The girls of Hillcrest Farm had received no further answer to their advertisement, but the news that they were keeping boarders had gone broadcast over the ridge, of course. Silas Trent would have spread this bit of news, if nobody else.
But on Saturday morning, soon after breakfast, Mr. Somers’s old gray mare turned up their lane, and Lyddy put on a clean apron and rolled down her sleeves to go out and speak to the school teacher.
“That’s a very good thing about that lane,” ’Phemie remarked, aside. “It is just long enough so that, if we see anybody turn in, we can primp a little before they get to the house.”
“Miss Bray,” said the teacher, hopping out of his buggy and shaking hands, “you see me here, a veritable beggar.”
“A beggar?” queried Lyddy, in surprise.
“Yes, I have come to beg a favor. And a very great one, too.”
“Why–I—”
He laughed and went on to explain–yet his explanation at first puzzled her.
“Where do you suppose I slept last night, Miss Bray?” he asked.
“In your bed,” she returned.