Randy and Her Friends by Amy Brooks

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"Of course I shall call upon her," she was saying. "I wonder that you ask
such a question. She is Miss Dayton's friend, and that, in itself, is
enough to make me wish to go. Miss Dayton is all that is lovely and I
would do much to please her; but aside from that, this girl is a stranger
and I am asked to give her my friendship. I shall call upon her the day
which she has set, and I shall go intending to like Miss Randy Weston."

She gave the ribbon a determined twitch and a tactful person would have
considered the matter settled, as Nina Irwin usually meant what she said;
but Polly Lawrence was as tactless as she was fickle, which was saying
much, therefore she persisted in her questioning.

"Isn't Randy a queer name, Nina? No name in particular is it?"

"Very likely her name is Miranda, and Randy is just a cute little pet
name," said Nina. "Some people might question if Polly was much of a name,
when you were really named Mary, and here is Margaret whom we all call
Peggy, much to her disgust."

"That comes of having brothers," remarked Peggy. "No one ever thought of
calling me anything but Margaret until Jack started it, and every one
seems bent upon doing as Jack does. Even Polly has decided to wear nothing
but red, since that is Howard's color. Alas! My big brother is turning
things topsy turvy, when every friend I possess is wearing red,
regardless of the color of her hair or complexion."

"I've _always_ liked red," remarked Polly, "and as to this call, I suppose
I shall make it. No girl can afford to offend the beautiful Miss Dayton,
as it might mean the loss of some fine invitations."

"I intend to please Miss Dayton because I like and admire her, and not for
any invitations which I might otherwise miss," said Nina. "In her kind
little note she speaks of Miss Weston as charming, and if she charms Helen
Dayton, she surely will be able to interest me."

"We might call together," remarked Peggy, with a lazy little drawl. "If I
promise to call for you, Nina, I shall surely get there, you are so
energetic."

"I'll call for you, Peggy, and together we'll call for Nina," said Polly.
"I confess I've no great interest in a country girl, so, if I'm going,
I'll go with you, and perhaps the three of us will be able to make the
call a bit lively."

"I, for one, anticipate meeting this friend of Miss Dayton's, and as she
asked us to call on an afternoon of this week, I think we might go
to-morrow," said Nina.

Accordingly on the following day, the three girls sat in the reception
room, each wondering just what Miss Randy Weston would be like.

"Do you fancy that she is light, or dark? Let's guess, girls," whispered
Polly, but at that moment Miss Dayton entered with Randy's hand in hers.
With a bright smile of welcome, Randy extended her hand to each girl as
she was presented, and as Nina gave the hand a cordial pressure, Randy
said,

"I am so glad that you have come, because you see I have left all my
friends at home," there was a little tremor in her voice, "and to find new
friends here, will make it less lonely when I enter the school next week."

"You have gained three friends to-day," said Nina, "and when we meet at
school you will soon know all the other girls."

"We could call for you on the first day," ventured Peggy, completely won
by Randy's sweet face and frank manner.

"Oh, if you would," said Randy, with such evident delight, that Polly more
than half wished that she had made the suggestion.

How they talked and chattered that afternoon, and when the three girls
took leave of Randy and Helen and walked briskly down the avenue, Nina,
with twinkling eyes, said to Polly,

"I think she is one of the sweetest girls that I know, and Polly, did she
seem _very_ countrified to you?"

"Now, Nina," Polly answered in a crestfallen tone,

"Who knew that she was a regular beauty, and who for a moment supposed
that she would be dressed like a city girl?"

"I said that if Miss Helen Dayton called her charming, I had no doubt
about it," said Nina, "and I am willing to say that she is even more
pleasing than I had imagined."

"It is her pretty, truthful manner that makes me like her," said Peggy,
"and I mean to be her friend while she is here."

Miss Dayton had seen at once that Randy was making a pleasant impression
upon the girls, and wondered if Randy was equally pleased with them.

"Well, Randy," she said after the girls had left, and together they stood
before the fire-place.

"Oh, I liked them," was Randy's quick reply. "They were so friendly. I
like Nina Irwin best, but they were all so pleasant that perhaps I should
not like one better than the others."

"Nina has always been a favorite with me," said Helen, "and as you really
liked the others I do not see that it matters that of the three Nina is
the favored one.

"They were evidently pleased with you, so you see you already have three
friends for school and two for home, for Aunt Marcia and I claim your
dearest love."

"Oh, I love you best," said Randy, "I care for you next to the dear ones
at home."

CHAPTER VII

THE LITTLE TRAVELERS

The crisp air stirred the bright yellow leaves which clung lovingly to the
birches, and a few dull red leaves still rustled upon the stout branches
of the oaks, but many of the trees were bare, and under foot there lay a
thick carpet of dried foliage through which the children delighted to
scuff their way toward school.

The squirrels scampered about the woodland, busily hoarding their winter
store of nuts, and in the field the crows flew around the ancient
scare-crow, cawing derisively at his flapping garments as if laughing at
his attenuated figure and mockingly asking him to partake of the husks of
the garnered corn.

Overhead the sky was blue and cloudless and upon the eaves of the
farm-house the tiny sparrows chirped a greeting to little Prue who stood
irresolutely upon the threshold, a wistful expression in her pretty brown
eyes, as she twisted one of her short curls and looked over her shoulder
to say good-bye to Tabby who lay in her accustomed place upon the large
braided rug beside the kitchen stove.

"Good-bye Tabby," she called, "it isn't any fun to go to school, now Randy
isn't here."

Aunt Prudence, who, true to her promise, had arrived at her brother's home
on the day after Randy's departure, now appeared in the doorway.

"Just starting for school Prue?" said she, "why you said good-bye to yer
mother an' me some time ago."

"Well, it takes me longer to get started than when Randy was here," said
Prue. "It's diffe'nt now. I used to hurry to keep up with my Randy, but
now I don't care when I get there long as Randy isn't in the school 't
all. I want a letter from her, too, and I wonder why she doesn't be
sending me one."

"Why, Prue, Randy sent you one yesterday, don't you remember? You took it
to bed with you last night," said Aunt Prudence.

"But I want another one this morning," said Prue, and seeing tears upon
her cheeks, Aunt Prudence, with unusual gentleness, sat down upon the
threshold beside the wee girl, and endeavored to make it clear to her,
that having received a letter from Randy upon the afternoon of one day, it
would be impossible for another one to arrive on the morning of the next.

"Well, I've got my Randy's letter buttoned inside my jacket," said Prue,
"but all the same I want another now, and oh I want my Randy more than
anything."

It required a deal of coaxing to induce Prue to start for school and she
went reluctantly, saying as she turned to wave her hand to Aunt Prudence,
"I used to like school, but tisn't any fun 't all without my Randy."

She walked down the road swinging her little lunch basket, and thinking of
the dear sister whom she so wished to see. At recess Prue left her little
mates and Hi Babson, searching for her, found her outside the yard sitting
disconsolately upon an old stump, her basket beside her, and her luncheon
untouched.

"What's the matter, Prue," said Hi, "I want yer ter play squat tag with
us."

"I don't want to play," said Prue, "I want my Randy."

"But she's in Boston, ain't she?" asked Hi.

"Yes, and I _want_ her, I'm tired of going to school without her."

"_I'm_ tired of goin' ter school at all," said Hi. Then a peculiar light
appeared in his small black eyes.

"I'll tell yer what we'll do," said he, "We'll go and _see_ Randy, you 'n
me. I know the way to the deepot, Prue, Yes sir, we'll go'n see Randy. I
guess she'll be glad 'nough ter see us 'n wont you be glad to see her,
though?"

Little Prue's eyes grew round with delight. Since Randy was to be away
from home, of course the best thing would be to go to her.

"Do you _truly_ know the way?" asked Prue, eagerly, laying her little hand
upon Hi's arm.

"Guess I do. Ain't I been to the deepot times 'nough?" was the confident
reply. "You jest come 'long with me, Prue, an' I tell ye we'll find your
Randy. I'm bigger'n you be 'n I know."

"When will we go, Hi?" asked Prue, now confident that her little champion
could take her safely to Randy.

"Now," said Hi, "right off now. I don't know my lessons, so I don't want
ter go back ter school, an' teacher's a ringin' the bell this minute. Pick
up yer lunch basket, I've got some cookies I hooked out 'n the cupboard
an' a big apple that Belindy gave me, an' we'll eat 'em when we're in the
cars." So the two children trudged down the road; Prue happier than she
had been for days because of the delightful prospect of seeing Randy, and
Hi, knowing that he was naughty in staying away from school, but easing
his little conscience by thinking that he was comforting Prue.

It was true that he was larger than Prue, but they were of the same age,
and as unlike as two children could possibly be.

Prue was lovely in face and disposition, small of her age and graceful in
her movements. Hi was a plain, sturdy looking country boy; stubborn, full
of mischief and large for a boy of six.

Down the road they walked, a resolute little pair; Prue chattering and
laughing, Hi rather silent until well out of sight of the schoolhouse,
when his spirits rose and he cheered the way by telling his little
companion wonderful tales of the delights of a journey in the cars.

Having twice enjoyed a long car ride, he considered himself quite a
traveled personage, and he continued to enlarge upon the pleasures of the
trip to Boston until Prue's eyes danced, and she skipped along the road
unable from sheer delight to walk without an occasional little hop.

"If we stay with Randy, we won't have ter go ter school," said Hi, "an'
you'n me can play all day."

"And see my Randy every day," said Prue, "and oh, Hi, you don't know how
lovely she looked in her new clothes she had to go to Boston with."

"Randy looked nice in anything," said Hi, "and I'll like ter see her, but
the best of it is, I ain't er goin' ter school. I hate school, anyway."

"I like school when my Randy's in it, but I don't like anything where my
Randy isn't," said Prue, stoutly, "and now we're going to see her."

As she danced along, her hand tightly clasping that of her companion, she
hummed merrily, and Hi accompanied her with a discordant whistle,
cheerfully unaware that he was quite off the key.

"Does it take long to get to Boston?" asked Prue, abruptly.

"No, I guess not," said Hi, "but it's a little longer'n I thought to the
deepot."

"Don't you know the way?" she asked when upon reaching a fork in the road
Hi stopped and stared about him as if puzzled as to which to choose.

"Oh, yes, I know the way to the deepot," said Hi, "only I was a thinkin'
which was the nearest way. Last time I went there with Uncle Joshua he
said, 'We'll go this way 'cause it's a short cut,' an' I guess this is it,
Prue, so come along."

And away they went down the road which led directly away from the Centre.
Naughty little Hi was far from sure that they were walking in the right
direction, but he knew that they were not going toward school, and that in
itself was delightful, and a glance at Prue's smiling face assured him
that he was making her happy, so on they trudged, singing and whistling
as before.

The sun was high overhead, and the light breeze blew the curls about
Prue's little face, until Hi looking at her said,

"You're the nicest girl I know Prue; will ye give me some er your lunch,
if I'll give you half er my apple?"

"Oh, yes," assented Prue, "I'm getting hungry too. Here, let's divide this
gingerbread first."

Upon the low stone wall they perched, and a pretty picture they made,
sharing their lunch and throwing the crumbs to the sparrows that twittered
in the dusty road.

"We've been walking so long, we must be most to the deepot, Hi," said
Prue.

"I guess so," the small boy answered, "so now we've finished the lunch,
we'll just start along. Gim me yer hand, Prue; I'm a big boy, 'n I'm
takin' care er you."

"Yes, you're taking care of me real good," Prue answered sweetly, "and I
love you fer taking me to my Randy, but Hi," she continued, "I'll _have_
to sit down a minute, my feets are so tired."

"Oh, there's time 'nough," said Hi. "We'll rest a while, an' then, after
we've walked a little ways, fust thing you'll see'll be the deepot. Then
when we git inter the cars, we shall sit on the soft seat and jest rest
'til we get ter Randy's."

"Well, then, let's hurry," said Prue, "I'm some rested now, and if we run
we'll get there all the sooner."

But Prue was more weary than she knew, and her little legs refused to run,
so, settling into a jog trot the two tired children pushed onward, each
step carrying them farther from the depot and at the same time farther
from home.

* * * * *

When the pupils filed into the schoolroom after recess, Miss Gilman missed
Prue and Hi, and questioned a number of scholars in regard to them.

"I seen 'em a-settin' on a stump back er the school," volunteered one
small boy, "Want me ter go'n look for 'em?"

Permission given him, the boy ran out, delighted with the thought that he
might thus elude one recitation; but a long search failing to discover the
missing children, he was obliged to return with the information that he
had looked everywhere and they weren't "anywheres 'raound the place."

"Possibly they have gone home," said Miss Gilman, but a vague uneasiness
took possession of her, and when the afternoon session commenced with both
children absent, she determined to call after school at the Weston's and
see if Prue were safe, at the same time sending the Babson girls home in
haste to learn if Hi could be found.

When Prue did not return at noon, Mrs. Weston was not alarmed, as the
little girl often stayed at the school when, as on this day, she had in
her little basket a hearty lunch, and before Prue could have possibly
reached home in the afternoon Miss Gilman, with a desperate attempt to
appear calm, called to ask if the little girl had been unable to attend
the afternoon session.

"Ill? Why no, indeed! Why, what is it you say, Miss Gilman? That Prue has
not been at school since the morning recess?"

The color left Mrs. Weston's cheek, and she leaned heavily upon the table,
while Aunt Prudence, speaking with more confidence than she really felt,
exclaimed,

"Now it's no use gettin' frightened. She's likely enough in someone's
house as safe as can be, and what we've got ter do is ter harness up an'
call at the houses where Prue is acquainted an' she'll be with us before
dark, I'll warrant ye."

Just at this point, Belinda Babson breathless and excited, ran in at the
door crying wildly,

"Oh, Miss Gilman, Mrs. Weston! Little Hi isn't at our house and a man just
told father that he saw Hi and Prue sitting on the stone wall away over on
the mill road, and that was long before noon time. Where can they be now?
Mother's just wild and Aunt Drusilla's lost every idea she ever had. She's
just wringing her hands and crying, and a saying that she's afraid that
they're lost and wont be found."

Mr. Weston, coming in from the barn, heard Belinda's words and saw her
frightened face.

With a grave expression in his kind gray eyes, he said,

"There, there mother, I wouldn't get too frightened. Prue's out of sight?
Well, I'll start out ter find her, and we'll hope that she is not so far
off but that I shall soon bring her home." But to the mare he muttered as
he adjusted the harness,

"This is bad business, Snowfoot. Two little folks lost and no idea where
ter look for 'em."

And while two households were wild with fear, while Mr. Weston and Joshua
Babson were driving in every direction, stopping at the door of the
farm-houses to enquire if the children were there, or had been seen, the
two little ones who were the cause of all this commotion were still
walking wearily down the road, Prue hoping yet to see the cars which
should take her to Randy, and Hi beginning to think that he had lost his
way. The last glint of yellow had faded from the western sky, as Hi
proposed that they cut through the woods to "gain time," he said.

"Oh, I'm 'fraid to go into the woods when it's getting dark," wailed Prue.

"But me'n Uncle Joshua did the day we went the shortest way," said Hi,
"an' this looks just like the place. _I_ ain't 'fraid so you needn't be,
an' we've _got_ ter go the quickest way because it's gittin' late."

Prue gave her hand to Hi, and together they entered the woods, trudging
wearily on toward the place where, between the distant trees they could
see the western sky. Their tired little feet stumbled on, tripping over
fallen twigs, and gnarled roots of the great trees. Prue was crying now
and Hi, anxious to keep up, at least a semblance of the big boy and
protector, made desperate efforts to swallow the lump in his throat which
was growing larger every moment. Prue had lost her lunch basket, but she
held Randy's letter tightly clasped in her hand, and the basket was
forgotten in her eagerness to keep a firm hold upon the treasured missive.

"Oh, Hi, I've _got_ to sit down again, I'm so tired, and I'm cold, too,"
she cried.

Hi, with all his faults, was a kind-hearted little fellow, so with a deal
of gallantry he pulled off his jacket, saying,

"This'll make ye warm, Prue, I'm a big boy so I don't mind."

Hi heaped a mass of dry leaves together, saying,

"We might lay down on these leaves jest a few minutes 'til we're a little
warmer, an' then when we're rested we'll go on again. We _must_ be 'most
there now, Prue."

By snuggling closely beside her, the boy endeavored to make up for the
loss of his coat, and so completely tired out were the two little
wayfarers, that sleep overtook them, and in their dreams Prue saw her
beloved Randy, while Hi seemed floating through space upon one of the red
plush car seats on the way to Boston.

After fruitless calls at the farm-houses Mr. Weston, now thoroughly
alarmed called upon his neighbors for assistance, and searching parties
with lanterns and torches commenced to scour field and wood.

In and out between the great trees they wandered, their torches and
lanterns looking like giant fire-flies; and in every direction they
searched for the two little travelers; now at the margin of the woodland,
then in again to the heart of the forest. One man recounted to his
companion how several years before two children had been lost, and
although desperate search was made, they were not found until the pond was
dragged. Another farmer, determined not to be outdone, told, with bated
breath, of a bear which had been seen coming down the mountain, and that
when two hunters had given chase, he had disappeared in the woods.

"I shouldn't like to have the children meet him," said the man.

"Be still!" commanded his companion, "do ye want Square Weston ter hear
ye? He's 'nough worried now without yer tales er bears an' drowndings."

As Mr. Weston passed them, his lantern revealed the pallor of his face,
and one man muttered to the other,

"Ef they're not ter be faound alive, then I hope it'll not be the Square
that finds 'em."

"That's so, man," the other returned, "'tho' it would be a hard job fer
any of us ter larn that aught had befallen little Prue, and even that
little scamp, Hi Babson, I'd hate ter think of a hard fate fer him, he was
so brimmin' over with fun."

One man had strayed from the party, and with his torch held above his head
was slowly making his way through the underbrush, when, emerging from the
thicket, his foot touched something which but softly resisted it.
Thinking it to be some old and mossy log, he shifted his torch to the
other hand, and was preparing to step over the obstacle whatever it might
be, when, as the smoke blew backward, the flaming torch revealed the
sleeping children, Prue still holding Randy's letter in her hand, Hi with
a protecting arm about his little companion.

"Well, of all the pretty sights!" he ejaculated. "Safe an' saound an' warm
I'll bet ye, but haow on airth come they over here?"

Then with another look at the sleeping children, he hastened to rejoin the
party and to tell the joyful news that the little ones were found.

When the crowd of torch-bearers hastened to the spot and gathered about
the wanderers, Prue and Hi sat up and rubbed their eyes, evidently
wondering what had caused such a commotion. [Illustration: As the smoke
blew backward, the flaming torch revealed the sleeping children]

"How did ye git lost?" asked a farmer of Prue.

"We wasn't lost," answered Prue, "How could we be lost when we knew where
we was going? We was going to Boston to my Randy, and we're 'most to the
cars, but we're just resting a little while first."

To Uncle Joshua Babson, little Hi looked for pardon for this latest prank.

"I wasn't naughty _this_ time," he said, "I knew the way to Boston, and
Prue felt so lonesome 'thout Randy that I was goin' ter take her there."

"Never mind that, my boy," Uncle Joshua answered, "the main thing is ter
git ye home, an' stop yer mother's frettin'. She's in the mood ter forgive
most anything, sence yer safe and sound."

Tired little Prue lay in her father's arms, crying softly, her face hidden
upon his breast.

"There, there, don't cry, Prue, ye're all safe now. See, I have ye in my
arms, an' soon we'll be home with mother an' Aunt Prudence."

"But if you take me home now," wailed Prue, "it'll be to-morrow 'fore I
could start again to find Randy, and we meaned to get there to-night."

"But mother's 'bout sick a worryin' sence ye went off with Hi and didn't
tell where ye was goin'. Did ye think of it, Prue, that mother misses
Randy, so couldn't spare ye, too?"

"Oh, I never thought," Prue answered, "I wanted to see my Randy, but I
didn't 'member that if I went to Boston there wouldn't be any girls 't all
in our house."

With his lantern on his arm and his little daughter clasped to his breast,
Mr. Weston tramped along the rough road escorted by two neighbors who with
their torches made a path of light before him. As they reached the house,
two white-faced women saw them, but while Aunt Prudence hastened to open
the door Mrs. Weston drew back.

"Alive or,--"

"I want some supper," exclaimed a very energetic little voice and the
mother sprang forward to take her lost one in her arms.

"Oh Prue, don't ye leave us again," she cried, her tears dropping upon the
soft curls.

"But I was going to get my Randy and bring her home to you," said Prue,
"and I forgot that when I was away to Randy's there wouldn't be any girls
to take care of you 'n Tabby."

That night, as an especial favor, Prue was allowed to take Tabby to bed
with her, and as she lay with her arms about the cat, she thought that,
although her journey to Boston was prevented, there yet were comforts at
home, and Tabby accustomed to sleeping in the shed, must have thought the
millennium had come.

CHAPTER VIII

JUST A ROSE

It had been an easy task to convince little Prue that she must not again
attempt to run away to Randy, but must try to be a little comfort to those
at home; but no amount of reasoning could make her less lonely, until such
a delightful thing happened.

A box addressed to Miss Prue Weston arrived one morning, and when its
cover was removed, there lay the loveliest dolly, evidently sound asleep.
As Prue lifted her from the box, her eyes opened wide, causing the little
girl to jump and exclaim,

"My! Did you see her wink? Is she alive?"

It was the first modern doll which Prue had seen, and she could hardly
believe that aught but a living thing could open and shut its eyes, or
smile so radiantly, thereby showing little pearly teeth. Oh the wonder of
the soft curling hair, the turning head, and jointed arms and legs!

Her dress was made from a lovely shade of blue satin, and her hat was a
fine specimen of doll's millinery. In her hand she held a tiny envelope
which enclosed a letter from Randy to Prue,--printed, that the little
sister might have the pleasure of reading it for herself.

"DEAR LITTLE PRUE:--I send this pretty doll to you. Her name is
Randy Helen Weston, named for two whom I know you love dearly.
You will make me very happy while I am here in Boston, if you are
good at school, and a little comfort to mother at home. Let the
Randy doll help you to wait cheerfully until I return, and I
shall be glad that I sent her. Print little letters to me,
telling me what is happening at home and at school, and remember
that I am

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