It was Saturday, so there was no school, and the three Maynards decided to devote the day to seeing what they could do in aid of the Simpson family.
Mr. Mortimer smiled, when they thanked him over and over for his kindness of the night before, and then excused him from any further responsibility in the matter.
“Oho!” said he, “am I to be left out of this picnic?”
“It isn’t exactly a picnic,” said Kitty, “and we thought you’d rather be left out.”
“You’ve already done so much,” said King, “I’m sure we couldn’t expect you to do anything more. Besides, Miss Larkin says you’re all going driving this morning.”
“Yes, we are,” said his hostess. “I want to show you round this part of the country. Some of the drives are beautiful.”
Mr. Mortimer made a comical face at the children, as if to say he was not master of his fate, and must do as he was bid, and then they all went to breakfast.
While at the table, Marjorie was called to the telephone.
Mr. Adams, the father of Dorothy, talked to her, and told her that Mr. Jennings, of the hotel, had told him the whole story.
“And, Marjorie,” he said, “I am quite willing to let the Simpsons have that cottage of mine round on Spruce Street for a few months, anyway. It isn’t large, but it’s in good repair, and they’re welcome to the use of it for a time.”