Neale was running the car carefully, but at a good speed, on one of the pleasantest and smoothest highways around Milton. The air was invigorating, the outlook was beautiful, and the car ran like a charm.
In a moment of forgetfulness, perhaps, Aunt Sarah’s grim countenance had changed. It did actually seem as though there was a smile hovering about her lips. To the two girls who rode with her in the tonneau it seemed as though it must be impossible for anybody not to enjoy the ride.
“Isn’t it splendid, Aunt Sarah?” queried Ruth, with shining eyes, leaning toward the old woman.
Instantly Aunt Sarah’s face became—as usual—forbidding. She shook her head with determination.
“No, Niece Ruth, it is nothing of the kind,” she declared. “I do not like it at all. I knew I shouldn’t. I wish to return.”
“Well!” Agnes had gasped in her sister’s ear. “Don’t try to tell me! If Aunt Sarah was not almost laughing then, why, then her face slipped!”
CHAPTER VII—WHAT SAMMY DID
School had closed, and the long and glorious vacation had been ushered in. The Corner House girls had now lived in Milton for two years, and felt very much at home.
They knew many people—Agnes said: “A whole raft of people,” but Ruth did not approve of such language and accused her fly-away sister of learning it from Neale O’Neil.
“Poor Neale! Must he be blamed for all my sins?” asked Agnes, with a wry smile. She was mending a tear in a very good skirt—and she did not like to sew.