"That's the whole story!" announced Father Blossom, pulling her down into his lap for a kiss. "There's no more to tell, chicken, if you should stay up till midnight to listen. No one knows what became of the Harley family, and I believe their shack is slowly falling to pieces. I haven't been to the Island for two summers—not since Mrs. Harley went off, in fact. And now don't let Mother have to tell you twice what time it is if you want to be invited to ride in the front seat with me on the trip to Aunt Polly's."
"Wouldn't you like to know where they went?" sleepily murmured Dot, toiling upstairs after Mother Blossom and Twaddles. "Wouldn't you, Mother?"
"Very much," said Mother Blossom promptly. "Mrs. Harley was so kind to me, always, and we liked the whole family. I only hope she had relatives who could help her with the children."
The next morning Miss Florence came with her needle and thread in the little leather case she always carried, and Dot, in the importance of being fitted for a new frock, quite forgot to envy Meg and Bobby, who hurried to school.
Father Blossom came home from the foundry early that afternoon, and when Dot and Twaddles heard him tinkering in the garage, they ran out to see what he was doing.
"What's the little gate for, Daddy?" asked Twaddles.
"To keep the suitcases on the running board," explained Father
Blossom, busy attaching the "gate" to the car.
"Don't we take a trunk?" Dot wanted to know, managing to tip over the box of screws.
"We'll ship those by express," explained Father Blossom. "Look out, Dot, you'll step in that can of grease next. What's that hanging from you—here, turn around and let me see."
Sure enough, a long strip of white muslin was streaming from under
Dot's petticoat.