Aunt Jane, too, had said that the rocks back of Hillcrest had been examined by geologists time and again. There was no mineral treasure on the farm. That was surely not the secret of the rocks–and it wasn’t mineral Professor Spink was after.
But the week passed without ’Phemie’s having studied out a single sensible idea about the matter. Friday was a very hard and busy day for the girls. It was the big baking day of the week. They made a fire twice in the big brick oven, and left two pots of beans in it over night.
“But there’s enough in the larder to last over Sunday, thanks be!” sighed ’Phemie, when she and Lyddy crept to bed.
“I hope so. What a lot they do eat!” said Lyddy, sleepily.
“A double baking of bread. A dozen apple pies; four squash pies; and an extra lemon-meringue for Sunday dinner. Oh, dear, Lyd! I wish you’d let me go and ask Maw Pritchett for her Dutch oven.”
“No,” replied the older sister, drowsily. “We will not risk a refusal. Besides, Mr. Somers said something about an old lady over the ridge–beyond the chapel–who is selling out–or being sold out–Mrs. Harrison. Maybe she has something of the kind that she will sell cheap.”
“Well–that–old–brick–oven–is–kill–ing–me!” yawned ’Phemie, and then was sound asleep in half a minute.
The next morning, however, the girls hustled about as rapidly as possible and when Lucas drove up with young Mr. Colesworth they were ready to take a drive with the young farmer over the ridge.
“We want to see what this Mrs. Harrison has to sell,” explained Lyddy to Lucas. “You see, we need some things.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll take ye. But whether the poor old critter is let to sell anything private, or not, I dunno. They sold her real estate last week, and this sale of household goods is to satisfy the judgment. The farm wasn’t much, and it went for a song. Poor old critter! She is certainly getting the worst end of it, and after putting up with Bob Harrison’s crotchets so many years.”