“Did Peggy call?” inquired Amy stretching lazily. “Is it time to wake up?”
“I didn’t hear Peggy,” Elaine admitted. “But I should say that it was high time for us to be stirring, unless we’re going to spend the night here.”
At the sound of voices, one sleeper after another gave signs of returning animation. Priscilla sat up languidly, glanced at the little watch she wore on a leather strap about her wrist, and uttered a surprised exclamation.
“Why, it’s five o’clock! I thought Peggy said we were to start back at five.”
“We’ve slept away all the afternoon,” Amy commented in some vexation, as she jumped to her feet with an energy in striking contrast to her late lassitude. “I don’t see why Peggy didn’t wake us.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know how late it was getting.” Priscilla, too, was on her feet. “Peggy!” she called. “Oh, Peggy!” and then stood listening vainly for the reply.
“She took Dorothy and went somewhere,” Amy explained. “That was the last thing I saw. Oh, Peggy! Peggy Raymond!”
Repeated calls were fruitless. “Perhaps she went to the barn to see about the horses,” was Aunt Abigail’s contribution to the jumble of suggestions, and Priscilla and Ruth promptly volunteered to test its accuracy. They found that the rheumatic old man had Nat and Bess already harnessed.
“Somebody said you wanted ’em for five o’clock,” he explained. “’Twasn’t neither of you two. A pretty girl in white.”
“Oh, yes, Peggy! But we can’t find her. We thought perhaps she’d been down here.”