“How do you know it belongs to this girl?” countered Phyllis. “You only guess that it may, when all’s said and done. You didn’t see her hide it there—you didn’t even see her at the bungalow. We may be way off the track, for all you know, and we’d be a pretty pair of geese to go and meekly hand it to her, shouldn’t we! And do you know, even if I was simply positive it was hers, I just wouldn’t give it to her, anyway, for a while. I’d let her stew and fret for it for a good long spell—after such hatefulness!”
Phyllis’s manner was so vindictive that Leslie had to smile in spite of herself.
“But oh, see here!” Phyllis went on. “I have an idea—a glorious idea! It may help to clear up a lot of things. I know Aunt Sally Blake very well, and we’ll go and see her—this very afternoon! Perhaps she can give us more light on the subject.”
“But wouldn’t that seem too plainly like tracking down this—Miss Ramsay?” objected Leslie, “especially as she doesn’t appear to care for our acquaintance!”
“Not a bit!” declared Phyllis, positively. “You don’t realize how well I know Aunt Sally. Why, she’s a regular village institution—everybody knows her and thinks the world of her. She’s a plump, jolly, delightful old lady who lives in a delightful old house full of dear, old-fashioned furniture. She keeps a lot of chickens and often sells them and the fresh eggs, and she does a little sewing, and sometimes takes a boarder or two, and goes out nursing occasionally—and oh, I don’t know what all! But I know that we couldn’t get along at all around here without Aunt Sally. We’ll go down to her house this afternoon and call (I really haven’t been to see her since I came down this time), and I’ll ask her if she has a nice roasting chicken that I can have. That’ll be a perfectly good excuse. And if our polite young lady isn’t around, I’ll try and get her to talk. Aunt Sally loves to talk, but she isn’t a gossip like old Mrs. Selby, and we’ll have to go at it a little more carefully.”
They solaced themselves with this thought, and awaited with more than a little impatience the visit that afternoon. Surely Aunt Sally, if any one, would be able to solve some of their mysteries!
By afternoon, the weather had turned warm, almost sultry, and they found Aunt Sally sitting on her front porch, rocking gently and humming to herself over her sewing. She was delighted to see Phyllis again and to make the acquaintance of Leslie, whom Phyllis introduced as her neighbor and very dear friend. When they had chatted about topics of common interest for a while, Phyllis introduced the subject of the chicken.
“Bless your heart, dear!” cried Aunt Sally. “I’m so sorry, but I haven’t a roasting chicken just now in the whole yard—nothing but fowls. But I can give you a couple of nice young broilers—and I’ve plenty of fresh eggs.”
Phyllis straightway arranged to have two broilers ready for her when she called for them next day, and skilfully changed the subject.
“Oh, Aunt Sally! do show Leslie those begonias you’ve been raising all summer. I do think they are the most beautiful things! You certainly are very successful at making things grow!”