“Sit down here, and have some bacon, Dolly,” said Mr. Rose, hospitably.
“Dad, if you say bacon again, I’ll just perfectly fly! Dolly doesn’t want any, do you, Doll?”
“No, ’course not! I mean no, thank you, Mr. Rose. Oh, we can’t wait another minute. Come on, Dot!”
Dotty grabbed up some things she had ready to take, and the two flew out of the side door and over to Treasure House.
It was a gorgeous morning in late October, and as the house faced the south, the sun was already flooding the front piazza of their new domain. Each girl had a key, and as they went up the steps, Dolly began hunting in her coat pocket for hers.
“Old Slowy!” cried Dotty, and, her own key already in her hand, she snapped it into the lock, and threw open the door.
“Will you walk into my parlour, said the flyder to the spy!” and with a flourish she stood aside for Dolly to enter.
“No, we must go in together. Why, Dot, this first entrance ought to be a rite, a—a ceremonial, you know.”
“Ceremonial, your grandmother! Come on in!” and grabbing Dolly’s arm, the two bounced in, spilling their parcels, and laughing so hard that there was small suggestion of ceremony.
They fell breathless, in the two easy chairs that stood either side of the fireplace, and just grinned at each other.