It made it a touch less lonely for them all to hear Keefe whistling on his way to his tent-home. He had made it quite “shipshape” and he took a genuine pride in it. But he did not sleep in it; instead, he slung his hammock from the trees and rested there in moonshine or star-light. Even a light rain could not drive him in. Then, in the morning early, having cooked his breakfast, he was off with his painter’s kit. But his duties seemed always to take him past the door of the Oriole’s Nest, and as he passed he called out mockingly:
“Say, teacher.”
It won him a blithe signal from some one—possibly from all three of the cottage dwellers.
CHAPTER V
ROWANTREE HALL
The third Sunday of their sojourn on the mountain, they accepted an invitation to Rowantree Hall. Keefe O’Connor had been the messenger, bringing the invitation by word of mouth, and though Miss Zillah was not quite sure about the propriety of accepting, the girls overbore all objections. So it was agreed that Keefe was to be their guide there and back—to which end he borrowed one of Miles McEvoy’s horses—and they set forth in the middle of a shimmering July forenoon. Keefe and Miss Zillah rode ahead; Azalea and Carin followed on their ponies, each of the feminine members of the party carrying in a neat saddlebag a clean summer frock to be donned upon arriving.
They followed the main traveled road but a short way, turning off presently on what looked like an old wood road. It was almost overgrown with huckleberries and little pines, and the farther they went, the prettier and wilder it grew. At length they entered a magnificent piece of woodland where the chestnut and the maple, the tulip and the gum, the chestnut oak and the red oak and many other beautiful trees grew together. Then behold, in the midst of this they came upon a gateway made of great logs, with an iron lantern hanging from each end of the crosspiece, and above it in rustic letters the words “Rowantree Hall.”
“I feel,” said Carin, “as if I might come upon the Sleeping Princess at any moment.”
“And I feel,” Azalea answered, “as if we might all be turned into sleeping princesses. Oh, Keefe, are you sure this is not an enchanted wood?”
Keefe looked back over his shoulder gayly.
“I’m not at all sure,” he said. “If you know of any way of keeping off enchantments—”