“Why, this is the point. That letter was from an old friend of mother’s, Mrs. Leighton. She has a home up in the country, Sweet Fern Cottage I think they call it, or is it Sweet Briar–”
“Sweet chocolate, perhaps,” suggested Priscilla with gentle sarcasm. “One will do as well as another. Go on.”
“It’s the real country, Peggy, for you have to take a four-mile stage ride to get to the railway station. And Mrs. Leighton wanted to know if some of us wouldn’t like to use the cottage, as she is going to Europe this summer. And, right away, mother said it would be so nice for us girls to have it.”
The clamor that broke out made further explanations impossible. It was Amy’s turn to be superior.
“Girls, if you all keep talking at once, how can I ever tell you the rest? The cottage is all furnished, Mrs. Leighton says, and we would only have to bring bedding and towels, and things of that sort. And she says you can buy milk and vegetables very reasonably of the farmers in the neighborhood, so it wouldn’t be expensive when we divided it up among us.”
“We could do the cooking ourselves,” interrupted Peggy.
“Of course. Mrs. Leighton takes up her own servants, but if we found somebody to do our washing, and scrub us up occasionally, we could manage the rest.”
For half an hour the excited planning went on, and then four enthusiastic girls separated to subject the enterprise to the more cautious consideration of fathers and mothers. And that was the end of listlessness on Friendly Terrace for that hot wave, at least. At almost any hour of day, one might see a girl running across the street, or bursting into another girl’s house without warning, in order to set forth some new and brilliant idea which had just popped into her head, or to ask advice on some perplexing point, or to answer the objections somebody had raised. Though only four families on the Terrace were personally interested in the solution of the problem, the whole neighborhood took it up. It was generally agreed that the girls had worked hard in school, and were tired, and a summer in what Peggy called “the sure-enough country” would be the best thing in the world for them all.
Elaine Marshall, whom Peggy waylaid as she came home from her work, not long after the plan had been broached, gave it her immediate approval, pluckily trying to hide her consternation at the thought of Friendly Terrace without Peggy. But, in spite of her brave fluency, something in her eyes betrayed her, as she knew when Peggy slipped an arm about her waist and hugged her remorsefully.
“Now, Peggy Raymond, don’t go to being sorry for me, and spoiling your fun. You mustn’t fancy you’re so indispensable,” she ended with a feeble laugh.