“Let’s go round to the house, first,” whispered Doris, hanging to Miss Morrison’s arm, when they were almost there. The child had a coaxing way with her that was not easy to resist; and, moreover, Uncle Si’s late russet apples were not to be despised at this time of the year. So they all wandered up to the side door of the low, white farmhouse, with the square, forbidding front and homely, inviting back premises characteristic of its type.
The door into the summer kitchen stood wide open, and an inquisitive hen or two had actually crossed the threshold; yet repeated knocks brought no answer. Cynthia and Scotty had already dashed off in the direction of the barn-yard, from which there presently came sounds so suggestive of rustic revelry that the others precipitately followed.
“I told him he didn’t dast to ride one o’ the cows,” shrieked Sin, faint with laughter, “and he’s done it! Look, oh, look! It’s as good as the circus—better!”
Even Miss Morrison couldn’t resist the spectacle of Ethan Honey’s long legs gripping the sides of his reluctant horned steed, his face wearing a smile of mingled triumph and embarrassment as he was borne at a gallop round and round the enclosure, with Scotty yapping delightedly at his heels. In another minute or so, without slackening his speed, the young man had alighted quite informally at their feet. He rose and felt mechanically for his cap, which had disappeared, while he gravely remarked:
“Your house is quite finished. I think I saw a ‘For Rent’ sign in the window to-day!”
The great secret was out! The trio of friends had early felt the common need of a tangible house o’ dreams, and now the primitive shelter they craved had taken shape in Uncle Si’s hospitable woods, and chiefly under Ethan’s capable and willing hands.
“Let’s go right over now and have our housewarming,” demanded practical Doris. “Where’s Uncle Si?”
“He went to the store right after dinner,” Ethan answered, “and I’ll have plenty of time to finish my chores after you go. I’ve been helping afternoons and Saturdays for quite a while. Would any of you care for a drink of fresh buttermilk? I churned this morning.”
Well, there are worse things than the soothing acid of that velvet drink to wash the dust from one’s throat after a three-mile tramp. It wasn’t many minutes before Ethan was leading the way to the woods, his pockets sagging with apples, while Sin had stuffed her sailor blouse, and Doris’ sweater was quite knobby with the same.
There were more shrieks of rapture, naturally, when the girls spied their ingenious shack of fresh-cut evergreen boughs, which had been thrust into the ground in a circle and cleverly interlaced so as to make the hut all but water-tight. There was an opening left for a door—rather small, it is true, but still satisfactory—with another, smaller and higher up, for a window; and so neat and careful had been the young builder’s craftsmanship that the ferns on the threshold were scarcely more disturbed than they might have been by the nest-building of a bird.