“Scrub your hands good, dear,” said her
mother as she hurried through the kitchen. “Wash
your face and then run upstairs and get your blue smock
and plaid ribbon. Dark blue dresses are the thing
for gardening, but we like gay frocks for dinner,
don’t we, sweetheart?”
And yet, with all that washing and dressing, Mary
Jane reached the table first—that just
shows how fast she could hurry when she was racing
with father. Or maybe it was because she was
so hungry. For she had three big helpings of
her favorite mashed potatoes—think of that!
“First thing in the morning, know what I’m
going to do?” she announced as she ate the last
bite, “I’m going to get Doris to see my
garden, she’ll like my flowers, I know.”
“You can get Doris,” laughed her father,
“but don’t expect flowers in the morning.
It will take them ten days to peep out of the ground.
But don’t you worry, you’ll like to show
Doris the garden before it grows.”
“I will,” replied Mary Jane, “I’ll
do it tomorrow.”
“Mother, may I go over and get Doris this morning?”
asked Mary Jane as she finished her breakfast.
“I want her to come see my garden right away!”
“Not to-day,” answered Mrs. Merrill.
“Doris has the chicken pox so you will have
to stay home for a while,” And then she was called
to the telephone so she didn’t notice that Mary
Jane ran straight for the window that looked out over
Doris’s yard.
“I think that’s funny that I can’t
go over and see Doris’s chickens,” she
said to herself rebelliously as she peered through
the window. “I’m going to look, and
look and look till I see them anyway, so there!
And then I’ll telephone to Doris.”
She curled up on the window seat and watched and watched
her neighbor’s yard but not a sign of a chicken
did she see. “I should think she would
have to feed them now,” she said to her big sister
who was hurrying off to school.
Sister Alice didn’t quite understand what Mary
Jane said and was in too big a hurry to stop and inquire
so she merely replied hastily, “Maybe you’re
too late for breakfast,” and ran on to school.
So Mary Jane still sat at that window and still watched
for chickens. Finally when her legs were beginning
to get pricky and she was about ready to give up, her
mother came into the room.
“Where does she keep it?” asked Mary Jane.
“Where does who keep what?” replied Mrs.
Merrill, “and what is my little girl doing all
this time?”
“I’m watching to see Doris’s box
of chickens,” said Mary Jane, “do you know
where it is?”
“Box of chickens!” exclaimed Mrs. Merrill
in amazement, and then she suddenly realized how Mary
Jane had misunderstood her. “Doris has no
box of chickens, dear, she has chicken POX—it’s
a sickness and Doris will have to stay in the house
for a few days.”
“Oh-h-h,” said Mary Jane slowly, “so
that’s why I can’t play with her.”
