"Yes; do you live in this town?"
"Yes, right down that road. Your big house was closed for three years, wasn't it—since I was a little girl of five. That's why we haven't seen one another, I suppose." Then: "How did you think of coming to the Indian Drill?"
"Why, one of the school trustees had to see my father on business and he spoke about the entertainment. I thought I'd like to see it."
"Well, I'm glad you came. Good-bye."
A carriage drew up. The boy and his companion stepped into it and were driven off.
"That's young Graham Woods Bartlett," said Mrs. Procter as they started home. "They live in the big house on the top of the hill. This is the first time it's been open for some years."
"And Drusilla's his grandmother," said Suzanna. "He's an awful nice boy."
"His father and old John Massey are business associates," put in Mr. Procter.
"Such a fine big house to be occupied only a few months of the year, and then not every year," put in Mrs. Procter. "And they rarely stay so late in the season as they're staying this year—way into October."
"I'll take Maizie and Peter and go and see him tomorrow," said Suzanna.