“No, I don’t remember! How should I?—with all this pain forever tying me into knots!” mumbled Miss Selina, as a toothsome morsel of toast entered her mouth.
Suddenly, the crunching of wheels on the gravel drive was heard, and Sally craned her neck to look from the window.
“There goes Abe now,” she said.
The same day the Blue Birds of Happy Times Nest, at Oakdale, had become “Fliers,” little Ruth Talmage, the favorite of the Nest, had received an invitation to spend a week at her Aunt Selina’s house, and Abe was now on his way to the station to meet her.
Aunt Selina was an unpleasant old lady, and few of her relatives cared to visit her; so, when she had her attacks of rheumatism she generally had to spend her time on the couch with no one to amuse her. She had invited Ruth the previous Spring, and had enjoyed the little girl’s visit so much, that she had sent for her now when helpless with another attack.
Of course, when the telegram came to Ruth’s home, asking the little girl to visit Aunt Selina, the Blue Birds felt sorry for her, knowing what a miserable time Ruth would have. Then, too, Ruth’s father was expected home that Saturday, and Ruth had not seen him for almost a year.
Ruth, however, was willing to sacrifice her own pleasure to help Aunt Selina—as every Blue Bird tries to follow the Golden Rule—so she left her playmates Saturday morning, with promises to write every day until she returned, and they, in turn, earnestly promised to explain to her father just why she went away the day he was expected home.
Now, Happy Hills, Aunt Selina’s home, was several miles from Greenfields Station, and the country about this section of Pennsylvania was so beautiful and healthful that city people gradually settled upon estates and spent their summers there. Beautiful carriages and automobiles daily passed over the fine old road that divided Happy Hills in half. But no one had much of an opportunity to admire the place as high board fences had been built on either side of the road as far as the property fronted it.
Happy Hills was an old family estate comprising more than two thousand acres, half woodland and half cultivated fields and green pastures. A spring of clear water, hidden among the rocks of the highest hill at the back of the farm, furnished plenty of water for the noisy brook that tumbled from rock to rock on the hillside, and, after splashing in and out among the trees, ran like a broad ribbon through the green meadows.
The entire property was enclosed with a high fence, even the woodland being carefully hemmed in so no little children could get in to play in the brook, or pick wild berries and flowers that decayed in profusion year after year.