Three Little Women’s Success

Charles Was Sitting Upright Talking Wildly.

THREE LITTLE WOMEN SERIES

Three Little Women’s Success

A STORY FOR GIRLS

By

GABRIELLE E. JACKSON

Author of “The Joy of Piney Hill,” “Wee Winkles,” “Sunlight and Shadow,” “By Love’s Sweet Rule,” Etc.

Illustrated

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY Philadelphia

Copyright 1913,

by The John C. Winston Co.

Copyright 1910,

by The John C. Winston Co.

TO DOROTHY

CHAPTER I—After Three Years.

October had come to Riveredge. This fact meant more than the five words usually imply, for to few spots did October show such a gracious presence as she did to this pretty town. Beautiful at all seasons, even in its wintry dress of gleaming snow, in its autumn gorgeousness, Riveredge was entirely irresistible. In summer the town drowsed, for during July and August many of its inhabitants took a holiday and journeyed thither and yonder; in the autumn it wakened to the busy bustle of active life and its preparations for the drawing together of all who dwelt therein, and spring was the time when it did its renovating, its housecleaning, its decorating, but October’s crisp westerly winds blowing across the broad expanses of the river set blood stirring, made pulses throb many beats quicker, and caused even strangers to smile and nod to one another as they passed along the streets. Friends called gayly: “Isn’t the air delicious? Doesn’t it make you want to prance like a colt?”

There was one individual in Riveredge whom it so affected, anyway. The fact that nearly three years have slipped by since we last witnessed any of her prancings has not lessened her propensity to do so, for with nearly fourteen years numbered off upon her life’s calendar Jean Carruth is as much of a romp as ever, full of impulses as she was upon the day she rescued old Baltie; as she was when she so valiantly defended her property and her rights against the hoodlums of McKimm’s Hollow. The three years have brought about many changes, it is true, but Jean Carruth will remain Jean Carruth to the end of the story. She has grown like a weed, to be sure, and seems to be nearly all long arms and legs with a body like a hazel wand—pliable and vigorous, with powers of endurance far beyond its indications. A casual observer might think her less strong than she is, but in reality she is “soun’ as a dollar and de cause ob mo’ trebbilation dan a million ob ’em could be,” insisted old Mammy. And Mammy was pretty well qualified to judge, having had charge of that young person since she drew her first breath in the world. Mammy still lived and flourished as Mammy Blairsdale-Devon. Nothing could induce her to drop the Blairsdale. Hadyn Stuyvesant had quite conclusively, though unwittingly, settled that point when he presented the superb sign, with its gleaming gold letters, to the newly opened lunch counter in the Arcade. Mrs. Carruth tried to persuade Mammy to take the name of her lately restored spouse, and be known thenceforth as Mrs. Charles Devon; but Mammy had scornfully stammered: “D-d-drap de Blairsdale? Never! I was borned a Blairsdale, lived a Blairsdale eighteen year befo’ I hooked on de