They pulled and they pulled, digging their feet into the ground and bracing themselves against the rocks which stuck up out of the playground. Sometimes the teacher’s side yanked them along by quick jerks, and then they’d all set their feet hard when Ralph shouted out, “Now, all together!” and they’d slowly drag the other side back. And all the time everybody was shouting and yelling together with the excitement. Betsy was screaming too, and when a wagon passing by stopped and a big, broad-shouldered farmer jumped down laughing, put the end of the rope over his shoulder, and just walked off with the whole lot of them till he had pulled them clear off their feet, Elizabeth Ann found herself rolling over and over with a breathless, squirming mass of children, her shrill laughter rising even above the shouts of merriment of the others. She laughed so she could hardly get up on her feet again, it was such an unexpected ending to the contest.
The big farmer was laughing too. “You ain’t so smart as you think you are, are you!” he jeered at them good-naturedly. Then he started, yelling “Whoa there!” to his horses, which had begun to walk on. He had to run after them with all his might, and just climbed into the back of the wagon and grabbed the reins the very moment they broke into a trot. The children laughed, and Ralph shouted after him, “Hi, there, Uncle Nate! Who’s not so smart as he thinks he is, now!” He turned to the little girls near him. “They ’most got away from him that time!” he said. “He’s awful foolish about leaving them standing while he’s funning or something. He thinks he’s awful funny, anyhow. Some day they’ll run away on him and then where’ll he be?”
Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that this was one of the queerest things that had happened to her even in this queer place. Never, why never once, had any grownup, passing the playground of the big brick building, dreamed of such a thing as stopping for a minute to play. They never even looked at the children, any more than if they were in another world. In fact she had felt the school was in another world.
“Ralph, it’s your turn to get the water,” said the teacher, handing him a pail. “Want to go along?” said Ralph gruffly to Ellen and Betsy. He led the way and the little girls walked after him. Now that she was out of a crowd Elizabeth Ann felt all her shyness come down on her like a black cloud, drying up her mouth and turning her hands and feet cold as ice. Into one of these cold hands she felt small, warm fingers slide. She looked down and there was little Molly trotting by her side, turning her blue eyes up trustfully. “Teacher says I can go with you if you’ll take care of me,” she said. “She never lets us first-graders go without somebody bigger to help us over the log.”
As she spoke they came to a small, clear, swift brook, crossed by a big white-birch log. Elizabeth Ann was horribly afraid to set foot on it, but with little Molly’s hand holding tightly to hers she was ashamed to say she was afraid. Ralph skipped across, swinging the pail to show how easy it was for him. Ellen followed more slowly, and then—oh, don’t you wish Aunt Frances could have been there!—Betsy shut her teeth together hard, put Molly ahead of her, took her hand, and started across. As a matter of fact Molly went along as surefooted as a little goat, having done it a hundred times, and it was she who steadied Elizabeth Ann. But nobody knew this, Molly least of all.
Ralph took a drink out of a tin cup standing on a stump near by, dipped the pail into a deep, clear pool, and started back to the school. Ellen took a drink and offered the cup to Betsy, very shyly, without looking up. After they had all three had a drink they stood there for a moment, much embarrassed. Then Ellen said, in a very small voice, “Do you like dolls with yellow hair the best?”
Now it happened that Elizabeth Ann had very positive convictions on this point which she had never spoken of, because Aunt Frances didn’t really care about dolls. She only pretended to, to be company for her little niece.
“No, I don’t!” answered the little girl emphatically. “I get just sick and tired of always seeing them with that old, bright-yellow hair! I like them to have brown hair, just the way most little girls really do!”
Ellen lifted her eyes and smiled radiantly. “Oh, so do I!” she said. “And that lovely old doll your folks have has got brown hair. Will you let me play with her some time?”
“My folks?” said Elizabeth Ann blankly.
“Why yes, your Aunt Abigail and your Uncle Henry.”
“Have they got a doll?” said Betsy, thinking this was the very climax of Putney queerness.
“Oh my, yes!” said Molly, eagerly. “She’s the one Mrs. Putney had when she was a little girl. And she’s got the loveliest clothes! She’s in the hair-trunk under the eaves in the attic. They let me take her down once when I was there with Mother. And Mother said she guessed, now a little girl had come there to live, they’d let her have her down all the time. I’ll bring mine over next Saturday, if you want me to.
