CHAPTER XIII.
ANDY ON GUARD.
The Peabody girls, as people in Hamilton were accustomed to call them, though they were over fifty years of age, lived in an old-fashioned house, consisting of a main part and an L.
It was a prim-looking house, and everything about it looked prim; but nothing could be more neat and orderly. The front yard was in perfect order. Not a stick or a stone was out of place.
In the fall, when the leaves fell from the trees, they were carefully gathered every morning and carried away, for even nature was not allowed to make a litter on the old maids’ premises.
A brass knocker projected from the outer door. The Misses Peabody had not yet adopted the modern innovation of bells. On either side of the front door was a square room—one serving as a parlor, the other as a sitting-room. In the rear of the latter was a kitchen, and in the rear of that was a woodshed. The last two rooms were in the L part. This L part consisted of a single story, surmounted by a gently-sloping roof. From the chamber over the sitting-room one could look out upon the roof of the L part.
This the reader will please to remember.
When Andy knocked at the door at five o’clock, it was opened by Miss Sally Peabody in person.
“I am so glad you have come, Andy,” she said, “and so is sister Susan. I never said anything to her about inviting you, but she thought it a capital idea. We shall feel ever so much safer.”
Of course Andy felt flattered by the importance assigned to his presence. What boy of his age would not?
“I don’t know whether I can do any good, Miss Sally,” he said, “but I am very glad to come.”