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Little-Dad's my father," she explained. "I'd rather believe that you're a woodland nymph and live in yonder birch grove, but I suppose your garments look so very man-made that you have a regular given-to-you-in-baptism name?" "I should say I had!" the girl cried in undisguised disgust. "Jerauld Clay Travis. I hate it. Nearly every girl I know is named something nice Rose and Lily and Clementina.
Gyp's delight was principally because it was the first "real" evening party to which she had been invited; it was a milestone in her life it meant that she was very grown-up. "Jerauld Travis you don't act a bit excited! It will be heaps of fun for Pat's father and mother are the jolliest people and there'll be dancing and boys and spliffy eats." "I never went to a party like that."
"Pinch me, Gypsy Editha Westley pinch me hard!" she cried as she sat between Gyp and Isobel. "I don't believe I'm me. And really, truly going back to Highacres! I can't be Jerauld Clay Travis who used to sit on this rock and watch the little specks come along that silver ribbon road down there and disappear around the mountain and hate them because they could go and I couldn't.
The girls stared at Jerry and Jerry stared at John Westley. Was he just joking? How could it be? She turned to her mother. Her mother nodded again. "Yes, dear, you are Jerauld Winton. But we gave you your stepfather's name he was so good to us!" In that moment of unutterable surprise Jerry's loyal little heart went out quickly to Little-Dad.
"Why, mother, honest truly there's never been a moment when I wasn't glad I was only Jerauld Travis, and I wouldn't trade places with a soul, only " and Jerry could not finish, for she did not know just what she wanted to say. She was oddly disturbed. Did her mother begrudge her those happy weeks at Highacres? Had she been afraid of something?
Her mother had interrupted her flood of confidences to say. Jerry stared in such astonishment that her mother laughed, a shaky laugh, and kissed her. "Because, my dear, remember you are only Jerauld Travis of Kettle Mountain, and your life must lie just here. Oh, my precious, I thank God I have you back!" she added with an intensity of emotion that startled and puzzled Jerry.
"Yever hear what Sim'on Peter Ca'houn said when they whacked up a match 'twix' his sister Hitty an' Lorin' Jerauld, an' the boys put up that joke on him daown to Georges?" drawled Uncle Salters, who was dripping peaceably under the lee of the starboard dory-nest. Tom Platt puffed at his pipe in scornful silence: he was a Cape Cod man, and had not known that tale more than twenty years.
She tried to smother a little feeling of hurt because Isobel had deserted her. The library, gloriously sunlit on this golden morning, was empty. Miss Lee pulled two chairs toward a long table. "Sit here, Jerauld. Now tell me all about your other school so we can place you." And she patted Jerry's hand in a jolly encouraging way. It was very easy for Jerry to talk to Miss Lee.
Gyp's inquisitive nose was fairly against the white sheet. "Vir-gin-i-a Cox!" she read shrilly. "Jerauld Travis only two points behind! And Dana King third " An uncontrollable lump rose in Jerry's throat. She had hoped she had dared think that she was going to win!
She had not laid eyes on Gyp after that one fleeting glimpse on the stairs. Suddenly a hand touched her arm and, turning, she found Barbara Lee beside her. The kind smile on Miss Lee's face brought a little involuntary quiver to her lips. "Lost, my dear?" "I I don't know where " "You are a new girl? What is your name?" "Jerauld Travis." "Oh yes. Where is your guardian?"
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