, progressed rapidly under harold’s instructions. the others found it the most difficult thing they had ever attempted. they were hot and tired when finally approaching dark made it impossible for them to see the balls.
they adjourned to the tree room where, in hammock and chairs, they talked and talked.
gradually the talk grew desultory; sank to an occasional silence.
“i was rummaging about in the barn early this morning,” arthur said out of the reflective quiet in which he had long been immersed, “and i found all kinds of things in a big chest—base-balls and bats; foot-ball stuff and boxing gloves. do you know how to box, harold?”
“no,” harold replied, “never tried it.”
“want to learn?” arthur inquired. “i’ll teach you. i’d like the practice.”
“sure,” harold said. “when will we begin?”
“to-morrow,” arthur responded.
“what do you want to practice boxing for, arthur?” rosie asked curiously.
“oh i thought i might need it sometime,” arthur answered evasively. he smiled into the dark.
“say!” rosie burst out suddenly, “did anybody besides me get sun-burned to-day?”
“well, i didn’t mention it,” laura answered sleepily, “but i feel as if my face were on fire.”
“oh! oh!” maida exclaimed contritely.[pg 94] “i forgot to warn you to be sure to wear hats this first day or two. are you burnt, arthur?”
“to a cinder,” arthur declared, “but i’ve been burnt before. i don’t mind it so very much.”
“and you dicky?” maida went on.
dicky’s answer was a grimace.
“and harold?” maida continued in a despairing voice.
“i shall be one big blister to-morrow,” harold prophesied grimly.
“oh my goodness!” wailed maida futilely. “it’s all my fault. well it’s half-past eight,” she added after a pause. “according to rules we can sit up until nine, but i’m going to bed now. i never was so tired in all my life.”
“i’m falling asleep where i am,” rosie admitted, “and as for laura, she is asleep.”
this was the first day at the little house.
