“Pile in any old way and make yourselves as comfy as you can,” said Billie, from the chauffeur’s seat, while seven boys and girls packed themselves into “The Comet” as tightly as sardines in a box.
“Ben, I look to you to take good care of my girls,” called Miss Helen Campbell, from the front door steps of her home. “And all of you promise me three things: Don’t go too fast; don’t stay too late, and don’t go too far.”
“We promise,” came eight voices in a chorus.
“Good-by, Cousin Helen, dearest,” called Billie, kissing her hand affectionately to the little lady who was fast coming to fill an aching void in Billie’s heart.
“Good-by, Miss Campbell,” called the others, while she smiled and bowed and waved her handkerchief like a favorite actress before an enthusiastic audience.
What a difference the young people had made in her life, she thought, as the carload of boys and girls flashed down the street and the sound of their talk and laughter, growing fainter and fainter, floated back to her like a pleasant memory.
It was a real seaside October day. Nothing could have been bluer than the bay, unless it was the sky. A warm, dry land breeze swept over the moors about West Haven. Wild asters and golden rod colored the roadside, and the stillness of Indian summer pervaded the whole country.
“There was no need of the top to-day,” observed Billie, looking up at the cloudless sky. “I am glad we decided not to put it on. We might as well have left the rugs and wraps behind, too. They take up room and won’t be used, I am certain.”
“I hope not,” answered Ben. “I see only one cloud on the horizon and that’s no larger than a man’s hand; but clouds do grow.”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Rain-in-the-Face,” exclaimed Percy. “The last time you looked into the future we had a fire.”