"Yes. They'll be here at eleven, and then we'll decide what to do. I wish there was anything to swim in but the brook."
"They won't let us use the river; too dangerous," Portia explained dolefully. "Oh, if only Tarrigo could turn back into a lake just for one day! I'm dying for a swim."
"Now, wait a moment, wait a moment," said Mr. Payton, frowning. "Let me see. There used to be—oh, years ago—but there used to be a limestone quarry back in the woods above Pork Ferry. Way back. Abandoned. Springs fed into it. Cold. Refreshing. Wonder if it's still there? Probably not. Probably a used-car lot by now, or a public dump, or a drive-in motion-picture theater, or some other confounded thing," he concluded grumpily; the heat had made him grumpy.
"But we could go and see, couldn't we, sir? If you gave us directions."
"Nonsense, I'll drive you there in the Machine. As far as I can; after that we'll walk."
"Now, Pin, I wonder if you should," his sister objected. "It might be too much for you. You might get heat exhaustion."
"Perfect nonsense, Minnie. You make me feel like an old crock!"
"Very well, then. Very well." Mrs. Cheever creaked her rocker back and forth. "How I wish you would not call me Minnie!"
Portia fanned herself with her hat. "We went exploring in Judge Chater's house yesterday, Aunt Minnehaha. I didn't like it very much. I thought it was spooky."
"I suppose it may be, now, all broken as it is. It was very grand once, though, wasn't it, Pin?... And every summer, just about this time of year, Judge Chater would give an evening party. He invited all the Tarrigo grownups and other ones from Pork Ferry and even Creston.