BAKED IN A BISCUIT
There wasn't a house in sight; but not far beyond was the inn at Robinson's Woods, the picnic grounds, and Lance took the management of the big car while the unconscious chauffeur was rushed ahead by Chet in the Belding car. The man was put to bed at the inn and a physician sent for; but Lance agreed to drive the big car himself on to the Sitz place.
When the larger car reached the inn, however, another discovery was made. Even while the auto had followed its erratic course, untended, part way down the hill, Purt Sweet had sat tight and merely squealed. He had not offered to leave his seat.
But now, by the merest chance, he happened to look down at his waist. The greater part of that beautiful crimson sash had disappeared!
"Wha—wha—what's the matter with me?" gasped Purt. "I—I've lost it! Who's taken it?"
He bobbed up suddenly and broke the strand that had been, all this time, winding around and around the wheelbox until there was now a big roll of it.
"What's the matter with you, Purt?" demanded one of the boys, bursting with laughter.
"Why—why—somebody's stolen my sash!" wailed the youth. "Did you see it? Isn't that a mean trick, now?"
The shout that went up from the girls and boys who had been watching the unraveling process brought the crowd from the first automobile back, too. Poor Purt looked ruefully at his lost sash, wound around the wheel, and bemoaned his bad fortune most feelingly. But Lance cut off the ball of red worsted and threw it in the gutter.
"I really wish you wouldn't be so careless, Purt," he said, as though the victim were at fault. "Mussing up the whole machine with your fancy fixin's. Don't you do that any more."
"But, my dear boy, I had no idea of doing it—weally!" exclaimed the unfortunate Purt. "I don't for the life of me see how that could have become attached to that wheel."
And as nobody explained the mystery to him, he was in low spirits all the rest of the way to the farmhouse.
But the preparations at the Sitz farm were likely to raise the spirits of any boy or girl. In the first place the farmhouse was a very pleasant old house indeed, and its big grassy yard, with shade trees and vines, was a delightful spot for an open-air party. Under the grape arbors, now in full leaf, long tables had been spread, and as soon as the automobiles arrived Eve called the girls to the back porch to help hull berries already picked, while Otto, her rather slow-witted brother, took the boys down to the strawberry patch to help pick more of the fruit.
Purt, who was greedy as could be, "picked into his mouth" until Chet and the other boys warned him that he'd be so full he would not be able to do justice to the berries and cream that would come later.
The big kitchen of the farmhouse was a scene of great activity, too. Mother Sitz, who could scarcely speak a word of English, was happy in having the girls about, however; and she had made and frosted and decorated innumerable little cakes such as she had been used to in the old country. Eve put on a big apron and lent Laura one, and the two set about making the biscuit and the old-fashioned dough for the short-cakes.
Laura Belding was fond of Eve for the country girl's own sake; but loyalty to Central High and Laura's deep interest in school athletics caused her to cultivate the girl, too. There was a very good district school which Eve had attended, in which the teacher had brought her older scholars along to a point that enabled them to take the examinations for the Junior grade of the city schools. These examinations were to be held in Centerport within a fortnight, and Laura wished Eve to come to Central High in the Fall, instead of to the Keyport High, which was somewhat nearer to the Sitz place.
"You'll have to take train to Keyport, anyway, Eve," urged her friend, while they were busy making the biscuits. "There is a better train stops at your station, bound for Centerport; and you can get out at the Hill Station and then it is only a five-minute walk to our school."
"I know, Laura," said the big girl. "But do you suppose I can pass?"
"Why not?"
"They say that Mr. Sharp is dreadfully sharp on Latin, and that's my weak point."
"Why, you can cram on Latin in a fortnight. I'll tell you a book to get that will help—and it costs but fifty cents. You can begin right away on it——"
"But I haven't got the book yet."
"You've got the fifty cents, haven't you?" returned her friend.
"Yes."
"Then—what time does your rural delivery man go by the end of the road?"
Eve glanced at the big clock solemnly ticking on the wall.
"In about three-quarters of an hour."
"Run and write your letter to the Keyport bookseller. One of the boys will run out and give the letter to the mail carrier."
"But a fifty cent piece won't be safe in a letter," said Eve, doubtfully.
"We—ell——"
"And I haven't time to run out there and stop Mr. Cheever, and make out a money order—for fifty cents, too!" exclaimed Eve.
"Humph!" ejaculated Laura. "There's fifty ways of sending fifty cents——"
"Sure," laughed Eve. "A penny at a time!"
"No. I'm not joking. Write your letter. Give me the fifty cents. I'll find a safe way. Give me the half dollar now. I'll put the biscuits in the pans. Is the oven hot?"
"Pretty near."
"I'll try it—with one biscuit, anyway," chuckled Laura, seizing the half dollar her friend gave out of her purse.
In ten minutes Eve came dancing back from her room with the letter written.
"How you going to send the money, Laura?" she demanded. "Here's the letter—all ready."
"And the money will be ready in a minute or two. That oven's good and hot," said Laura.
"What do you mean?" gasped Eve. "You're not baking the half dollar?"
"Yes, ma'am," laughed Laura. "That's what I'm doing."
She dropped the range door and showed a small pan with one lonesome little biscuit in it.
"It's baking fine, too. I want it to be a hard, crusty one——"
"And you've baked the half dollar in the biscuit!" screamed Eve.
"That's what I've done. You just add a line to your letter to that effect. Then we'll put the letter and biscuit in that little box, tie it up, address it, and Lance Darby will run out to the road and mail it for you. Be quick now," concluded Laura, whisking the pan out of the oven, "for the half-dollar biscuit is done!'"
"What an original girl you are, Laura," said Eve, doing as she was bid. "Who'd have thought of that way to send coin in the mail?"
"Your Aunt Laura thought of it," laughed her friend. "For we want nothing to stand in your way of passing that examination, Eve. We need you at Central High."