It was well that these conveyances had arrived early, for the process of saying good-by was not a rapid one. There were so many kisses to be exchanged, so many last cautions to be given, so many promises to write often to be repeated,–reckless promises which if literally fulfilled would have required the services of an extra mail-carrier for Friendly Terrace–so many anxious inquiries as to the whereabouts of somebody’s suitcase or box of luncheon, to say nothing of Amy’s discovery at the last minute that she had left her railway ticket in the drawer of her writing desk, that for a time the outlook for ever getting started was gloomy indeed. But at last they were safely stowed away, and while the girls threw kisses in the direction of upper windows, where dishevelled heads were appearing, and little groups on doorsteps and porches waved handkerchiefs, and “Good-by” sounded on one side of the street and then on the other, like an echo gone distraught, the foremost driver cracked his whip and they were off.
“My gracious me,” a pleasantly garrulous old lady said to Mrs. Raymond half an hour later, “ain’t it going to be lonesome without that bunch of girls. It’s the first time I ever knew Friendly Terrace to seem deserted.”
“It will seem a little lonely, I imagine,” Mrs. Raymond answered cheerily, and then she went indoors and found a dark corner where she could wipe her eyes unseen. But when Dick came around to express his opinion as to the team that would win the pennant that season, she was able to give him as interested attention as if two long months were not to elapse before she saw Peggy again.
CHAPTER II
A COTTAGE RE-CHRISTENED
The stage creaked up the slope. The four horses, sedate enough during the long drive, wound up with a flourish, the off-leader prancing, and all four making that final exhibition of untamed spirit, which is the stage-driver’s secret. And from the body of the vehicle arose a chorus of voices.
“Is this it? Oh, girls, this can’t really be it!”
The stage-driver took it on himself to answer the question.
“You asked for Leighton’s place, and this here’s it. Now, if you want suthin’ else, all you’ve got to do is to say so.” He folded his arms with the air of being only too well accustomed to the vagaries of city people, an implication which his passengers were too elated to notice. They scrambled out, not waiting for his assistance, Peggy first, extending a hand to Aunt Abigail, who waved it briskly aside, and jumped off the steps like a girl. Her bright dark eyes–she never used spectacles except for reading–twinkled gaily. And her cheeks crisscrossed with innumerable fine wrinkles, were as rosy as winter apples.
Dorothy followed Aunt Abigail, flinging herself headlong into Peggy’s extended arms, and then wriggling free to satisfy herself as to what the country was like, as well as to scan the landscape for a possible bear. The others crowded after, and the stage-driver relenting, began to throw off the trunks.