“Slow up, Carl. Let’s look this place over,” called Mrs. Fabian.
The automobile came to a stop and the ladies leaned out to inspect the possibilities in such an old place. A girl of ten came around the corner of the box-house and stood gazing at the people in the car.
Carl seemed to be no novice in this sort of outing, and he called to the girl: “Hey! Is your mudder home?”
The girl nodded without saying a word.
“All right! Tell her to come out, a minute.”
Mrs. Fabian hastily interpolated with: “Oh, we’d better go in and ask for a drink, Carl.”
Carl laughed. “Just as you say, Missus. But dese farmer people don’t stand on fussin’. You’se can ask her right out if she wants to sell any old thing she’s got in the attic or cellar.”
“How do you know?” asked Polly, smilingly.
“’Cause Mr. Dalken got the fever of collectin’ after you folks went to Urope. And many a time I’ve sat and laughed at his way of getting things.”
“Oh! That’s why you knew where to drive us, eh?” said Eleanor.