Dodo yearned to possess an old afghan she saw on the settee of the suite of furniture, but she feared to say so. Finally she summoned courage enough to offer the lady a price for it that caused Mrs. Tomlinson a failure about the heart.
“My goodness’ sakes alive! That’s ten times more’n the wool ever cost when the thing was new. Take it! Take it, quick, ef you really mean it!”
The girls laughed wildly, for Dodo took it quickly and paid the price offered to the consternation of the sales-woman. “Well,” gasped she, at last, “you must have some family-past what has to do with knitted covers, is all I can say to explain you!”
By the time the inspection of the house was over, Mrs. Fabian returned with just such a brass pedestal banquet lamp as Mrs. Tomlinson had secretly envied and long hoped for. Such joy and pleasure as she took in selecting a clean crocheted mat to spread on the cold marble slab of the center table, and then place thereon her vision come true, was worth all the trouble Mrs. Fabian had had in finding the lamp at a second-hand shop at Stamford; but later when that wise collector examined her old candle-sticks and pitcher, she felt a hundred times repaid for the lamp—as she truly was.
The merry collectors started home that afternoon, after enjoying the picnic luncheon beside a brook in the woods back of Stamford, with their hopes pitched high for future successes in collecting.
Mr. Dalken heard from Carl about the successful quest that day, and telephoned to the Fabians, that evening. The Ashbys had hurried over when they heard of the pieces secured at the farm-house, and were present when Mr. Dalken questioned the girls all about their “find.”
“Now we’re dying to start again, Mr. Dalken, and hunt up other trophies,” said Polly, in conclusion.